Romance: Stepbrother On Top

by A. Valentine

  There was a trilling rush traveling through her body. She had just kicked a horrifying man out of a building that she didn’t own, and she had survived through the event. She wouldn’t have been surprised if the whole situation had ended with her body mangled in a gutter somewhere. In fact, the outcome that she was perfectly fine, surprised her more than anything.

  Her thoughts trailed to Quincy as she walked, thinking of the way he moved. Even the motion of running his hand through his hair was casual, everything he did effortless and beautiful in its own way. She wanted to know more about him. It wasn’t as simple as a desire to know; it was a need. She needed to know everything about him, his likes, and his dislikes. Somewhere in the back of her mind, she thought about how in any other circumstance, a curiosity like that might have been filed under the crush folder.

  It wasn’t a crush, though. She was certain of that. It was simply a deep, burning curiosity that was beginning to take over every aspect of her attention. Badly enough that she nearly walked into the street while the light was red. Anne caught herself just in time, and shook her head.

  The snow that had been raging earlier had calmed into a simple, benign drifting of flakes. She leaned her head back and sighed, watching her breath cloud in front of her. She needed to get hold of herself, and quickly. She couldn’t let some stranger that she had only just met lead her into a dangerous situation, be it by him specifically, or by being controlled by thoughts of him.

  “Get it together, Anne,” she muttered. The light switched to green, and the little white symbol on the crosswalk meter lit up. Anne walked forward, and pulled her phone out of her pocket. She flicked it on, almost hoping to see a message or a missed call from an unknown number. Her hopes went unanswered, and she felt suddenly incredibly silly for having hoped that Quincy would have contacted her so soon. He was trying to maintain his cool-guy appearance, he wouldn’t go and try and get a girl’s attention so soon after meeting her.

  Anne curled her nose at the thought, and hoped that Quincy wasn’t that way. Although, she would be lying if she said that the thought didn’t excite her. In a horrifying, chilling way. She had just given her phone number to a complete stranger, who smoked and owned a motorcycle. He wore a leather jacket, dyed his hair, and had an impressive display of colorful tattoos.

  Anne squealed to herself at the thought, and tried to brush aside the feeling of warmth growing in her stomach. What had once been insatiable curiosity that then turned into a chilling fear, was now consuming excitement. She couldn’t wait for a text or a call from Quincy, and she couldn’t wait to see him again.

  She didn’t even know if she would be able to last the night without hearing a word from him.

  Chapter Three

  The last thing Quincy wanted to do was seem desperate, so he decided not to contact Anne before he headed home. The drive was about an hour from the little town to the city that he lived in, and he didn’t even know why he had taken the long drive. He knew why; to escape his bonds for just a few moments and pretend to be someone else.

  However, he was on a deadline, and needed to be in his crappy apartment in the crappiest neighborhood available before ten o’clock. He didn’t like having a mistress—of sorts—but he had to deal with the mistakes that he had made.

  Since he had to drive home before then, he had to leave just a bit after he and Anne had finished their conversations. He walked her as she walked down the sidewalk, a forlorn sigh escaping him. He wanted to run his fingers through her hair, to hold her close, and to ruin every part of her world that she had kept as pristine as new-fallen snow. It would please him more than anything to shatter the innocence of such a girl like her.

  However, he resisted. He hopped onto his Harley, and old bike given to him by his old man before he had died, and headed home. He wasn’t able to contact Anne until nine-thirty, but by then, she didn’t respond, and he assumed that she was asleep. Quincy parked his vehicle in the safest spot, one that he had paid extra money for to obtain, and then headed upstairs to his apartment. He lived on the fifth floor, and the walk was a killer—there were no elevators—but at least on the fifth floor, everything was quiet.

  Quincy made himself a hearty meal of microwaveable Mac and Cheese, and flopped over onto his couch. Ten o’clock rolled around, and he still hadn’t received a knock. Ten-fifteen. Ten-thirty. He figured that maybe his date—if he could even call it that—had forgotten. He retired to his bedroom, with a creaky, painful mattress, and stretched out. He glanced at the message he had sent Anne one last time.

