Stepbrother Untouchable

by Masters, Colleen

  Suddenly, Nate steps out in front of me.

  “Fuck!” he exclaims, and I jump back, startled.

  “Oh, god, I thought you were a burglar.”

  “Then you should have called 911,” he retorts brusquely, turning his back to me and walking to the island.

  “Well, you should be glad I didn't.” Sheesh, does he have to find something wrong with everything I say? “What are you doing up so early anyway?”

  “I was just working out.”

  “Wow. This early?” I ask, moving around him. He's fiddling with something in front of him.

  “Yeah, every morning. I need to stay in shape during the off-season.”

  “I'd be exhausted if—” I break off, as I see blood dripping from his palms onto the granite countertop. “Oh my god, you're bleeding!” I gasp.

  “Yeah, I just can't get this fucking tape to…” he struggles to wind a bandage around his palm.

  “Let me,” I say, spying a first aid kit on the counter by the window. From the blood smeared on it, I can see Nate's already gone through it.

  “You don't have to,” he protests.

  “Come over here. The light's better,” I instruct him.

  “Do you know what you're doing?” he asks, less than thrilled to accept my help.

  “More than you,” I reply with a smile, nodding at the mess of tape around his palm. I wash my hands in the sink and then open up the kit. I take a pair of surgical scissors and cut off the tape that he's already applied. I glance up slightly, and for the first time it hits me that he's shirtless, wearing only a pair of gym shorts and sneakers. He's covered in sweat. “How'd this happen?”

  “I over-trained a little. Got dizzy, tripped on a rock and held out my hands to break my fall,” he replies, eyes downcast as he watches me work.

  “Over-training for what? Lacrosse or crew?” I ask as I pull out a piece of gauze and a bottle of hydrogen peroxide.

  “Both. Either,” he murmurs.

  “This is going to sting,” I warn him, as I pat the gashes on his hands with the soaked gauze. He hisses slightly as the liquid stings him, but doesn't move. I slide my other hand under his, to stabilize it as I cleanse the wound of dirt. I've never touched him this long before. “Other hand.” He switches hands and I go to work cleaning the other one. “Maybe you should take a little time off from training,” I suggest quietly.

  “Or I could just work out my leg muscles,” he says, and I look up to see a wry grin on his face.

  “Mmm,” I murmur, smiling too. “You know,” I go on, a bit more bravely, “I heard that only one varsity athlete got a Lawn Room, because sports are such a time commitment, much less a two-sport athlete—”

  “Don't do that,” he grunts. “I don't want your pity.”

  “It's not pity, it's facts.”

  “I was born with everything, I have no excuse for not achieving my all of goals.”

  “Where did you hear that? It sounds like—” I break off, feeling him stiffen under my touch. I was going to say his father but I can tell he doesn't want me to go there. “You're just really hard on yourself, that's all,” I say instead. I gently dab some Neosporin onto the cuts.

  “I know what everyone sees when they look at me,” he replies quietly. “Entitled…born with a silver spoon in my mouth…I work as hard as I do so that no one can say I succeed because of my family's wealth.”

  I frown. That's half of the equation I think, but it seems like he doesn't see how hard his father pushes him.

  “I got a little bit of that at work the other day,” I say, wondering if it's OK to broach the topic of the internship he wanted. I take a dry piece of gauze and cover his palm with it before picking up the tape and beginning to wrap it around his hand. “When they found out I was Pierce's stepdaughter, I mean. Feels weird.”

  “Your first experience of nepotism?”

  “Yeah,” I say with a smile. “Actually, my mom once got me a part-time job as the receptionist at the salon where she used to work, so I guess that's not true.”

  “Where does your dad work?”

  “No idea. Probably a repair shop somewhere. He's a mechanic, or he was. Last time we heard from him was several years ago. He was in Florida then, but he never stays in one place very long.”

  “So you're the first in your family to go to college,” he observes, as I finish taping one hand and move to the other.

  “Yep.”

  “Is that why you're so serious?”

  “Am I?” I ask, my eyes moving up to his.

