Stepbrother With Benefits: An Opposites Attract Romance (Mason Family Book 2)

by Hazel Kelly

Lord knows if he ever calmed her down. It was a long time since I’d been privy to one of Maddy and James’s fights, but back in the day, they could both give as good as they got. And then there was Quinn, who seemed so calm. So knowing. Like he was almost amused by the whole thing. Was he right? Was my chemistry with James as obvious as he seemed to think it was? And if so, where did that leave us?

  I yawned as I rolled onto my back, straightened my arms to push myself up, and relaxed against the pillows behind me. I felt a little guilty for pretending to be asleep when James got home last night, but at the time, I didn’t have a better idea. After all, I had nothing to say to him. There were no words that could undo what happened. Undo all we’d done.

  Unfortunately, I didn’t regret any of the times I’d kissed him, nor did I feel remorse over any of the places I’d let him kiss me. It would be easier to move on if I did. But behind closed doors, our relationship didn’t feel forbidden. When it was just us, it felt right. Felt good. Fucking great, actually. Borderline addictive. We’d certainly been acting like addicts, anyway, taking turns spending the night in each other’s twin beds like we were the fast kids at sleepaway camp.

  But on paper it was wrong. Dirty. On paper, Maddy’s strong reaction was justified. How could I have been so naïve? How could I believe people would ever be okay with this?

  Then again, Quinn didn’t seem disturbed. Nor had he treated me like a pariah after he found out what was going on. It was almost as if he understood I hadn’t been a figurative part of the Mason family since the day I became a literal one.

  Speaking of paper, though, I had to start writing again.

  My whole body felt swollen, like an overfull tire, and I had to force some of these confusing feelings out of me or I was liable to burst.

  I reached for the top drawer of my nightstand and slid it open, removing a journal I’d gotten at a local book fair along with the first pen my fumbling fingers found.

  Then I opened the notebook, uncapped the pen, and pressed the tip of it against the top of the page, increasing the pressure when the blue ink spot started to expand. “You can do this,” I whispered to myself. “You have to do this.” I stopped pressing when I realized the ink was seeping through the thin paper, and my body tensed all over as I stared at the dot, the dot that I desperately needed to turn into a word. Any word. Just one word.

  I tried to focus on the task like it was a puzzle, knowing if I recalled how comfortable I usually felt with a pen in my hand, I might start to cry. Because writing was supposed to be the one thing I could count on, the one thing I could always do. And I desperately needed to feel capable right now after everything that had gone wrong. From my reunion with Maddy going sour to my letting James down to what Professor Herstall…

  My jaw clenched when I thought of how he’d pressed his disgusting hand to my mouth, silencing my scream. And the more I thought about it, the more my blood began to boil and curdle. I squeezed my knees together when I remembered how he’d violated me, how small and weak he’d made me feel.

  And then I started screaming again. Except this time, I screamed on paper.

  I screamed about the injustice of what he’d done, how he’d betrayed my trust, and what it felt like to have the one person whose approval I craved take advantage of me.

  Page after page after page I screamed.

  I screamed about how I detested what he stood for, about how afraid I was that he might hurt someone else, and about what a load of bullshit the whole fucking #Metoo movement was. Because even after all those protests and celebrity confessions, even after the witch hunts that uncovered all those sickos hiding in plain sight, I still had no one to turn to. Nowhere to go.

  I still didn’t think in my heart of hearts that anyone would believe me if I said Professor Herstall, a tenured university department head who was a New York Times bestseller and an outspoken advocate for the Animal Rescue Trust, had tried to force himself on me.

  And the more I wrote, the harder it was to see through my tears. Soon, my vision was as blurry as the thoughts I was putting down. Thoughts about what I believed should happen to him, what I believed he deserved. And questions, too. So many questions.

  Page after page after page of questions.