  I think you’re very pretty.

  It had taken a lot of courage for him to send a message like that to Anne. He hadn’t seen a girl, let alone talked to one, in years, and it had left him only mildly deprived. He wasn’t going to be an animal with her, but he wanted to make his intent clear before Anne got the wrong idea and assumed that perhaps Quincy only wanted to be simple friends.

  Quincy scoffed at the idea.

  He couldn’t remember how to make friends.

  ***

  The next morning, Anne woke with the sound of her younger siblings running around. She groaned and sat up, but quickly put a smile on her face. Even if her little brother and sister were annoying, it meant that they were in good health. The thought cheered her up immediately, and she rose to go and make breakfast for herself.

  Her father was sitting at the table, a cup of coffee in one hand, and an open newspaper in the other. Although his life was centered on technology, he didn’t allow it to consume his life. He much preferred printed news, claiming that it gave him a better feel for what was actually happening.

  “Good morning,” Anne greeted.

  Her father raised his mug in greeting to the girl. Any other person might have thought it rude, but Anne knew that it meant that her father was engrossed in an incredibly interesting article.

  Her mother, ever the perfect picture of a housewife, was in the kitchen, with two bowls of cereal already poured out. A pan simmered with both bacon and eggs, and Anne took in a deep breath of the smell. Early-morning breakfasts with her family were her favorites.

  “Good morning, Anne,” her mother greeted. “You were home late last night. Did something come up?” she asked.

  “There was that storm,” Anne said. She paused for a moment, figuring that her mother deserved to know. “And I made a new friend at the bakery downtown,” she said. She didn’t say what kind of friend; her mother would have fainted.

  “Oh, is that so?” she asked. She had a smile on her face. “That’s always good to hear. Someone from your classes, or no?”

  Anne thought about Quincy, thought about how he was not the type of person to be in college. She shook her head sharply, and ridded herself of the thought. When she had gotten home, she had promised herself that she would try to stop stereotyping—for Quincy’s sake.

  “No,” Anne said. She grabbed the fine plaster plates from the cabinet, and began scooping eggs and beacon onto each. As if sensing that it was time to be done, a few slices of toast popped up from the toaster. “Just someone that I met. A very friendly person.”

  “A girl or a boy?” her father asked, looking up from his paper.

  Her mother flapped her hand at her husband, and rolled her eyes at him. “You don’t need to know that. Anne is a big girl, and she can make her own decisions. Right, darling?”

  “Of course, mother,” Anne replied. “A boy, if you must know. Quite the charming gentleman.”

  Her father didn’t seem impressed, but her mother smiled. “I’m happy for you, dear. Why don’t you sit down and have a quick breakfast with us before your first class?” she suggested.

  “I think I will,” Anne agreed. She grabbed her phone from the counter before she joined the table, having left it there overnight to charge. A message from Quincy was on the screen, and it sent shivers of delight through her entire body.

  I think you’re very pretty.

  Just that morning, he had sent another one to h
er. This one was shorter, and far more vague. She didn’t let that bother her, in fact, it made her even more curious than she had been just a few moments ago. Anne sat down at the table, and tucked her phone under her leg so she wouldn’t be tempted to reply during the meal. Her brother and sister raced to the table, beginning to stuff their faces full of cereal and milk, occasionally spilling a drop or two.

  The family dog mulled about their feet, looking for any sort of scraps that might have fallen. The pages of her father’s newspaper turned, and the first clinking of silverware began from her mother’s side of the table.

  While Anne had once been hungry, her rumbling stomach had been quieted by her buzzing brain. She pushed around the food on her plate, trying to think of exactly how she would respond to Quincy’s request. It hadn’t been so much of a request as a demand, but Anne didn’t mind. The forceful tone he had taken with her actually excited her.

  In her mind’s eye, the message flashed over and over again.

