His eyes move past me, and I know he’s spotted Angela. His girlfriend.
I wish we could have spoken longer. I follow the direction of his gaze, half expecting to see a perky blond woman who needs Dad’s savings (ha!) to maintain her yoga classes, organic clothes and food purchases, and biannual spa retreat.
And she does have blond hair, but she doesn’t seem to be the strident bourgeois-bohemian I imagine. Her wavy hair falls past her shoulders, and her figure is pleasantly plump. She’s wearing a simple turquoise dress, and there’s no heaving bosom or gaudy jewelry in sight.
She looks sort of nice.
I stand up, though my back is still rigid.
“Alec! I’m so happy to finally meet you.” Her voice is a warm and deep alto. Her bright blue eyes sparkle, and they seem so kind that I hope Dad is in love with her as much as he says he is. She pulls me into a hug, and my mouth drops open a little. “It’s so great you’re interning here.”
“Yes,” my dad says, but I don’t miss the slight frown on his face. “I’m so happy Alec can be with us this summer.”
“Yes.” I clear my throat and hope no one notices just how uncomfortable I am. “So, Angela . . . Dad told me you brought your son.”
“I sure did.” Angela beams, and I know I’ve said the right thing. “He’s waiting in the private room.”
“So, um, he’s a bit shy, then?” I ask.
Angela casts a glance at Dad. “You didn’t tell him, Brad?”
My Dad shrugs. “We haven’t had much time . . .”
“No matter, dear.” Angela kisses his cheek, and I shuffle my legs. Yes, definitely feeling awkward now.
Angela slides into a chair, and I gaze up at her. “Now, Alec.”
She laughs and runs her fingers through her hair. They’re polished a pretty pale pink. “This is actually quite difficult to explain.”
I try to smile at her, but I wonder what she’s going to say. Maybe that her son has severe developmental issues. Or something that will make me feel guilty for thinking ill of him. Or maybe she’ll say he’s a rock star. My hands are clammy, and I try to wipe them discreetly on my jeans. It’s summer in Los Angeles, but it’s still far too warm. I miss Northern California already.
I clear my throat. “Don’t worry.”
“No?” She smiles at me.
“I know it must be hard to still have a son living at home.”
Her eyes widen, and this time, I’ve said the wrong thing. I clear my throat. “I mean . . . not that there’s anything wrong with that. Some of my friends still live at home, and I’m moving in with Dad this summer anyway . . .”
Angela and Dad exchange one of those mysterious adult looks they probably think are subtle, but aren’t in the least.
“Angela and I are planning on moving in together,” Dad says.
“Oh.” I frown, imagining us squeezing into whatever townhouse Dad’s managed to acquire. I suck in a deep breath, wrinkling my nose as I inhale the too-sweet smells from the restaurant. “That’s great.”
I guess I’ll be sleeping on the couch.
“It’s a pleasure to have my son with us,” Angela says. “Though, for his sake, he should move on at some point. It will be a pleasure to have you over too during the summer.”
“Angela’s home is on the coast. You’ll like it,” Dad says. “Alec loves swimming.”
We’re moving in with Angela?
I try to smile, and my voice only shakes a fraction. “That’s great. How far away is it from the ocean?”
“Oh, it’s right on it.” Angela beams at me, and I notice the freckles scattered on her nose and the way the skin around her eyes crinkles, adding to her friendly, clearly un-Botoxed appearance.
I frown and rub my chest, wondering just how much homes in LA right on the ocean cost.
It probably wasn’t Ezra. Just someone who looks like him. I couldn’t really be . . .
“But anyway,” Angela says, and I force myself to concentrate on her, “my son is rather unique.”
I nod. I’m expecting this, but my heart still plummets. I grit my teeth together. I realize my dad didn’t tell me because he didn’t want me to accuse him of being a con artist. He knows he’s my dad, and I can’t actually say anything against him to others. It’s not like I have anyone else in this world.
“He’s actually . . .” Angela glances at my dad, and he squeezes her hand.
I suppose I should feel happy to see the affection between them, but it just reminds me of seeing him with Margaret and how she clearly adored him.
