by Iris Parker
“You never asked,” he’d shrugged.
“Oh come on, am I supposed to ask every little detail about you? Hmm, did you ever change your name from Aaden? Aaron? Abel?” I’d teased. “But honestly, I’m surprised the center never bragged about you. Having such a famous professional athlete among its alumni seems huge.”
“Well, I didn’t exactly attend it with any kind of regularity, you know.”
“Why not?”
“I was too busy being a little asshole thug. I had so much hate back then,” he’d said quietly.
“I remember,” I’d responded somberly.
“No, you don’t. As hard as it is to believe, I used to be worse.”
“I don’t see how that’s even possible. Besides, you were already living in England when you were just fifteen. How bad could you have really been, back when you were barely out of your tweens?”
“Well, let’s just say I was an early bloomer. Very early. But by the time I met you, I’d already turned most of it inward. After Jake…”
His voice had trailed away then. As much as I’d wanted to hear more, I knew better than to push. The Simon I was discovering now had nothing in common with the terrible bully he’d been so long ago, and the sad look in his eyes had told me that, while he had broken free from the past, he still hadn’t forgotten it. I certainly wasn’t going to be the one to chain him back up with old memories.
“Hello? Earth to Em?” Simon said, waving a cup of coffee in front of my face. “What’s going on?”
“Just thinking,” I said, blinking a few times and returning to the here-and-now.
“About?”
“How much I’m going to make you regret thinking you can beat me at basketball, you silly British git.”
“Blimey, been saving that one, little lass? Tonight at seven, we’ll see who’s full of guff,” he teased, making his way towards the door. Before leaving, he turned and looked back at me. “And Em?”
“Yes?”
“I hope you remember the stakes of our little wager, I know I do,” he said with a wink, swaggering out of the room.
“Bloody hell,” I said quietly.
She’s in my face all day, flaunting her fine ass and bare legs right in front of me.
I can’t stand it here.
The air was sweltering. Still and humid, it seemed to blanket the whole city in a stifling fog. Heat radiated up from the asphalt, and out from the slew of players who’d invited themselves to join our game of streetball. Even the clothes on my back prickled my skin, making everything about this midsummer evening an unbearable, sweaty mess.
So, it shouldn’t have surprised me when Simon pulled off his shirt.
It really, really shouldn’t have.
Except, of course, it did. Majorly. Seeing the muscle shirt peeling up his chest and over his head, the grin on his face, the way his damp skin glimmered in the light. It felt like the wind had been knocked out of me, as if a heavy rock had landed on my stomach and stayed there.
Oh boy.
I’d been holding my own quite well until that moment. We had four members on each team, and even though at five-feet-two I was greatly outsized by the other seven players, I’d put up a fierce competition. I hadn’t cared about the streams of sweat running down my neck, or the fact my tank top had gotten soaked long ago, or the way I looked like a hot mess in front of Simon.
Except, Simon had taken off his shirt, and now suddenly I was a hot mess. My concentration immediately bottomed out, and he grinned triumphantly at me. His black hair tousled, sweat dripping on his face and running in rivulets down to the most majestic chest I’d ever seen. He was wide and strong, bulging with a well-defined physique that the Phys Ed student in me took a mental inventory of.
His deltoids, his biceps, his triceps, even muscles straining through his athletic shorts and making themselves known. Tension filled my body, making me want to shake, to shiver, to touch.
Anatomy class would’ve been a hell of a lot more fun if we’d been studying models like Simon Ferguson.
Even with my disheveled appearance, I felt incredibly feminine. I was dwarfed by his masculinity, his presence, the ripples in his arms as he grabbed the ball and dribbled towards the hoop. I could see the veins in his chest clearly, imagining the blood that was pumping through them as he surged towards me. With every heavy breath he took, I imagined a thousand stories of lust and physicality. Pain and athleticism, strength and testosterone. His most striking feature, however, was the tattoo sleeve that began on his upper arm and spanned to his left shoulder, running all the way to his back. How intricate it was, how the—
“EMILIA! Helllooooooooo?” roared one of my teammates, his arms flung wide as he yelled. “He ran right past you! How about you just take a picture and be done with it? Or do we need to stick you in an all-girl game to get some focus out of you?”
A large group of spectators, most of which were regulars at the youth center, all burst into laughter from the curb. Mortified, I realized that I’d probably been standing there gawking, completely immobile, for at least a minute.
Way to lose all your credibility, I chastised myself, reflecting that by this time tomorrow half the center would be giving me the same kind of crap they gave the girls who spent their time ogling JBJB in the computer room. Behind me, I heard Simon calling a foul.
“Can we take a small break?” he asked, grabbing a couple bottles of water and running one up to me. I froze, a sick feeling in my stomach that he was about to take this opportunity to turn my mistake into a big joke in front of a big audience. He had the power to completely trash my reputation with everyone at the center, turning my happy life into a waking nightmare.
Again, I thought, frustrated at the memory as I watched him come closer. I stared at the water he was carrying, wondering if that was part of the joke too. If he planned on waiting until I had my lips wrapped around the bottle before announcing that I was great at sucking things.
