by Iris Parker
Fifteen minutes later, we arrived at the heavily gentrified district I was staying in. Even though it wasn’t far from the rec center, it felt like another planet. Here, metal detectors and barred windows were replaced by doormen in hats. The lush, green parks and flower-covered street medians were worlds away from the yellow grass and dried, parched dirt patches of West Field.
We crossed the street, entering the majestic marble lobby of the hotel. The doorman smiled, greeting me by name.
“I can call a valet to bring the car,” I called to Emilia, who was gawking at a fountain. In the middle of it sat a statue of an angel, strumming over a large harp whose strings were made of continually falling water. The angel’s wings were made of some kind of hollow crystal, a cleverly disguised tank filled with exotic tropical fish.
Emilia turned to face me, her mouth hanging open.
“Well don’t look at me, the fountain wasn’t my idea,” I quipped. “I might be new money, but not that new.”
“It just hadn’t quite sunk in, how big of a success you really are,” she sputtered softly.
“Believe me, I know the feeling. I’m still surprised, too,” I replied, her eyes inspecting the ornate reception desk from afar. “You should see the room I’m staying in. Very soothing, a great place to rest after mornings at the center and afternoons with my mom.”
I didn’t mention that the reason I needed to relax was because Emilia had me perpetually wound up tighter than a clam with lockjaw.
“Want to try it? There’s plenty of room if you stay,” I offered, apparently in a sudden fit of self-hatred and masochism. If she stayed here, there was no way I was sleeping. Or relaxing. Or spending a single moment doing anything other than thinking about her.
“Is that some kind of sleazy proposition, little brother?”
“Little? I’m bigger than you. And older than you. And we’ve both been through a lot tonight, and at least I could use the company. There’s a large bathtub, a larger couch, and an even larger TV. We could call room service, and—”
“Why are you always trying to feed me? Do you have some kind of fetish for larger women?” Emilia said, her eyes twinkling.
“Well, little sis, it’d help if you didn’t look like you were one missed meal away from starring in an ad for Anorexia Awareness Week,” I teased. “Besides, if I were into bigger girls, I bet you’d be jealous.”
We made it as far as the elevator before Emilia and I both burst into a fit of laughter.
“Okay okay, fine. Frankly, you had me at large bathtub.”
I took her by the elbow as we walked into the staffed elevator, telling the attendant to take us to the tenth floor. My heart and head were both pounding like crazy, wondering what on earth had possessed me to invite Emilia over.
I’d used that bathtub to get some relief from images of her flashing through my head, and now we were talking about her using it? Really? Had I gone completely insane? Living with so many people at boarding school had been difficult enough, but tonight was going to be absolute torture.
That’s what happens when you let your heart speak before your brain can stop it.
Oddly enough, it’s the same thing that happens when you let your cock speak before your brain can stop it.
I really needed a faster brain.
Still, I was raw from all that time in the hospital. Too many painful memories. Given the choice between battling long-buried demons or battling the intense lust I felt for my stepsister, the latter sounded more fun.
Once we arrived at the tenth floor, I swiped my keycard through the scanner and waved my arms at the door dramatically, allowing Emilia to walk in first.
“Simon, this is gorgeous!” she said, whistling in approval.
So are you, I thought, barely managing to replace the words with vapid bragging.
“You haven’t seen anything yet. That’s just the meeting room. Wait until you see the suite,” I explained, guiding her through the second set of doors and into the actual hotel room. It was a large, single space with a massive bed in the center, mounted on a round platform and facing a TV so large that it probably took more energy to run than my entire apartment.
In the corner sat a huge, round, free-standing copper bathtub next to a glass-paneled fireplace. Above the tub was a panorama style window, cleverly tilted so no one could see inside.
“Jesus, Simon! I feel like I can’t even afford to breathe the air in this place,” Emilia said.
“Well, the hotel does have sensors to monitor oxygen consumption. The going rate is about ten bucks a breath. Maybe eight for you, since your lungs are smaller than mine. You can afford that, right?” I joked, winking at her.
Emilia laughed, delight and pure excitement written all over her face as she examined the rest of the room.
“This couch is bigger than my bed!” she exclaimed. “Fuck, it’s bigger than my bedroom!”
“Glad you like it.”
“And this bathtub…were you serious when you said I could use it? That wouldn’t be weird? I haven’t had a real bath in years,” she gushed.
So much for hoping she’d forgotten that part, I thought, mentally kicking myself.
“Go ahead. I can turn off the lights for this section to give you a little privacy. If it’s too dark, you can use the tea candles by the fireplace. There’s also some foaming bath salts in one of the drawers, if you want to cover up a little in the water,” I offered helpfully.
It took me about ten seconds to realize that maybe, just maybe, suggesting a candle-lit bubble bath was not the best way to make this less sexual.
“Thanks!” Emilia chirped, beginning to fill the tub with water. Thankfully, she seemed to overlook the sensual imagery of my idea.
Well, that made sense. She’d only have noticed my mistake if she were thinking of me as anything but a stepbrother, and clearly that wasn’t happening. No, my perverted little crush was most definitely unrequited.
