I rustle my hand through my hair. It’s slick with sweat. I need a shower. I push open the curtains and lift up the blinds. Sunlight beams through the room, casting shadows over the furniture. I open the window, and the sound of the waves once again fills the room.
Everything seems perfect.
My mouth is dry, and I chug some water, pressing my hands hard against the glass.
“Ezra!” Mom’s voice rings from downstairs, and I pull my clothes on hastily and rush out of the room. She’s home way too early, and I worry something may have happened between her and Brad.
Maybe Alec somehow convinced Brad to call everything off, and she’s distraught.
I hurry down the stairs, buttoning my shirt, but when I slide around the corner, Brad and Alec turn their heads to me. Trixie is climbing all over Alec’s muscular arms, purring as if she’s never been happier in her whole kitty life. Alec’s eyes are closed, and a blissful expression is on his face as he strokes her fur.
I swallow hard, and my steps slow as I approach them.
“Ezra, honey!” Mom beams at me, and I relax. It’s been the two of us for a long time, and I like it when she’s happy.
“Hey, guys.” I nod at Brad and fist-bump Alec, and do my best to ignore the electricity that runs through me as our skin makes contact. It’s just a fist bump, it’s no big deal, I tell myself, but my hand still itches to return to his.
I turn from them and rummage through the refrigerator, even though I’m not hungry. I try to keep my voice casual. “Um, so what are you doing here?”
Mom coughs.
“I mean, it’s nice to see you, dude.” I give him my best surfer smile, but he doesn’t smile back at me.
I pour myself a glass of milk, and it’s a miracle when I manage to grip the glass in my hand and not send it clattering onto the floor.
“We decided to move in early!” Brad’s voice booms out excitedly, and he sweeps Mom into a Hollywood kiss. Her back dips down, and they look like they’re practicing for wedding photos.
I smile at them, but Alec’s face darkens, and he shifts his legs from side to side as if he can’t wait to get out of here.
“You have so much here, so I got rid of most of my things.” Alec shrugs and looks around. “So, um, where’s my room?”
Mom smooths her clothes and glances at me. “Why don’t you give Alec a tour, Ezra?”
“Sure.” I nod and set the glass down on the countertop. My hand is too firm, and the glass chimes as it collides with the granite.
Mom darts me a quick look, and I clear my throat. “So, Alec.”
I start moving to the staircase, and he sighs behind me before heavy steps follow me.
My fingers clench together, and I wish I had spent the evening working late in the studio instead. I’m glad I’m striding in front of him. I’m glad I’m not watching his butt as we go up the stairs.
“So how long did you live in Kentucky, Alec?” I ask, desperate to find something, anything for us to talk about.
“Whole life until now,” Alec drawls back.
My fingers tighten on the railing. “That’s, um, pretty long.”
He doesn’t deign to respond, and I can’t blame him.
I show him the various bedrooms and point out the pool to him.
His words are monotone, and I start to get annoyed. “You’re not very vocal, are you?”
Alec fixes his dark brown eyes on me, and I look away when I realize I’m pondering the blackness of his eyelashes and the shards of gold that mingle with rich brown in his eyes. On anyone else, the eyes would look warm, but Alec’s lips remain pressed in a tight line, and I know nothing could be further from the truth.
For not the first time, I wish maybe Mom hadn’t picked Brad, but I know I’m being an idiot. If Alec seems cold to me, it’s probably because he’s smart and recognizes the kind of fraud I am. I’m not sure if he thinks I’m a homophobe or not, but I know he doesn’t respect me. And I can’t blame him. I don’t respect myself right now.
“You gonna show me your room?” Alec asks.
“Maybe it’s not a great idea.” My voice wobbles as images of the beach surge through me, and Alec smirks.
“Thought so.”
I frown, march outside and enter the suite above the carriage house, past the pool, and past a gardener in the distance. I fling open my bedroom door and step inside. “There! Satisfied?”
I cross my arms, and my heart hammers in my chest as Alec moves into the room, assessing it like a wildcat. He shuts the door and winks.