Not that he was ever going to get a chance to find out. Not if he was turning back into the lying, asshole of a bully I’d once known.
I balled my hands into fists, staring straight into his obnoxiously perfect blue eyes. An explosive mix of anger and embarrassment was building within me. Fury and, yes, the unmistakable tinge of desire as I glanced back down to his perfectly chiseled abs. I could feel myself trembling with the urge to lash out, even as I blushed to the roots of my hair.
“Are you okay?” he asked softly, his voice full of concern as he handed me the bottle of water. As much as I wanted to hate him, there wasn’t a single trace of mockery or malice in his tone. He seemed sincere.
“I’m fine,” I said quietly.
“You just stopped,” he said, placing a hand on my cheek and guiding me off to the side of the curb. “You’ve probably sweated out ten pounds of water, which isn’t great considering you probably only weigh fifteen pounds to begin with. Drink.”
“I weigh more than fifteen pounds,” I said petulantly, opening the icy cold water and swallowing it all in a single long swig.
“All the same, you had me worried for a minute there,” he said, standing in front of me and mercifully blocking the gawking crowd’s view of me. “This was a bad idea.”
“It was?”
“Yeah. Well, at least doing it with an audience, anyway,” he added, grabbing the discarded shirt and using it as a rag to wipe up some of the sweat from his torso. “I never imagined we’d get so much attention. How about we call it a day?”
“You wouldn’t mind?” I asked, shocked that he could let go of the competitive fire that had clearly been burning in his eyes since this morning.
“No, I wouldn’t mind,” he said with a wink. “Besides, I want to be sure you’re not too tired for tonight.”
“Tonight?”
“Remember? Our date. You know, the one where you’ll be entertaining me like you did that fireman,” he smirked.
I burst out laughing. Simon clearly had more balls than the
entire world rugby league combined. “That was only if you won. Considering that you just called the game quits, mister star hooker, I’d say that means I won.”
“Only because you seemed to be in the middle of a medical crisis. Now that I see you’re fine, though, I can’t help but wonder what the deal was,” he said, and I felt my blush returning with a vengeance.
“Did you get a good look, sweetie?” he whispered, his earlier smugness returned a thousandfold.
“I was just surprised by the tattoo, I swear,” I explained, crossing my arms across my chest defensively.
“Yeah, yeah. Like I haven’t heard that one before. Usually from women who never give the tat a second glance after I take off my boxers,” he laughed, confidence radiating from his sexy body. My heart skipped a beat as rabid, irrational jealousy stabbed at my gut. I knew Simon was as far from being a virgin as you could possibly get, but hearing him talk about other women made my blood run cold in a way that no amount of sunstroke could cure.
Dizzy and flustered, I tilted my head up to look him directly in the eye. Somehow, my vicious asshole of a tormentor had transformed himself into a man I could be proud to call my stepbrother.
Well, except for the torrent of lust running through my belly, igniting my whole body like wildfire.
That part made it just a little hard to feel proud of being his stepsister.
In fact, it made things downright awkward.
Shooting me another wink, Simon pushed his damp jersey towards me and wiped some of the sweat off my drenched body. As I breathed in his uncompromisingly masculine scent, I could feel my entire body pulsing with adrenaline and want. Maybe he was right, maybe I really was suffering from the heat, but at that moment I made my decision.
I didn’t know what the evening would entail, especially with his little fireman clause, but Simon could have his date. Whatever was going to happen, I had a pretty good feeling that it would be one of the most memorable evenings of my life.
I just wondered if, by the time the morning came around, I was going to be ashamed of calling him my stepbrother for a completely different set of reasons.
I’m starting to think that it’ll never be enough. I could fuck every woman in England, and it won’t make the slightest bit of difference. No matter what I do, no matter who I do, it’s not getting better.
I want her.
I need her.
Jesus.
“Put on your best evening attire,” Emilia had instructed, raising my hopes considerably.
When she knocked on my door at nine o’clock sharp, kitted out in a phenomenally delicious outfit of black and red lace, more than my hopes were raised. She looked fantastic, and I wanted nothing more than to grab her and drag her back to my bedroom.
Her dress was absolutely breathtaking, shimmering in the light and clinging to her body like a second skin. It plunged and circled around her delicious breasts, highlighting the sensual curves of her small but utterly perfect globes. I could feel my tailored pants suddenly becoming very tight indeed as she tilted her head up and gave me a sultry smile.
Oh yeah. No way in hell was that fireman going to touch her again, not after she’s been spoiled by a rugbyman.
Of course, my enthusiasm flagged a little bit when we got to the nightclub. The sign read Quay 78 in flashy, pink neon, and I didn’t need to stare at the clientele to know what this was.
“You’re taking me to a gay bar?” I whispered to her as she took my hand and guided me towards a woman waving enthusiastically in our direction.
“Not just a gay bar. The gay bar. Quay 78 is very trendy,” she answered casually.
“Not that there’s anything wrong with that, but, why?”
Emilia burst out giggling as we made it over to the woman, conveniently standing near the front of the line. “Simon, this is Lena and Joana. They’re very old friends I frequently go out with,” she explained.
