Disclaimer: I do not own Life with Derek, its characters, or this short flashback scene. :)

Four Years Ago

"So, I threw all of Edwin's clothes out the window."

"Guess ya had to be there."

"Oh please, goody-goody like you wouldn't know a funny prank if a pie hit you in the face."

"Hey, I love a good prank!" Casey says. She starts laughing while telling the story, her goofy retainer getting in the way as her words slur. "Once, Lizzie was having trouble with remainders, so I gave her a remainder reminder note to take to math class, but her teacher found it and thought she was trying to cheat."

"You have no idea what a prank is."

"Oh yeah, well you have no idea what a remainder is."

I can't help but burst out laughing. The whole thing is so fucking ridiculous as I stare at the girl across from me who could potentially become my step-sister if we don't pull off Operation Disengagement. Her hideous bangs and pigtails are distracting the hell out of me. With a solid makeover, maybe she wouldn't be completely unfortunate looking.

"What's so funny?"

"Just how ridiculous the idea that we could possibly live in the same house is."

"Yeah, I know," she says, laughing just as hard.

We completely fail to notice our parent's walking into the restaurant.

Present Day

Derek.

I lean against the counter, taking a sip of wine. I was never one to drink wine in the past. It's girly and takes a whole damn bottle before you even feel buzzed. I'm more of a tequila guy myself. Maybe vodka or even whisky. And of course, there's beer.

Mmm beer.

Nothing like a cold one after a resounding win on the ice, the crowd going wild as they chant your name over and over.

I'm not sure what made me think of Casey and I first meeting. Well, not the first meeting anyway. Our first encounter happened earlier that day when I paid off Ralph to pretend to be me. It was HI – larious. Well, it was funny until he started hitting on her, that is. Ralph always has had a thing for Casey. I'm going to have to talk to him about that.

It's hard to imagine that she had no idea what a prank was before she met me. Now look at her.

"Der-ek!"

I snap my head to attention where the girl who I live alone with is looking at me like I've lost my mind. And to think we tried to avoid living together at all costs by attempting to break our parents up. Oh, how times have changed.

She's holding a fork up to my face with brownies on the end, waiting for me to take a bite. Can you say déjà vu?

"I've been calling your name for ten minutes and you're standing right in front of me. What gives?"

"Don't worry about it, Princess," I mutter before wrapping my lips around the dessert and scraping it off with my teeth. The warm ooey-gooey goodness hits my taste buds like a shot. It's slightly crispy on the outside and almost uncooked on the inside. I swear my body is tingling and I'm not even that big of a chocolate fan. "Oh my God," I mumble with a mouthful.

"Perfect, right?!" she says proudly, bending down to take a giant bite of her own. She's already changed into her pajamas for the night. A pair of sky blue pj's with baby raccoons on them. It's easily two sizes too big and she's swimming underneath all the material. For a moment, I still see that young girl in her, not yet fifteen and optimistic as hell while still hating my guts.

I'm not sure she ever hated anything before she met me. Maybe Icky-Vicky.

"You know what would go great with these?" I ask, determined to get my mind off the past that led to our current future.

"A glass of milk?" she offers seriously, looking up at me with innocent eyes while licking chocolate off her upper lip.

"You're such a dork," I scoff at her answer, opening the fridge and pulling out the milk anyway. I try to hide the smile playing at the corner of my lips. She's not entirely wrong, even though I have something else in mind. I reach into the cabinet for a pair of glasses and pour. "I'm talking about the green stuff."

I wiggle my eyebrows, expecting her to immediately understand what I'm hinting at. I clearly presume too much because she takes a sip of her milk instead. A faint white line is left on her upper lip as she waits for me to elaborate.

Rolling my eyes, I say, "pot, Casey."

Her eyes slowly widen, and I can see the shock beginning to set in. I'm surprised anything I say anymore shocks her. "Drugs are bad for you!" she scolds before hitting my arm like she has done so often in the past, and I only chuckle at her outburst. I wouldn't expect any less from her. "That's not a funny joke, Derek."

"Who's joking? You haven't lived until you've gotten a little high and binged with the munchies."

"You are not indulging in the munchies with my brownies," she remarks, grabbing the entire pan in one swift movement before marching into the living room. I grab both glasses of milk and follow her.