“I don’t think closing the door is necessary,” I say, but my body seems alive with the thought that we are alone and that we might touch and do just what we did in the car, only more of it this time. Much more of it. I lean against the wall of my bedroom, trying to look nonchalant and not seem like I need it for support because my knees are shaking so damned hard.
Alec marches to my closet and opens the door.
“What the hell?” I swear and stride after him.
Alec flashes me a grin that shoots through my whole body, and he proceeds to open and close my drawers. He’s behaving completely and utterly horribly, as if he really wants to push me away.
“Stop it.” I try to make my voice stern. “Stop it now.”
Alec grins. “No porn.”
My eyebrows shoot up. “You were looking for porn?”
“Uh-huh. You’re a virile sort of guy without a girlfriend. I would think you would have some porn.”
“Um . . .”
“But you don’t.” Alec’s eyes assess me, and I squirm. My eyes flicker to my laptop, and he laughs. “Or at least you just have the kind you can’t show anyone else. Or worry about your maid or mom finding.”
I grit my teeth. Anger soars through me. I hate him now. He’s not a nice guy. I’m sure of it. Even if all I want to do is push him onto the bed. Or let him push me onto it.
I avert my eyes. I can’t look at him. Or at the bed. Am I getting hard? My privacy is being disregarded, and I’m getting hard?
I muster all the self-restraint I can. I suck in a deep breath of air. “Get out. Get out of my room.”
Alec pauses and then shrugs. He brushes up against me as he leaves the room, and I can smell his tantalizing scent. I’m only glad he didn’t grope me because I’m sure I don’t want him to know how turned on I am.
The door shuts behind him, and I am left with the pounding of my heart and the sound of his footsteps descending the stairs of the carriage house.
***
I storm into Midnight Dreams Studio. The choreographer is there, working out dance moves for all of us. Normally, I love these days, love creating something brand new, in a way no one has ever done exactly before. Normally, I love watching the choreography unfold to the songs I wrote or co-wrote. But today—today, everything is horrible.
“Twenty-minute break,” the choreographer says, his expression pained.
“Cool.” Giovante’s voice is too cheerful, and I know he’s making up for my lack of enthusiasm. About anything. Even breaks.
The other band members cast glances at each other. I’m supposed to be the glue that holds everyone together, and my behaviour is throwing everything off completely.
I know that, and it fills me with guilt, which just makes me angry. Tension surges through me, and when I glance down, my hands are pulled into tight fists.
“What’s wrong?” Caleb comes up to me. “Tell me.”
I contemplate telling Caleb everything. Really, I do. I open my mouth, but Kyle and Luca are just a bit too close, and I don’t want this to be something that anyone else overhears. Maybe it shouldn’t matter, but right now, I can’t bear them learning about it.
“Nothing.” I scowl at Caleb. “Things are great.”
“Everything?”
“Except for my stepbrother,” I mutter. “He’s horrible. He’s completely crazy. So aggressive and—”
Caleb’s mouth parts. “I’m sorry.”
&nbs
p; “Yeah, so am I.” I scowl again. Maybe if I’m angry enough at him, I’ll forget about how completely hot he is. How completely crazy he makes me.
Nah, nothing will make me forget that.
“Maybe you should talk to him,” Caleb says.
“Seriously?” My mouth falls open. “I never know what he’s going to do and—I mean he’s really smart and everything, I just—well he doesn’t want our parents to get married.”
“New families are difficult.” Caleb shrugs. “Even old families are difficult. I wish I had a better relationship with my family.”
I appraise him. Maybe he’s right. Caleb’s parents live all the way in Portugal, and he never sees him. And when he does, it’s all awkward. Maybe I just need to get on the right foot again with Alec. Maybe then he’ll forget about taunting me for my lack of readily available pornography. I mean, if that’s the sort of thing he’s insulting me over, it means he’s really searching for insults, right? I hope so.