What followed next was, without a doubt, one of the most heart-thumpingly exciting, mind-bogglingly frustrating, and unbelievably awkward minutes of my life. Emilia had an athlete’s relationship to nudity, the result of constantly being in situations where there was no time or room for modesty.
Usually, I felt the same way. I’d been naked around more people than I could count, and they had all been naked around me. It was no big deal. At least, it was no big deal when it was one of the guys. When it was a woman, things still felt a little strange.
When it was Emilia, though? Jesus.
Professional apathy was the furthest thing from my mind as she began to disrobe a few feet away from me. Half of me was thrilled that this was actually, really happening. I’d never dreamed she would feel comfortable enough around me to do something like this, and I was pumped.
The other half of me, of course, was screaming in frustration. No doubt this was a once-in-a-lifetime thing, and I was wasting it by staring at a wall. My self-control started boiling away as I was filled with nervous energy. My body’s automatic response to the stressful situation was to pace the room mindlessly, except I couldn’t do that.
Pacing would mean turning around.
Turning around would mean seeing her.
The sound of rushing water faded away as Emilia shut the faucet off.
In the silence that followed, I could hear every move she made.
I could hear her undressing.
Biting my lip harder than I intended, I made a beeline for the phone and hastily dialed room service.
“Ferguson here,” I said, my voice as stiff as other parts of my body. “Penthouse suite one. I’d like to have tea for two, delivered right away.”
There was a whooshing noise behind me as the last of Emilia’s clothes hit the ground, followed by a splash as she slid her way into the tub.
Somehow, against all odds, my underwear got even tighter.
“Actually, make that full tea. Sweet and savory,” I said, hanging up the phone absent-mindedly.
E
milia let out a long, loud sigh of contentment, water sloshing and dripping as she lifted her arms onto the side of the tub.
At least, dear lord, I hoped it was her arms.
It seemed inevitable. She was going to do what years playing professional rugby hadn’t. One little bath causing more damage than a decade of slamming into some of the biggest, toughest men in the world.
She was going to give me a damned heart attack.
For the next ten minutes I sat in perfect stillness, my fingers laced together on top of a table so they wouldn’t cause any embarrassing trouble in my lap. I questioned my sanity, wondering what on earth had possessed me to invite her up here for something like this.
I opened my mouth to make conversation, but quickly decided against it. Every time I had spoken before thinking tonight, it had caused nothing but trouble.
Silence was definitely my best option tonight.
I passed the time by tracing lines in the grain of the hardwood floors, following each streak to its end with my eyes. I spent several minutes on it, a small distraction turning into an obsession that purified my mind of sinful thoughts. For a moment, it seemed like I was going to be okay.
At least until she started talking.
“What’s the difference between ‘tea’ and ‘full tea?’” she asked, my path to serenity vanishing before her sultry voice.
“When I ordered tea, I was getting us drinks. Full tea is a bit more involved. Think high tea, with sweets and lots of baked goods.”
“We just had pizza at the diner, Simon,” she laughed. “You’re an animal!”
The good part of facing away from her is that she couldn’t possibly have seen my face twitching when she spoke.
“Well, I’m still hungry,” I said. Or at least some kind of word that began with h- and ended with -ry. Still, I’d had luck in the past with distracting one by feeding the other….
“You are such a cliché,” she teased, and the last of my restraint went the way of the dinosaurs. “Big rugby player, big guy, big muscles, big appetite….”
“You haven’t seen every part of me that’s big, you know, sis.” Especially not right now. God my pants felt tight.
“Simon, you said this wasn’t going to be sleazy!”
I laughed, standing up and walking over to the tub. The bubbles covered her body, but the look on her face was priceless.
“I actually didn’t say that, remember? You asked if it was going to be, but you cut me off before I could answer.”
She looked up at me in silence, her eyes dancing in the dim candlelight.
“Is it sleazy that I want you more than I want my next breath? That every time I win a game and I have a dozen groupies throwing themselves at me, I always fuck whichever one looks the most like you? Is that sleazy?” I asked, my eyes fixed on her face.
“Jesus, Simon…” she said, squirming as I looked down at her supple body faintly outlined in the water.
We both stared at each other in silence, and I stood breathless, a sinking feeling overcoming me as I waited for her answer. I never got to hear what it was, however, as a loud knock resonated against my door.
“Room service,” called a voice, and I shuddered with frustration. I’d have given all of my fame and fortune to know what Emilia was about to say, but the moment was gone. I went to open the door, making way for a cart full of cookies and cakes.
I thanked the waiter, handed him an excessively large tip, and then gave him a look that said get the hell out. He got the message quickly enough.
I closed the door and turned back around, my head pounding. By the time I got back, Emilia was wearing one of the hotel’s robes and looked thoroughly pissed off.
Of course she was. She had a right to be mad. Once again, I’d acted like a predator in her presence. I took a deep breath, snapping myself back to reality.
“I’m sorry, that was out of line. It should never have happened,” I said.
“No, it shouldn’t have. Wasn’t tonight already hard enough?”
I nodded. The shooting had brought up a lot of unpleasant memories, and apparently a lot of self-destructive behavior I’d believed to be long over.