  “Serious isn't the right word…distant, maybe.”

  “Distant? That's worse,” I reply, feeling a little hurt.

  “I didn't mean to insult you. I'm just trying to figure you out. We were really in class together? Which one?”

  “There were three. The first was this American History survey class freshman year.”

  “Professor Michaels?”

  “Yeah. I always sat behind you, though. I'm not surprised you didn't see me,” I say, pressing down slightly as I finish wrapping his hands.

  “I am,” he replies. I glance up sharply, but his eyes aren't focused on my face. They're looking at my body, which I now realize is quite exposed in my thin, white cotton nightie. I completely forgot I was wearing it. There's a moment of silence, and I suddenly become very aware of every inch of myself, and every inch of him. His smell of sweat, beads of it still dripping forward down his chest, through a smattering of hair between his nipples. Allison's face appears in my mind, and I'm reminded of what she said.

  “I'm done.”

  “What?” he says, his eyes pulling up to mine.

  “With your hands. I'm done.”

  “Right.”

  I grab a glass from the cabinet and pour him some water from the faucet. “Here, you felt dizzy because you’re dehydrated.”

  “Thanks,” he says. He reaches for the glass with his left hand, which is closer, and then pauses and takes it awkwardly with his right.

  “What was that?” I ask, frowning.

  “What?”

  “Let me see your left arm,” I reply, reaching for him, but he pulls back.

  “No, no, it's nothing.”

  “What is?”

  “My shoulder. It's just a little tendonitis.”

  “Oh really? Did a doctor tell you that?”

  “Not exactly.”

  “WebMD?” I ask, raising my eyebrows. He shrugs, then winces. “You need to take better care of yourself. You can't keep pushing yourself so hard.” He frowns, and doesn't respond. “Well, at least take some Tylenol for the pain,” I add as I pour two pills into my hand and begin to repack the first aid kit with the other.

  “That's OK.”

  I tilt my head at him. “Pain isn't going to make you heal any faster,” I point out.

  “Fine,” he says with a little smile. I blush as his fingertips scrape my palm as he takes the pills.

  “Well. I think I'm going back to bed. I'm supposed to check out some of the Smithsonian museums later, so…” I trail off, feeling awkward now.

  “OK, see you later,” he says, turning toward the back door. I pause for a moment, then head back toward the staircase. Just like that, the one real conversation that my stepbrother and I have ever had is over. I could practically feel him closing back up at the end there. I climb the steps and shut my bedroom door behind me. I feel more confused now than ever about our relationship. I didn't think it could get any weirder after that peep show I gave him, but somehow this candid glimpse of him makes things even more complicated.

  I close my eyes and try to fall back to sleep, but when my alarm goes off at ten, I'm still wide awake.

  CHAPTER NINE

  The humidity is really starting to thicken by the middle of June, and it’s a wonder that I haven’t taken advantage of our pool yet. The only swimsuit I have is an old athletic one-piece, and I pull it on reluctantly in my bedroom. My mom keeps asking me if I want to go shopping, but I haven't taken h
er up on it yet. All her new clothes look wonderful but I think I'd feel uncomfortable spending so much money on myself.

  I head down the hallway and almost bump into Nate as he leaves his bedroom. I reflexively cross my hands over my chest, even though I know he's seen me in less.

  “Hey,” I say.

  “Hey,” he replies. It's the same conversation we've had ever since I saw him in the kitchen that morning. We quickly slipped into polite, but formal, interactions with each other afterward. If I had to choose between this and the mind games we started out with, I might choose the mind games.

  The doorbell rings and I start to move past him to answer it.

  “It's OK I’ll get it. It's my friend Jackson.” He walks down the hallway toward the stairs.

  I follow after him, and turn toward the backyard once we're in the foyer. I hear his friend walk in just as I exit the French doors. There's a chest set against the house with the outdoor towels in it, so I grab one and set it on a chair.