  Questions like why did this happen to me? and what had I done to deserve this? and why did he think he could get away with that? and was he already getting away with it? Were there others? Like me? And if there weren’t, why me? Why me? Why me?!

  Once the floodgates were open, I couldn’t stop. Even when I could barely see anymore. Even when my hand started to shake from the strain. Even when I started repeating myself.

  I kept writing.

  And I promised myself I wouldn’t stop until I started making some sense. Because I was tired of all the questions.

  It was time to find some answers.

  T H I R T Y N I N E

  - James -

  “Hold it right there,” Maeve said, pulling the pencil from behind her ear to mark the wall over the frame I was grasping.

  “Got it?”

  “Yeah,” she said, stepping back. “Thanks.”

  I lowered the wide frame back to the ground. “Sure.”

  Her phone buzzed against the glass coffee table, and she walked over to peek at the screen. “I should take that,” she said, glancing my way before picking it up. “Do you mind? I’ll make it quick.”

  I waved her away and carried on hanging her picture with the same attention to detail I would’ve used if she’d been breathing down my neck. The frame was almost as wide as my wingspan, so it wasn’t easy getting the wire on the back to catch the nail I hung, but I managed, straightened it as best I could, and stepped back to admire the painting.

  It was an original sketch of Florence, and if I had to guess, I’d say she paid a pretty penny for it. Maeve wasn’t into cheap crap. She was one of those people who had an organized closet full of classic pieces that would last forever under her care. The blue cashmere sweater she was sporting today was a perfect example.

  “That looks great,” she said, returning from her bedroom.

  “It does actually.” I folded my arms and continued admiring the giant canvas. “I accidentally got the hole wrong twice, but it should be fine as long as you don’t move it.”

  Her head whipped towards me. “Please tell me you’re joking.”

  I tried to keep a straight face, but it was no use, and her brown eyes scolded me when she realized I was messing with her.

  “Anything else you need help with?” I knew there was a guy in her building that could assist her with odd jobs like this, but Maeve asked for help so rarely I didn’t mind lending a hand.

  “Got time for a coffee?”

  “Are you going to make it in your fancy machine that adds the foam?”

  She threw her eyes skyward. “One cappuccino, coming right up.”

  I weaved around her crème-colored furniture and followed her into the kitchen, which she’d recently redone with faded turquoise cabinets that had a worn, country house feel to them. I liked the style, but the color she chose was about four shades too girly for me.

  “So,” she said, retrieving some mugs from the cabinet over the coffee machine. “You want to tell me your version of events?”

  That’s when it hit me. She didn’t ask me here because she needed help. She invited me because Maddy gave her an earful, and she was doing reconnaissance. “Can you be more specific?”

  She shot me a look as she dug through some coffee pods.

  I cut the crap. “What did Maddy tell you?”

  She clamped the first pod into the machine, slipped a mug under the spout, and pressed a button that brought it buzzing to life. Then she turned towards me and folded her arms. “She told me you and Brie are somewhat of an item.”

  My chest tightened at the memory of how she’d fled the party. “Why do I get the feeling those weren’t her exact words?”

  “Because I’m sparing you those.”

 
; “Did she blab to anyone else about it?”

  Maeve cocked her head. “You mean is she bragging about you all over Chicagoland?”

  My chest grew heavy.

  “Not to my knowledge.” She turned back towards the coffee machine, tapped a button to add an artistic topping of foam, and slid the mug towards me after the contraption fell silent.

  “Last time I got a mocha dusting.”

  She groaned, pulled a small silver cannister from the cupboard, and handed it to me. “I assume it’s serious?” She slid a new pod and cup into position and pressed the flashing green button.

  “I can’t speak for Brie.”

  One of Maeve’s eyebrows dragged towards me as she rested her hands on the counter.

  “But I’m all in on this.”

  She stared at the coffee machine, rocking back on her heels with an impatience that often afflicted her when she found herself waiting for caffeine. “I’m trying to bring a baby into the world.”