Angela continues, “He’s actually quite famous.”
Famous. My fingers tense.
“And very successful and wealthy,” Dad adds, putting his arm around Angela’s shoulders, and the way his eyes light up, I know he means filthy rich. “They’ve got a great house.”
My stomach forms a knot, and my headache grows, pounding against my skull. “Your son is Ezra Williamson.”
Dad’s mouth drops open, and heat spreads from the back of my neck to my cheeks. I squirm in my seat, conscious I may as well have said she was the mother of Justin Bieber or Jennifer Lawrence.
But Angela beams. “He sure is. Good guess!”
I swallow hard, but my throat is dry. I grab Dad’s teacup and gulp down the still too warm green tea. Dad tilts his head at me, his gaze appraising. I rub my hand through my hair, and the teacup clatters down when I return it to the saucer, the sound not quite drowned out by the murmur of conversation in the restaurant.
I think of another reason why Ezra and I can never be together.
4.) If Dad has his way, he’s going to become my stepbrother.
Chapter Two
Ezra
Mom has gone to get the others, and I sit by myself in one of The Dragonfly’s private party rooms. I smile dryly. Every day is a private party for me, though there seems nothing particularly fun about staying in this room, nice as it is, as chatter sounds from the outside.
Mom chose this Thai restaurant for its neutral location and absence of fifteen-to-twenty-five-year-old girls. We used to go here before, and I chew on the shrimp satay appetizer, dipping it into the peanut sauce. It’s awesome, and I almost don’t mind that mom has been gone awhile.
I mean, of course I don’t mind; she needs to do her thing too.
Thai music plays in the background, and I try to relax into the chair, but the wooden grooves dig into my spine. I need to find my cool, but it’s not every day I meet a potential new stepbrother. Mom and Brad might think I don’t hear them talk about marriage, but they’re not very discreet.
My finger taps the round table, and soon I return to the melody that’s been going through my head all day. It’s not quite finished, and I try to see if I can work out the ending and find the place where the song needs to go.
Huge pictures of Thailand hang on the walls. I should suggest we go there. The beaches look almost as good as Californian ones. Better, if I’m being honest, but they get points subtracted for being far away.
“Ezra.” Mom’s voice enters through the fancy carved gold-and-black door, and I smile.
“Come in.”
The door swings open, and I rise to my feet. Mom grins at me, though she can’t hide the slight wobble in her smile from me. This is a big moment, and we both know it.
Brad enters the room first. He’s suave and charming and just perfect for her. He’s got himself all together. Not like my own dad.
My eyes flicker to the person behind him. My new stepbrother-to-be.
He’s wearing a navy blue t-shirt shirt that pulls tightly against his chest. Taut muscles that ripple and curve in a way that make my fingers itch to trace them are all too visible. Curly dark chest hair peaks from his neckline, and a tattoo of a dragon curves from his sleeve. My eyes flicker to the side. So he has muscles; so do I. No reason to look. Nothing to see there, folks.
I stride toward him, putting on the smile everyone loves.
A hollow feeling grows in m
y stomach, one I’ve begun to recognize all too well. Ever since Caleb announced he was gay and hooked up with our publicity manager, I’ve spent more time than I should noticing the men I meet.
Just being a good friend, I tell myself. Happens to all men whose best friends announce they’re gay.
My fingers clench and unclench. Alec’s face darkens, and Mom frowns at me. I notice too late that Alec is pulling his hand away from me, as if he extended it out and I didn’t even deign to shake it.
As if I’m the very worst type of son and the very worst sort of stepbrother-to-be.
I saunter toward him, and it’s easy for my body to be graceful. I perform before tens of thousands of people with regularity, feigning nonchalance and cool, even when my heart beats so quickly it’s as if it’s trying to fly me right out of the stadium. I stop before him. Closing the gap between us seems impossible. I want to approach him, but something just as powerful holds me back. As if there’s no returning once we meet.
I shake my head. I’m being ridiculous. Clearly, I just need to get laid.