  The area around the pool it is paved with light stones before it turns into grass, and lounge chairs and a table with an umbrella are carefully set around it. I turn to the pool and step gingerly onto the first step in the shallow end. It's nice—warm, but still refreshing in the hot summer day. I step down the rest of the way until the water circles around my stomach, and then dive forward. I swim to the other end, where the water gets darker and deeper, then push off and glide onto my back. I open my eyes as I push the water past me with my hands and look up toward the house rising against the sun on my left.

  A flash of movement in the second floor window grabs my attention. There's a figure moving there, pulling a curtain aside. At first I think it's Nate—it's his room, I think—but then I catch a glimpse of blonde hair. Must be his friend Jackson. I turn onto my stomach and dive back under the water. I want Nate to be the one watching me.

  I was never much into sports, but I’ve always wondered if I'd be any good at them. I push harder for the last couple laps and finally pull my head up at the shallow end, gasping for breath. I take the steps back out of the pool and walk around to my towel and dry off my hair, then drape it onto the chair and lay down on it. I can feel the suit clinging to my torso, and water sitting in my belly button. I hear the door to the house open behind me and shield my eyes from the sun as I turn around to see who it is.

  Jackson bounds out of the door, his face spread in a genial grin. “Hey, you must be Brynn. I'm Jackson, one of Nate's oldest friends.”

  “Nice to meet you,” I say as we shake hands. I notice Nate lagging behind, standing just outside the door and looking reluctant to put another foot toward the pool.

  “Come on, man, let's get in. I've been dreaming about this pool for days.”

  “We shouldn’t bother her, she likes to be alone,” Nate says reluctantly. Jackson pulls off his shirt, and I look down at my interlaced fingers in my lap. He's got a great body. Maybe not as good as Nate's, but whose is? Jackson kicks off his flip-flops and jumps in, his splash narrowly missing me. Nate slowly walks toward the chair furthest from me, and takes off his shirt. I watch his back muscles tense as he lifts it off his head.

  “Nate and I grew up playing lacrosse together,” Jackson says, swimming to the edge of the pool and leaning his elbows onto the deck in front of me.

  “Hm? Oh,” I reply, as Nate dives in the deep end.

  “So you guys go to school together?”

  “Yup. UVA—I mean, of course you knew that.”

  “Which sorority are you in?” he asks, pushing his wet hair out of his eyes.

  “I'm not. It's expensive, and I'm already pretty busy with work. Um, where do you go?”

  Nate pops up next to Jackson. They make quite a pair, Nate with his dark eyes and Jackson with his light blonde locks.

  “You wanna get some food now?” Nate asks.

  “Dude we just got here. Besides, you're not supposed to eat for thirty minutes after you swim.”

  “Before,” Nate and I both chime in. We glance at each other as he continues. “You're not supposed to eat for thirty minutes before. Why wouldn't it be OK to eat after you swim?”

  “I dunno,” Jackson replies, flashing me a blindingly white smile. “Just thought that was the rule.” I find myself smiling back at him. He has a boyish charm that's infectious.

  “I’m pretty sure that’s a myth adults made up so they’d have time to eat their own lunch without the kids swimming unsupervised.” I smile.

  “Ah that makes more sense. You grow up around here?” he asks me.

  “Yeah, on the Eastern shore.”

  “Oh, sweet. My family has a vacation house there. I love going out there. Sailing in the bay and everything. You go sailing a lot?”

  “Um, not really,” I reply. Nate kicks off the wall and begins to swim back and forth behind Jackson. I guess he's decided not to take it easy on his injured shoulder.

  “We should go some time. Maybe not with him,” he replies, nodding behind him. “Too competitive.”

  “He is, isn't he?” It feels nice to be able to talk about Nate with someone who knows him. And who will gossip. “Was he always like that?”

  “Oh man, always. We're like, ten years old, playing lacrosse on our school team, and coach was constantly having to pull him back during practice 'cause he was always going full out, full contact.”

  He and I laugh together. I notice Nate pause in his stroke, but I can't imagine he can hear us.

  “Do you still play lacrosse?”

  “Naw, I don't really have the discipline to keep up with it. I was good in high school, but you have to be great to cut it in college. What sport do you play?”

  “Oh, none.”