  I choked on my coffee so hard it almost spat out my nose. “Right now?” I coughed.

  “No.” She tutted. “It’s just an expression.”

  I set my coffee down and pressed the back of my hand under my burning nose.

  “What I’m really doing is more like manifesting a baby.”

  “You sound like Maddy now.”

  “Only far less shrill.”

  I scrunched my face. “Is she still that pissed?”

  “She’s hurt,” Maeve said, adding foam to her latte. “She’s felt bad about losing her favorite toy for years, and then she caught you playing with it.”

  “You can’t talk about Brie like that.”

  “Relax, would you? It’s just an analogy.” She reached for the cannister of chocolate powder. “Besides, sisters are allowed talk about their sisters however they want.”

  “She’s your sister now, too, huh? You’re as bad as Maddy.”

  “You don’t get it,” she said. “That girl is Maddy’s sister in a way she can never be yours. Never. They were real sisters way before they ever were on paper. So, of course, this is weird for her.”

  The caffeine hit me then. Or was it adrenaline? Was she implying I was in the wrong? Because I refused to pick sides. I refused to—

  “I know she’s never been your sister, though.” There was a flash of understanding in her eyes that tempered the fire in my veins. “You always looked out for her because she was adorable, not out of fraternal obligation.”

  “Are you really this big of a know-it-all or do you just claim to be one?”

  “Come on,” she said, cupping her hands around her mug. “No one paid closer attention to the three of you than I did. And I hate to burst your bubble, but you haven’t always been as smooth as you are now.”

  “I’m sure I have no idea what you’re talking about.” I cocked a head towards the sitting room, and Maeve nodded for me to lead the way.

  “There’s photographic evidence and everything.”

  I spun around so fast my coffee almost flew across her light cushions. “What?”

  “Easy,” she said, her eyes flicking between me and my mug. “I’m half joking, anyway.”

  “What do you mean half?” I asked, perching on the edge of her sofa.

  She sat down gingerly and set her cup on a brown leather coaster before handing one to me.

  “Maeve,” I said, growing impatient.

  “There are some pictures from one of Maddy’s school dances,” she said. “You weren’t in the group, so you’re not in the posed photos, but you’re in a few of the random shots Mom took.”

  “Go on.”

  “I remember noticing the way you were looking at Brie in one of them. I never thought much about it before, but the picture popped into my head when Maddy was ranting.”

  “What did you say to her?” I asked, resting my cup on my knee.

  “Mostly breathe and calm down and don’t say things like that about your brother.”

  I scoffed. “Glad it was a productive conversation.”

  “She’ll come around,” she said, her eyes softening. “Emotion can’t trump reason forever.”

  I offered a shallow smile, hoping she was right. But Maddy wasn’t the only woman who was upset with me.

  Brie was avoiding me, too.

  F O R T Y

  - Brie -

  I thought it might be him when I saw a tailored suit float past the front window of the ice cream parlor, but I assumed he’d leave when he saw the ridiculous line winding its way towards the register from only a few feet inside the door.

  I didn’t usually work Friday nights, but I’d been working nights all week to avoid seeing him. I wasn’t ready to talk about the party. I needed time to think, needed to keep my idle hands busy.

  I served ice cream with a smile and avoided meeting his gaze, but it was difficult. My body missed him and ached all over for his touch. But my mind was tired, tired of worrying about writing and worrying about not writing. Tired of trying to decide how much I cared about other people’s opinions of me.

  It was fucked. I was fucked. In all the ways except for the way I wished to be.

  Twenty minutes later, James was almost at the front of the line, and he looked absurd. He wasn’t accompanied by children or a girlfriend, nor was he coping with the pain of braces. He was just standing there in his petrol blue suit with a briefcase. A real man of mystery.

  Unfortunately, I could barely hear my own thoughts, much less guess what he was thinking. Still, I hoped he would simply order an ice cream and leave without doing anything to exacerbate the embarrassment I already felt for being a cold-fingered smile factory in a striped paper hat.