With a woman. Obviously. With sultry curves, large, luscious breasts, and long, flowing locks.
Yes.
Mom is definitely tilting her head at me, and her eyebrows are raised a fraction. Enough for me to see I’m not masking my uncertainty as much as I should.
I grab on to Alec’s hand, shaking it firmly. I try not to notice the jolt of electricity that shoots through me as our hands touch, a current that warms me to my very core and makes my cock twitch in interest. I try to not notice the amber in his dark eyes and the stubble of his five-o-clock shadow.
“Hey, dude,” I say. “Zoned out a bit there. I’m Ezra.”
He nods to me, the movement short and curt. I remember Brad told me he was JROTC and he’s still hoping he’ll join the military. The guy is likely straight as they come, and my thoughts are completely, awesomely inappropriate.
I try to avoid looking at his soft brown hair and resist the urge to figure out if the scattering of light-colored strands are more chestnut or caramel.
“So . . .” Alec shoves his hands in his pockets, and his lanky legs shift from side to side. My eyes drop to the floor and to Alec’s feet—Alec’s large feet, to be precise—but really some details are best forgotten, right? I force my eyes to shift to the wood paneling of the restaurant’s floor. In actuality, I tell myself I am simply noticing the floor paneling. Definitely not Alec’s feet. Too little attention is given to floor paneling.
Mom ushers us to the table, obviously sensing the awkwardness that stretches between Alec and me. She slides into the chair beside me, and Brad takes the seat across from her. His hand squeezes hers, and I want to roll my eyes. The two are hopelessly, madly in love, and maybe it would be cute if it weren’t so gross. Mom’s eyes widen. Lately her makeup is always perfectly applied, and her black-coated and curled lashes drop down.
Brad and Mom are a reminder to me every day that I’m not in a relationship, that I haven’t found all the secrets to a happy life.
Alec moves slowly to the seat opposite mine, and his lips are pulled into a grim, tight line. I’m used to people being more excited to see me, thrusting pens and markers at me so I can sign pieces of paper, autograph books, or body parts. I tell myself his disinterest is why I want to stare at him.
“Your first time at The Dragonfly?” I ask.
Alec nods, and his face settles into a sullen expression. Not that it mars his handsomeness one bit. Unfortunately.
The music seems louder now. None of us can think of anything to say. We are all silent. Nothing, I’m sure, that bodes well for our new family. If we can’t think of anything to say when we don’t know one another, how can we think of anything to say when we know everything about one another?
“So, Dad.” Alec smirks like he has a secret, one I want to know. “Tell me about your backpacking days in Southeast Asia.”
His velvety voice and Southern accent, heavier than Brad’s and so different from the Californian surfer speak littered with the dudes and awesomes I’m accustomed to, makes my heart race as my mind concentrates on savoring every wonderful, rich note.
Brad clears his throat, and for a moment his face darkens, but he soon launches into a tale of herding escaped elephants in Northern Thailand.
I join in occasionally. I haven’t been to Thailand yet, but it’s only a matter of time, I think. Lots of people want to see us, and Julian’s replacement is eager to arrange tours for us.
Brad entertains us, and the food is great, though I try to avert my gaze from Alec. It’s too much of a struggle for me to not let my eyes linger on his straight nose, broad cheekbones, firm chest, and the way the candlelight from the restaurant flickers on his hair, illuminating strands I want to touch. Butterscotch strands, I decide, and my mind drifts to licking various parts of his body.
I swallow. Tonight’s going to be another one of those nights. I know I need to talk to Caleb, to talk to someone about these urges that throttle through my mind with ever-increasing force, but right now it’s a fight to get through this meal.
“Dessert?” The high-pitched voice of the Thai waitress interrupts me from my thoughts. Her eyelashes flutter, and I swear her shirt is more unbuttoned than it was. Seeing a glimpse of hot pink lace lingerie cannot be part of The Dragonfly’s official uniform.
“No, I’m fine,” I say.
A flicker of disappointment crosses her face.
“Or do you want some?” I turn to Alec, whom I’ve probably avoided all night, though I’m grateful his dad has so many fun experiences with which to entertain us.