Emilia walked up to the bed, sitting on the corner of it with her arms crossed over her chest. She was taking long, deep breaths, her neck corded with tension. It broke my heart to see her like that, when just an hour ago we were joking around like old friends.
“I’m sorry, that was out of line. Tell me you hate me,” I begged, taking a step backwards. “Tell me you still hate me, so I can go back to England tomorrow. The center can still have all the money.”
“You don’t have to go,” she said quietly.
“But—”
“There are no buts,” she said, launching herself from the bed back to her feet. “Just…just don’t, okay?”
“You don’t need to worry about the team, I’ll hire my own replacement. There are a lot of great coaches out there, and I know most of them. In fact —”
“—I’m not worrying about the team, Simon,” she said, her voice high and strained. “Look, this conversation is over, all right? I need to get dressed.”
“Your clothes are dirty,” I pointed out awkwardly, too stunned to say more.
“They’re the only clothes I have with me.”
“I could lend you something.”
“I don’t see how,” she said.
“I have a t-shirt that’s a little tight on me, it would probably fit you…assuming you didn’t mind wearing it like a dress, that is.”
“Sure, let’s do that,” Emilia said, a hint of playfulness creeping slowly back into her voice. The look on her face was gloriously brighter than it had been a moment ago, and I felt a thousand pounds lighter.
Elated, I hurried over to the built-in cupboard and pulled out one of my smaller shirts. Handing it to her with a shy smile, I turned away and gave her a little privacy. A few seconds later, she tapped me on the shoulder and I spun back around to face her.
She looked positively radiant. Fresh-faced, her skin was still pink from the bath, and she gave me a shy smile. The white t-shirt made her look deliciously innocent, its length falling down below her knees and the wide neck hole exposing part of her shoulder.
“I actually wanted to stay here a little longer, you know. It's been such a hard night... I don't really want to go back home just yet," she explained, her voice small and hopeful.
“Well, you know...” I began, and the way her eyes widened confirmed that we were thinking the same thing. "You could actually sleep here, if you wanted. I can always crash on the couch.”
“Oh my, we could actually pop in a mindless movie, and stuff ourselves with those delicious madeleines I can see on the tray behind you. Maybe it’ll help me relax, and I’ll actually be able to get a little rest.”
That sounded like the best damned idea in the world.
Somehow, the terrible night had turned into something good. I had Emilia with me, and maybe, if I could avoid idiotic outbursts like the one I’d had earlier, maybe we could actually rebuild something.
“Get in bed, I’ll get the cart” I said, fetching Emilia some herbal tea and a madeleine before settling into bed myself.
She clicked on the television and patted the space next to her, enticing me to come sit right there. As soon as I did, she smiled sheepishly and slowly rested her head against my chest, warm and solid against my skin.
I felt blessed with her generosity and wondered if she could hear just how fast my heart was beating.
Another summer with my so called “family.” Great.
Maybe it’s just because she has a reputation for being a slut, but damn, Emilia is freaking hot now.
Probably for the best that she won’t even speak to me.
Wouldn’t want to fuck a stuck-up bitch like her anyway.
“So, ready to get your ass kicked tonight?” Simon asked.
“That depends, are you ready to stop staring at it long enough to beat me?” I s
hot back, enjoying every second of the reaction that followed. His face went from painfully smug to shocked, and from shocked to embarrassed, before finally settling back on smug.
Of course, his arrogance was probably deserved. I’d never really gotten into team sports very much, only with a stint on the lacrosse team back in college to show for my pedigree. I had enjoyed it, but my joining was also a total fluke. Like all the other team members, I’d only tried out because my track-and-field coach had begged me to do so, desperate to get the school’s first foray into lacrosse off the ground. It was fun, but not nearly as fun as running.
Simon, on the other hand, had devoted his life to team sports. The truth was, I probably was about to take a pounding, but I damn well wasn’t going to feed his ego any further by admitting that.
He grinned at me as I finished the last crumbs of the poppy seed muffin he’d brought me, and I smiled back. After spending the night in his arms, I’d been sleeping better than I had in many years, and our endless power struggle had almost completely transformed into a friendly rivalry. Both of us were in a fantastic mood, especially after spending so much of the weekend helping Ella and Theo.
Simon had focused his efforts in Theo’s bedroom with Ella, clearing out the unbelievable mess that had accumulated over the years. Somehow, in just a couple of days, the mountains of clutter that had been buried in every nook and cranny were slowly cleaned in a feat that would’ve made Hercules proud. Meanwhile, I had gone grocery shopping and cooked up a storm on Ella’s old, greasy cooking, range. By the time I had finished, there were enough frozen meals prepared to last all of Theo’s convalescence.
On both Saturday and Sunday, after we’d taken off for the night, Simon had invited me to eat at the Greek restaurant attached to his hotel. We’d had loads of fun and, against all odds, managed to catch up on our lives since we last saw each other.
“How is it,” I’d asked between bites of absolutely amazing falafel, “that I’ve never heard about you living here before? Or attending the Goodman Youth Center, for that matter?”