So it wasn’t just a date, it was a double date.
In a trendy gay nightclub.
With my stepsister.
I didn’t know whether to laugh or to cry.
“And this is Joana’s brother Arthur,” she finished, gesturing towards a man standing near the couple. Arthur was very clearly a hulking stud, the kind of man I’d be jealous of Emilia spending any time alone with…if not for the fact that his flamboyant mannerisms would’ve set off anyone’s gaydar within a half-second of meeting him.
“Pleased to meet you,” Arthur said as we exchanged a hearty handshake.
“Likewise,” I smiled.
“Arthur was my date here a couple years ago, after I won him in a charity auction for his fire station,” Emilia continued, miraculously keeping a straight face as she spoke.
All right, that settled it. It was definitely time to laugh. Sure, this seemed like it was going to be one big joke at my expense, but even I had to admit that it was a funny joke. Besides, tonight was supposed to be all about fun, and I was determined to have fun.
If nothing else, I was going to get to see Emilia in that fuck-me dress for half the night.
“I was a real beast, too. Rawr!” Arthur said sarcastically, winking at me while somehow managing to roll his eyes at the same time.
Clearly Emilia had been talking.
“So, you’re a fireman?” I said, determined to not let this be awkward. Besides, I’d brought this situation entirely on myself.
“Ever since they kicked me out of the band so they could put in that silly cowboy, yes,” he joked. “Don’t tell anyone, but I actually have no idea how to fight fires. They just keep me around for my pretty looks.”
“Oh, don’t listen to him. He’s the best,” Emilia explained, with very clear fondness in her voice. It suddenly dawned on me that this was not, in fact, an attempt to weasel out of our date by mocking me.
It was a real, sincere invitation into her private life. With her real friends.
People she cared about.
I felt awed and touched as the line began to shuffle its way forward. The foursome marched straight past the bouncer with a simple head nod. The large man took a step forward to block me as I tried to follow.
“He’s with me,” Emilia explained, the bouncer answering with a curt nod and letting me past.
I’m with her.
The words made my heart pound faster than the beat of the music pouring from the club.
“Like I said, Quay 78 is the place. The only reason we can get in at all without reservations is bald-faced nepotism. Joana is quite close with several employees, including the bouncer,” Emilia explained as we walked inside the dark, trendy lounge.
In the distance, a steel-and-wood counter served as the bar, surrounded by a throng of people split into clusters of smaller groups. The babble of countless conversations transformed into white noise, mostly covered by the electronic music pumping out of the club’s speakers.
We seated ourselves at a large table in a quieter corner of the establishment, and a waitress appeared to take our orders within just a few seconds. It seemed that Emilia hadn’t been exaggerating about her friend’s popularity.
“So, what’s life like at the rec center, Simon?” Arthur asked after our cocktails had been delivered.
“Emilia’s been doing a great job, but it’s still challenging for me. It’s my first time working with an all-girls team, actually.”
“Yeah, Em’s just full of fun little surprises like that,” Lena quipped as she finished her cosmopolitan at the speed of light.
“It was all I could do to keep up,” Emilia chimed in, her eyes locking directly onto mine. “Simon is just full of surprises himself.”
“I still have one big surprise left, you know,” I flirted shamelessly. “Maybe she’ll get to see it tonight.”
Arthur said something after that, but I was too busy staring at Emilia. Her eyes had widened just a little when I made my comment, and while I might’ve been imagining it, I could’ve sworn that her cheeks were turning red.
I
bit my lip, wishing I could whisk her off to a deserted island somewhere. I imagined a cabin by the beach, with little more than a bed, food, and a year’s supply of condoms that I would doubtless go through in about two weeks. The image made my throat swell up a little, and I slammed my drink down in one gulp.
I’d always been more-or-less successful at hiding my desire for her, but I could already tell tonight was different. If I managed it at all, maintaining that façade of decency was going to be one of the hardest things I ever did.
I can write drunk. Who says I can’t write drunk? I’m doing it just fine.
Should old acquaintance be forgot,
and never brought to mind?
I must be the only fucking guy on the planet who thinks of fucking his stepsister when he hears this song.
But really
Doesn’t it make sense?
It totally makes sense!
We two have paddled in the stream,
from morning sun til’ dine;
But seas between us broad have roared
since auld lang syne.
And there’s a hand my trusty friend!
And give me a hand o’ thine!
And we’ll take a right good-will draught,
for auld lang syne.
Okay yeah maybe not.
Good-will. There’s none of that, I made sure.
Oh whatever.
It’s just a stupid song, and not like I’m ever going to see her again anyway.
I’d gotten used to the idea of thinking of Simon as being not a bastard, but to my surprise, tonight he’d upgraded himself to gentleman. Sure, he’d made plenty of crude remarks, but I was happy to overlook those. I would save them for the next time I was in bed, unable to sleep.
No, what had impressed me was the way he’d greeted Arthur. He’d absorbed the man’s flamboyance and defensive irony without the slightest trace of embarrassment or awkwardness. It had been downright charming to watch.