"Next time, I'll just sprinkle a little in before you bake it."

"You will not!"

"That way, we'll have a nice healthy buzz ALL night."

We fall back simultaneously onto the oversized sofa that Casey and Nora picked out for our little apartment. I swear, it's like sitting on a cloud.

Even though she put up a fight, I won naturally, and got to bring my chair along. It's the only piece of furniture that wasn't brand new. Even our bedroom furniture was delivered straight from the store. But right now, I find myself not wanting to be anywhere else than where I am right now, including my beloved chair.

I place our glasses on the coffee table before reaching over for one of the forks and dig in while Casey turns on the TV to some girly movie.

"Gimme the remote," I mutter instantly with my mouth full, motioning for her to hand it over.

"Over my dead body," she says, reaching out to lay it on the arm of the sofa and far away from me. I give her an irritated look before taking another bite of brownie, but I say no more. The old me would have had her rolling around on the floor, fighting for that damn thing.

But I already have her attention, so what's the use?

"You know," I whisper while her concentration is focused on the couple in front of us. The guy is holding a bouquet of roses, telling the woman how stupid he was for letting her go. The woman is a little stand-offish, even though you can see her melting at his words. My insides are about to crawl out of my skin from all the sappiness and predictability. "Before college is over, I'm going to get you baked."

"If you try, I'm going to bake your head in the oven."

I smirk at her remark, looking at her from the corner of my eye. Her attention is still firmly on the TV. Fuck, I love her attitude.

Now, the couple is kissing while music plays in the background. Casey's eyes have misted over, and I swear I see a tear about to fall from its socket. We've only caught the ending of the movie, and still she becomes invested in their fake love. Real life isn't even close to this. Real life is messy without quick fixes and a few words of promises that are broken just as quickly as they're made.

Happily ever after doesn't exist.

But I know Casey believes in the forever kind of love. Ivanhoe and all that shit.

Earlier in the night when I made her dinner, it was initially meant to soften her up a bit. Naturally, I figured that a nice candlelight dinner and a bottle of wine would do the trick. After all, most girls melted into me the second I put any effort into showing I cared.

I wanted something out of her, but this time it had nothing to do with money or doing my homework. I told myself it wasn't a big deal. I just needed her to go to that party with me, and I knew she would be hesitant since the guys on my hockey team were aware of our stepsibling statis.

However, another part of me just wanted to do something nice for a change. I've never made her dinner before, aside from take-out or my extra cheesy mac and cheese. But that always happened when the 'rents were too busy to make dinner and I'd cook for everyone.

A part of me just wanted to do a nice thing for Casey.

And naturally, she was suspicious as hell about it. Why wouldn't she be? Whenever have I gone out of my way to be nice to her in the past? Let's just put it this way. My good deeds are few and far between.

I think that's why she made the brownies. She felt guilty for jumping down my throat initially, even though she had been right on point regarding my intentions.

I know that it's not too late to scroll through the endless contacts in my phone to find another date for this Friday night, however. It would be too easy. After all, I never gave Sarah a name. As long as I show up with some hot chick on my arm, I'd be in the clear. As of right now, nobody knows that the girl who has caught my attention is sitting right beside me, pigging out on brownies while the beginning credits of another movie starts to roll across the screen.

It must be 80s night because I recognize this one instantly. Say Anything. One of Casey's favorites. The boombox scene gets her every time, and while I still find it a little cheesy, it's not too bad. Maybe John Cusack had the right idea. He just stood there while Peter Gabriel sang about getting lost in her eyes, and then boom, the chick was his. Nice and easy.

Realistic. Sort of.

Surprisingly, a heavy weight sinks down on my chest as guilt begins pouring into me. I quickly tell myself it's because of rule number 2. Why else would I be feeling guilty for something I'm thinking about and haven't even acted on, yet? Nothing has ever stopped me from cheating on our bets in the past. Why should this time be any different?

Because it is different, that's why. This bet has nothing to do with extra space in the medicine cabinet or who takes possession over the games closet. I'm in way too deep and my inner voice is screaming at me, saying that I'm not going to be able to just dig my way out of this one like I've done in the past by replacing regular dice with a pair of loaded ones.

I wouldn't be cheating on a bet. I'd be cheating on Casey.