Chapter Nine
Alec
I don’t see Ezra for days after that. His shower sounds in the morning, and his yellow convertible rumbles each morning for his drive to the studio. When I return from my internship at the end of each day, the only thing in my life actually going well, he is still gone, and he lets himself in late at night.
Angela says Ezra is inspired, writing songs with Caleb and some famous new composer at the studio, Teddy Ames. But I know better. I know I’ve driven him away. Guilt gnaws at me, but it’s better for him in the long term if he gets to a position where he can break up the marriage. Maybe Angela will realize any potential marriage to Dad would make her son too unhappy to be worthwhile.
The only one happy here is Angela. I wonder if Dad feels guilty. Maybe he really does think he’s in love with her. I hope so. Though if that’s the case, I shouldn’t be trying to break them up, and that uncertainty, that slim chance that perhaps my father is acting with honor and I am destroying his chance of happiness, wears down on me too. Am I simply too mistrustful, too cynical, because all my relationships have been of the short-term variety, confined mostly to one-night stands? Is the fault with me? Ezra would say so, I’m sure.
One day, the slam of a car door jolts me from my research on manufacturing methods.
“Alec!” Dad’s voice is excited, and I stride next to him. We gaze out the window.
Ezra steps from his slick convertible, and for a moment I am content to gaze at his muscular body and sun-bleached hair.
“Who is that?” Dad asks, and I don’t fail to notice the awe in his voice.
Ezra is accompanying a woman. A gorgeous woman. So not my type, but yeah, she’s definitely gorgeous. She’s tall and slim but has curves in all the right places like a supermodel. In fact . . .
“Is that Celia Vardon?” Dad’s head moves up and down, like he’s trying to drink her in with his eyes, as if there’s no glass screen or distance between them.
“Um . . .” I scrutinize the woman, and my chest tightens. “I think so.”
Celia is famous. The first famous person I’ve seen here, though I don’t blame Ezra for not wanting to invite any of his friends over. Celia drapes herself over him and tucks a tanned hand, adorned with silver-and-gold bracelets that shimmer in the sunshine, under his arm. She pulls him into a lengthy French kiss, sucking on his lips, and my stomach plummets.
Ezra couldn’t have made it any clearer he’s definitely not attracted to me. The man is straight with a capital S, and he’s got one of the hottest women around.
Ezra and Celia stroll into the house, Celia’s hand still clutching his arm.
“Hey, Alec.” Ezra’s voice is husky, and I love it. “Have you met Celia? She’s a model.”
Celia grins and extends a hand to me. Am I supposed to kiss it?
Dad saves me, swooping in and kissing it himself. “We are honored. So honored.”
Celia’s eyes widen, and Dad smiles. He is all charm as he leads her to the living room, like he’s the host. Which I suppose he is, in a way, because dad lives here now too. His hand dips down to the small of her back, and she laughs at something he’s saying.
Ezra stares at me.
“What are you doing?” I whisper.
“Having fun.” Ezra juts his chin out. “Awesome fun.”
My jaw tightens at his words, and my whole body is rigid. Somehow I allowed myself to imagine there could be more between us, but that was just insanity.
Ezra presses his lips together, and I want to cry because he’s so cute. “Celia is hot.”
I shrug and do my best to act like his words do not affect me at all. “Then go have fun with her. Or”—and I swallow, because this time I’m acting in my own interests too and not just in my desire to break up my father’s impending marriage—“Come have fun with me.”
Ezra turns from me abruptly to join Celia.
I tuck my hands into my pockets and go upstairs. I don’t need to watch him with Celia. I don’t need to see that the fantasies I have about him will always remain fantasies.
***
After our encounter, I see him more often. Maybe that has more to do with needing to go home than it has with wanting to see me, but I like to think it’s the latter. He never does knock on my bedroom door, even though I yearn for it often enough, so much so that my mind makes up the sound of someone wandering the hallway late at night.
But whenever I check my door, no one is standing outside. Because Ezra in my room—that’s a fantasy. Heat rises to my cheeks as I consider that that’s a fantasy I share with a whole lot of teen girls.