  "Hi,” I said, trying to keep my knees steady at the sight of his blue eyes. “What can I get you today?”

  He flicked a wrist between us, and a magician’s bouquet appeared.

  I didn’t reach for it or take a breath. I just prayed he would order some ice cream and not make a scene.

  He acted hurt and slapped his briefcase down on the counter so loud the whole place went quiet before he released the latches.

  I would’ve hissed his name, but everyone was staring in our direction. And by the time he backed up with his stack of poster paper, he’d secured the attention of the entire room by merely clearing his throat with confidence.

  “Ladies and gentleman…” the first card read.

  James nodded at a skinny red-headed boy whose face was crowded with freckles. “Ladies and gentleman,” the kid said.

  James raised an open palm behind his ear.

  “Ladies and gentleman,” Freckles said, louder this time.

  My cheeks began to burn as soon as he flicked through to the next card.

  “I’m in love,” the kid read, with equal parts confidence and curiosity, as if he were enjoying his new role. “With this beautiful woman.”

  James extended a hand towards me to clear up any confusion, and my chest tightened several notches.

  “But she won’t return my calls,” the kid read, causing a few of the older women to tut at me while the rest of the crowd awwwed in unison.

  He flicked to the next card. “And now…” He paused for ages, his captive audience inching to the edge of their seats before he revealed the next card. “Without her ears to fall upon… My voice is silenced.”

  I tried to roll my eyes, but they wouldn’t budge from his.

  “And without her face to rest my eyes upon…”

  Holy shit.

  “I am as good as blinded.”

  People gasped at the words he’d written, which Freckles had begun delivering with unexpected fervor.

  “And without her hand in mine…”

  My ribcage shrank under the weight of my mortification, a feeling James clearly didn’t suffer from.

  “I find myself a poor man.”

  Not in costume, I thought.

  “So I ask you now…” The kid reached his hands in the air and his dad scooped him up when James revea
led the next card. “The people of Homer’s Ice Cream!”

  Cheers all around.

  “For help.”

  The silence that enveloped the packed ice cream parlor was unlike anything I’d ever experienced, and if I could’ve pried my eyes off him, I’m sure I would’ve seen Ashton Kutcher and the Punk’d crew filming from a distance.

  “I ask only that this woman…”

  Jeez, how many cards were there?

  “Smile upon my face again.”

  My cheeks softened. Should I encourage this ridiculous display?

  “And ride off into the sunset with me.”

  I bit the inside of my cheek.”

  “Like she really, really wants to.”

  Everyone laughed at that last card, even me. And my insides felt so melty all of a sudden that I gripped the edge of the counter to steady myself.

  And then somewhere in the distance, a customer chanted “kiss her!” And one voice became two, which became four, and suddenly there were fifty people chanting “kiss her” in my workplace while James stood across the counter wearing a devilish side smile.

  I licked my lips.

  He turned an ear towards me, his mischievous eyes daring me to give his story a happy ending.

  I took a deep breath. Then I gave him the smile he’d so poetically asked for.

  People began cheering, their enthusiastic applause echoing off the walls.

  So I leaned forward and turned my cheek, conscious of the fact that there were children everywhere. And James gave me the best PG kiss I’d ever gotten. Right on the apple of my cheek, his lips soft and firm and just wet enough that I knew I’d been kissed, and my smile widened even more.

  “What do you say?” he asked. “Ride off into the sunset with me?”

  I wished I could answer his gallant invitation with kind words, but I didn’t want to give him false hope when my brain was too fried to make such a big promise.

  “Brie.” His voice was only a whisper at the edge of my hairline, but it was enough to set my body alight with goosebumps. “Say yes.”

  “I’ll think about it,” I said, tucking my chin and pulling away from him before rolling my shoulders back. “Will that be all today?”