Whoa. Where in the hell did that thought come from?

As if she realized I needed a quick distraction, Casey sits the brownies down. She lies back on a decorative pillow while her eyes remain glued to the TV, her feet grazing my leg on accident. At least, I think it was on accident. I can feel my body freeze at the tiniest of contact. The old me would have pushed her off the couch for even thinking about putting her dirty ass feet anywhere near by body. Then why isn't it bothering me now?

I still remember our fight yesterday morning. Well, more of Casey yelling and me standing there in shock with my mouth hanging open. Yeah, not one of my finer moments.

"For the next two weeks, I am your wife, whether you like it or not. And since you seem determined to keep this farce going, then I expect you to treat me with the same respect and dignity that George treats my Mom. Are…we…clear?"

"But…"

"And that includes helping me with dinner, doing a load of laundry once in a while, taking me out on dates, and maybe even a back rub or two…"

I made dinner. Check.

I did throw a load of laundry in when I got home this afternoon, though I refuse to separate colors from whites. That takes way too much time and effort when clearly there is room in the washer for everything to be dumped in at once. I just washed everything on cold and hoped for the best. So far so good.

Check.

I took Casey out for breakfast and even to a movie. Hell, I paid with zero complaint. Date. Check.

Two full days of marriage under my belt, and I'm actually pulling this shit off. You know, if there wasn't an inevitable annulment in our near future, I'm practically husband of the year.

Now, the whole back rub thing is a little more difficult to accomplish without sneaking up behind her and being a total creep. Instead, I opt for the best alternative. My fingers twitch over her feet for just a moment, grabbing for one foot and pulling it across my lap. I instantly start working my fingers into her arch, grabbing tight when she tries to pull her foot back and out of my grasp.

"What are you doing?" she asks, sitting up in a panic as I continue working my magic fingers.

"What does it look like I'm doing? You said you wanted a back rub, so I figured this was the next best thing," I shrug likes it's no big deal, though the pounding in my chest says otherwise.

"Y..you don't have to do that."

"So how did your exam go this morning?" I immediately ask, trying desperately to change the subject and tone down the major awkwardness.

"Um…why…" Casey winces when I find a sore spot at the bottom of her arch, reaching out to grasp my arm in an attempt to stop me. I pause briefly before looking down at my task at hand, placing my thumb gently against the spot and rubbing it in. Instantly, she relaxes at the soft contact, closing her eyes and breathing deep. "It was fine. Professor Hartford is grading on a curve, so I'm bound to get an…an A."

My lips twitch as her head leans forward, resting on my shoulder as I continue working the sensitive spot. "Meaning, every other person in class is going to fail because you're a total keener. Am I right?"

"I doubt that," she moans lighting before falling back onto the couch, offering her other foot to me so that I can pay it the same amount of attention. She's clearly used to my insults because she doesn't even mention it. "I didn't get my normal nine hours of sleep."

"Could have fooled me. You were snoring like a buzz saw."

"I do not snore! Jerk," she kicks me a little, immediately catching my lie. There's no mistaking the hint of smile in her voice, however.

I catch her bare ankle, touching the tender flesh as I hold her steady. Her olive skin is softer than I'd imagined it to be and I can't help but run my thumb along the delicate flesh. "Hey, Case?" I ask in a near whisper, noticing her eyes are still shut even though she had an outburst not ten seconds ago.

"Hmmmm?"

"Why do you always wear oversized kid pajamas?"

"I don't," she immediately pouts her bottom lip out.

"Uh, yeah…you do. I've never seen you wear anything but these footy monstrosities."

"They aren't footy pajamas, Derek," Casey emphasizes my name like she's prone to do, her eyes fully opening. "See," she points out by lifting one socked foot and rubbing it against my face.

"Eh, ew, gross, McDonald!" I say, rubbing off the side of my face before hooking one arm around her knee to hold her in place. She tries to fight me off by kicking her leg, and I can't help but notice that contagious laugh that has ever rarely been directed at me.

And that's how we spend part of our night. Wresting around on the sofa and down to the floor, still a little buzzed on wine and brownies, I'm sure. I could easily take her. After all, she's always been such a tiny little thing. But I don't. I let her get a few good moves in before pinning her to the ground.

Some things never change.