One night though, I do see him, and I almost start. I’m striding downstairs to get some water, and Ezra is apparently sneaking in the main part of the house, arriving late when he thinks we won’t run into each other.
“Um . . .” He puts his hands in his pockets, and I don’t fail to notice the dark circles under his eyes. I hate to see him looking miserable.
“How is work?” I ask.
I want to question him about Celia, but I can’t bear to hear the answers. I know they went to an award show together; I saw the pictures of Ezra in a swanky suit on the shiny cover of a national tabloid at a gas station. Celia hung on his side in a sultry gown that displayed so much cleavage I bet the silk dress was taped to her.
“Work is fine,” Ezra says. “Yours?”
“Fine.” I nod, and my heart beats wildly in my chest despite the utter banality of our short conversation.
I strive to talk about something. We live together. We’re soon-to-be-brothers for God’s sake. We should be able to make conversation. My eyes drift to his body, and I notice a DVD clutched in his hand.
“What’s that?” I ask.
“New documentary about the label.” Ezra shrugs.
I nod.
“Well,” Ezra pauses, and my whole body aches to hear what he’s going to say, “I hate this tension. Truce?”
I open my mouth, unsure of what to say. His skin darkens in the shadows, and he shifts his legs. He holds up the DVD box, and his face is scrunched into an adorable expression. “You can see it with me if you want. I mean, you don’t have to, of course. Just if you’re bored.”
“Um . . .” I rub my hand through my hair. My heart is beating so hard that Ezra surely must be able to hear it.
I’m not going to sit on the bed watching movies of him. That’s not going to happen. The camera loves Ezra, and it seems to take joy in discovering the planes of his face. I know all of this already. I know how his shaggy blond hair ruffles in the wind when he’s about to surf, and I know the way his face beams when his mother praises him. I know the shape of his succulent lips by heart. I know the elegant curve of his neck and how quickly it takes for his beard to grow before he needs to shave again.
He shaves too often, though I love it when stubble shadows his face. I love the blueness of his eyes, as if he’s bringing the ocean straight to me. I love the wonder I see there and his kindness and humbleness, even though the man
is a star. I love that he’s kind to his mother and that he’s talented. And everyone in America—no, everyone in the world—seems to know just how fantastic he is.
I am drawn to everything about him, and I hate it.
I’m not ever going to be able to just lie on his bed as the documentary maker extols some of these same virtues.
Because who wouldn’t want an Ezra? The man’s a household name. In fact, the number of people naming their children Ezra has skyrocketed in recent years, and I don’t want to hang around watching entertainment news as the presenters hypothesize that that’s all because of him.
I rub my chest and tell myself I just have a crush. I’m just as infatuated as every other fan he has.
“Never mind.” Ezra bites his lower lip, and I’m reminded we’re standing on the stairs, whispering in the dark, and I’m being completely rude. As always.
“I thought . . .” Ezra’s shoulders slump.
My mouth dries, and I hate that he’s looking at me as if I’m rejecting him. As if that could ever be possible when he’s the one who is absolutely perfect.
“I hate that we’re so distant,” Ezra continues. “We’re going to be brothers after all. We live together. I—”
I want to kiss his troubles away. But instead I take the DVD from him.
“What are you doing?” he stammers.
I smile. “Let’s go see it.”
“Really?” Ezra’s eyes are wide, and the knot in my chest tightens.
I nod my head and stride toward the carriage house. My feet crunch against the gravel on the ground outside, and I swivel my head up to the corner of the house where Dad and Angela are. We’re just going to watch a documentary, but I don’t want Dad to see me entering the carriage house so late.
Ezra scrambles after me. I swing around and steady my jaw as he approaches me. I can smell the faint mixture of sweat and the ocean. I want to close my eyes and savor this moment, allow everything about Ezra to wash over me. My cock twitches, and I want to grab hold of it. I want to jerk off so bad it hurts, but instead I steady my eyes and gaze back at Ezra.
My Stepbrother the Rock Star (Men of Midnight Dreams Book 2) Page 6