  “Really? You look like you're so in shape.”

  “Oh, thanks,” I reply, managing to only blush a bit. From anyone else it would have seemed like a ham-fisted compliment, but Jackson has such a natural, easygoing way about him.

  “You going to this party in Georgetown tonight?” he asks, dunking his head briefly underneath the water, then shaking off his hair like a dog.

  “What party?”

  “Oh, I figured Nate told you.”

  “Told her what?” Nate asks, appearing next to him.

  “'Bout Chris's party,” Jackson replies nonchalantly. Nate's jaw muscles twitch.

  “Hadn't mentioned it,” he replies shortly.

  “Well, you should come,” Jackson says, turning back to me.

  “She's not going to know anyone, and I think it's just gonna be a small thing,” Nate says.

  “Dude, Chris said to invite anyone. They've got the whole townhouse. It's gonna be great.”

  “I just—” Nate begins, as I bite my lip. Here I thought we were maybe getting along better, despite the awkwardness, and now he's going out of his way to exclude me.

  “If you're worried about being a third wheel, just invite Dana or someone,” Jackson says, though even when he's arguing, he doesn’t seem to have a care in the world. “So, what do you think?” he asks me.

  “Sounds great, actually,” I say, glancing at Nate, feeling a bit gratified as he glares at me. It feels good to spite him a little, since he so clearly doesn't want me to go.

  “Awesome. Tonight then. We can go together—I'll pick you guys up around ten,” Jackson says, before jumping on top of Nate and trying to wrestle him under the water.

  I close my eyes as they disappear. For the first time in a while, I wish I had something cute to wear.

  CHAPTER TEN

  In the end, I have to go with the same black top I wore to that crew party. It's really my only top suitable for a party, I think. Besides, Nate's the only one who's seen me in it, and I doubt he remembers.

  My mom excitedly waves goodbye as Nate and I walk out to Jackson's green SUV. She is so thrilled that I might have a social life that it's embarrassing. Jackson opens up the front passenger door for me and Nate slides in back.

  “We picking up Dana?” Jackson asks as we pull a
way.

  “It's Natasha tonight. And she's meeting us there,” Nate answers from the back seat. I guess I'm relieved, because I don't think I could look Dana in the eye after seeing her and Nate having sex by the pool.

  “Oh, fuck, Natasha, of course,” Jackson says, laughing and hitting the steering wheel. I frown a little. I guess it's par for the course for my stepbrother.

  Jackson picks up most of the slack in the conversation, and the radio does the rest. I'm too nervous and stuck in my head, thinking of what I should say, while Nate mumbles one word responses from the back.

  I'm relieved when we find a parking space on the street near the party. As we walk toward the riotous townhouse, I'm surprised the neighbors haven't already called the cops. People are spilling out the front door and I can hear the music halfway down the block. There's a pretty olive-skinned girl standing on the curb who turns her head as Nate calls out, “Natasha!”

  She smiles coyly as we walk up. Nate dips her in a jokingly romantic manner and plants a kiss on her lips as she breaks out into giggles.

  “Come on,” Jackson says, draping an arm around my shoulders protectively and escorting me inside. He high-fives a few guys as we walk in, and he guides me to a keg in the middle of the living room, which is strung with little white Christmas lights. There's an impenetrable crowd around it but somehow he manages to snag me a beer, and before I know it I'm taking my first sip of the summer. With his hand on the small of my back, we walk into the next room. The dining room table is being used for a beer pong game, and Jackson and I take a seat on a couch nearby.

  “You're gorgeous, you know that?” Jackson whispers in my ear. I'm startled and almost spit out my beer.

  “No…” I look down, blushing, “I mean, that's sweet of you to say.”

  “I'd love to see you again after tonight. Maybe we could get dinner next weekend,” he offers.

  “Oh, sure,” I reply, feeling flattered. I mean, it does feel a little…rushed, or something, but I've heard so many stories about guys just wanting to hook up, that it's refreshing to be asked out on an old-fashioned date. I take a few more sips of my beer as I look around, feeling more comfortable now that I know Jackson is really into me.