  Ditch class. Hang with me.

  Chapter Four

  After she had been excused from the table, Anne nearly ran to her room. She tried to play it casually, but she knew that it was going to be hard for her to do. She couldn’t decide what to wear, or how to do her hair or makeup. It seemed as though nothing was right. Either she was bordering on far too flirty, or far too prudish. She didn’t want to seem like either, at least not to an extreme.

  Besides, with her parents still loitering about, she would have to make it seem as though she were going to class, rather than going on a date with a boy. Anne furrowed her eyebrows and mentally scolded herself. She really needed to think of it in another way. Asking someone to hang out was not the same thing as asking them on a date.

  At the end of her struggle, Anne finally settled for a safe middle ground of a casual winter dress. It had a turtleneck, which in any other situation might have made her seem like a prude, but it was short enough that she figured it balanced itself out. Paired with cute, fleece leggings and lace-up boots, and she was ready to go.

  She stayed basic with her hair and makeup, opting for the style that she usually went for. If Quincy saw her in any style aside from the one that he had seen last night, he would think she was a fake. Anne ran her fingers through her hair, and stared into the mirror at her reflection.

  “You are not a fake,” she told herself, expelling the bad idea before it even had a chance to take root in her brain. The last thing she needed was a dose of doubt to put a damper on her day. “And Quincy wants to see you, not someone else.”

  Anne sighed, and then glanced at her phone again. Quincy had texted, setting up a time and a place for them to meet. An hour from them, outside of the bakery from the night before. Anne smiled, amused that Quincy had chosen somewhere that he already knew. He really was from out of town. It was charming, in a sense.

  As she headed out the door, waving one last goodbye to her parents, Anne dared to think about how close-to-scared that she was. Her heart was fluttering nervously in her chest, and she could hardly breathe. Her stomach felt how it did before a job interview, or when she pressed the final button to submit a college application. Filled with butterflies, and threatening to churn up all of the food that she had had within twenty-four hours.

  Anne shook off the thought as she walked outside, head held high and shoulders back. A light dusting of snow had coated the ground, but it wasn’t enough to deter her. At first, she circled towards the college, just in case somebody might see her or call her out. She knew it wasn’t going to happen; it wasn’t as though the entire town knew about her schedule. For all they knew, her classes had been cancelled for the day.

  With a skip in her step, Anne was at the bakery in no time. She showed up early, given an hour as a deadline, but Quincy was already there. He had a smoldering cigarette between his fingers, a thin trail of smoke rising from the ashy tip. He was leaned against the brick wall, just as the day before, and had the same casual look. His hair wasn’t slicked back, instead falling about his face in wispy strands.

  He hadn’t noticed Anne until she was standing just a foot from him, and he turned to face her. He didn’t smile back at Anne, but he did offer a little quirk of his eyebrow.

  “I’m surprised you actually met me,” he murmured. “I would have thought that you were too good for that kind of thing,” he said. There was a hint of teasing to his voice, but it was nowhere in his expression. It made Anne furrow her eyebrows, she couldn’t tell if he was actually being serious or not.

  “I’m not too good for anything,” Anne replied. “I do try to be humble, you know,” she scoffed. “Besides, how was I supposed to say no? Here you are, doing nothing good with yourself. Maybe I came here to try and convince you to do something productive.”

  “There’s nothing productive for me to do,” Quincy said. He tossed his cigarette to the ground, and crushed it underneath his boot. Anne frowned, she didn’t appreciate the littering. “Want to take a walk with me?” he asked. “Since you look like you’re ready for a date and all.”

  Anne flushed a bright red from her cheeks to the roots of her hair. “I wasn’t thinking of this as a date!” she snapped. Quincy began to walk, hands shoved into his pockets, and Anne followed after him, despite her sudden indignation. “I like to look nice, what’s so wrong about that?” she asked.