He smiles at me, and for a second I think I’m going to fall into his gaze before he averts his eyes and mumbles, “I’m ready to get out of here.”
“Not so fast,” Brad interrupts. “Mango sorbet for all of us. These are growing boys.”
Mom rubs his hand, and he smiles at her.
“Excuse me for a moment, babe,” he says when the server leaves the room. He rises, and I hate that my first thought is that I don’t want to be alone with Alec, with only Mom for company. His body makes mine want things it shouldn’t. I swallow hard.
It’s because I’m between recordings, I tell myself. These feelings happened before, but I was able to drown them with work. I just need to do that again. The world tour will distract me.
I’m relieved when Brad returns. He kisses Mom’s cheek and rubs his hands together. “I can’t wait for mango sorbet.”
“Ah, yes,” Alec says. “Dad always used to talk about it back home. Just what you used to love having after a long day of backpacking, right, Dad?”
Brad smiles. “Nothing compares to the sorbet I got there, but this place does come close.”
The waitress comes in before I can figure out why Alec is frowning. She places our dessert before us, and my eyes flicker to the sorbet. I pick up my spoon and am about to dig in when mom screams next to me.
My eyes dart to her. She’s—she’s crying. I have never seen Mom cry before. Not when Dad left the first time and things were so hard. Not when he left the second time, and I did everything I could to make money singing and entering into competitions so I could help out with the finances. Thank God that worked.
But now, now she’s crying. And laughing. And—
Something shimmers in her hand, and I swallow.
My gaze drifts to Brad’s face. His face is solemn, and he slides onto the floor, kneeling down. “Angela Marie Williamson, will you do me the honor of becoming my wife?”
“Yes. Yes. Yes!” Mom screams, and she flings herself into his arms. They kiss, and I turn my head to Alec. His face is grim, and I feel a flicker of irritation that he seems less happy for them.
“I guess you’re my new stepbrother, Ezra.” He smiles, and my heartbeat thuds at being the recipient of his full charm. And then my mind processes his words.
Stepbrother. Oh, shit.
Chapter Three
Alec
The rest
of the night is a blur of celebratory chatter. Angela’s beam seems pasted to her face, and Dad has a smug look all his own.
“Champagne!” Dad announces, and I think he’s going to call the waitress back in, but instead he stands. “You gotta see their place, Alec!”
We abandon our sorbet to drive to Angela and Ezra’s house. I haul my oversized backpack, crammed full of all my belongings for my stay in LA, and stuff it into the trunk of Dad’s car.
“It’s new,” I say, staring at the slick curves of the vehicle, and he grins.
“You’ve missed out on so much, Alec. It’s great to have you here again.” He claps my shoulder. “Close to me.”
His words are so close to how a father should feel, and I avert my eyes, ashamed of my uncharitable thoughts toward him.
There once was a time when I adored, even idolized Dad. Back when Mom was still alive, Dad was everything I wanted to be when I grew up, and comments on our similarities made me burst with pride.
“So how do you like your new family?” Dad asks.
“You couldn’t have picked a more famous stepson,” I say.
“And he’s loaded.” Dad nods and smiles in a way anyone else would attribute to fatherly pride, but I know better.
I run my hand against the seat, uncomfortable sitting in the middle of all this luxury. How much did each square inch of this vehicle cost?
The expensive leather is too soft, too sumptuous. It’s not meant for someone like me. I still remember the trailer park in Kentucky.
But Dad is still trying to get something better, with as little effort as possible.
“You haven’t changed at all,” I grumble.
“Hey.” Dad narrows his eyes at me. “Don’t talk like that. Angela is a marvelous woman.”
“So much so that you want to marry her?”
Dad smiles slowly. “Exactly.”
I’m silent.
“You’re always so cool, Alec. Keep it that way.”
Maybe he envisions a two- or three-year marriage, lengthy vacations, and lengthier “business trips” as he uses his supposed MBA. I hate everything about the marriage.
My Stepbrother the Rock Star (Men of Midnight Dreams Book 2) Page 2