  “I didn’t say there was anything wrong with it,” Quincy replied. He didn’t know where he was walking to. He only knew that he was walking, and it was nice to have someone to walk with him for once. “I just said that you look like you’re ready for a date. Do you have plans after this?”

  “No,” Anne said. “I ditched class for you, the least you could do is assume that I only ditched class for you.” She paused for a moment, letting a comfortable silence hang between the two of them. “I didn’t even email my professors before this. I could have at least thought of some sort of excuse to give them before hanging out with the worst boy possible.”

  Quincy laughed at that. Not a chuckle, but full-out roaring laughter that left him feeling as though he had just done one thousand sit-ups in under a minute. Anne stared at him at first, but soon joined in on the laughing.

  “You sound like such a straight A student,” Quincy teased.

  “I am a straight A student,” Anne replied.

  Chapter Five

  Quincy only stopped walking once the two of them had reached a park on the outskirts of town. They shared light, playful banter, but nothing more than the occasional snide remark or sarcastic roll of the eyes. Anne was a cute girl, but he couldn’t imagine that she would ever want something more out of a guy like him. He sighed at the thought, and pushed his hair out of his face. No one could ever want something more out of him.

  As they approached the park, covered in at least an inch of snow, Anne picked out a spot for them. Tucked under a huge oak tree, where the dead, crispy grass had been shielded by the wide leaves and hundreds of branches. She leaned back against the thick trunk, and stared up into the branches.

  Quincy took the spot to her side that was downwind, and pulled out a pack of cigarettes. He could see her scowl, but she didn’t say anything. He beat the pack against his fist one, two, three times until a cigarette popped out, and he took it between his teeth.

  As he lit up, Anne finally broke the silence.

  “Why do you smoke those things?” she asked.

  “I had to go a long time without them,” Quincy replied. “I never quite got over them. Actually, I found other things to use instead of them, but it didn’t make it any easier. Once you get the real thing back, you can’t stop yourself.”

  “If you were so long without them, how are you still addicted?” she asked. “Isn’t the point of separating yourself from something to break the habit?”

  “If you’re a normal person, maybe,” Quincy said. He took a long drag on the cigarette, and turned his head away before blowing the smoke between his lips. Anne was still frowning at him.

 
; “Could I try?” she asked. Her voice was quiet, like a mouse baby squealing for milk from its mother.

  Quincy, if it were any other day, would have laughed. Hell, if it were even thirty minutes earlier he would have laughed in Anne’s face. She didn’t seem the type, but who was he to deny her? He passed over the cigarette, noting the feeling of electric sparks going through him where their fingers touched.

  “Don’t inhale,” he warned.

  “I thought that was the point of smoking?” Anne asked, a slight furrow to her eyebrows.

  “Not for your first few times,” Quincy said. He leaned back against the tree, watching as Anne hesitantly brought the roll of nicotine to her lips. He watched with rapt eyes as her lip wrapped around the end of it, plump and lush. Quincy wondered just exactly how amazing those lips would feel wrapped around something…else.

  He crossed his legs to hide his growing problem, and laid his hands over his lap. The last thing that Anne needed to know was that he had popped a boner like a middle school boy. It would break his image, and would drive Anne away. She was the first friend, no matter how shy that friendship was. Even if he didn’t know the most basic things about her, she was the only person who had bothered to talk to him. Most were scared away by his dark gloom, let alone by the telltale tattoos all over his body.

  In a moment, Anne was passing the cigarette back to Quincy, spluttering and coughing until she couldn’t breathe. Her mouth was on fire, and she couldn’t summon enough saliva to spit to the ground to get the taste out of her mouth. Quincy cracked a smile, but didn’t laugh at her.

  “How do you do that so casually?” she asked. Her eyes were watering at the edges, and she turned to spit out another mouthful of disgusting saliva. “That was horrible!”

  “I guess you get used to it,” Quincy said. He took the cigarette back from Anne, and took another drag on it. He could still feel the mild wetness from where Anne’s lips had been just moments before. “It’s not so bad after doing it since you got into high school.”