Stepbrother, Mine

by Mandy Lou Dowson

  U better hav plans.

  No plans. No birthday.

  She waited for his reply. Something along the lines of “you better celebrate, or I'm coming to make you sorry”, but his reply surprised her when it came, arousing her suspicions.

  Alright, Soph.

  What r u planning? she replied, with swift fingers. Something was up.

  Me? I'm innocent.

  Pure as the driven snow, she thought. No, he was up to something, for sure. Every other year they argued about her birthday, and every other year he refused to relent until she made up some stupid tale about plans with friends, when in reality, she couldn't even bear to be around Taylor on that day.

  Tell me. Now.

  N'night Soph :)

  She sent him three more texts, each one escalating in fury, but was forced to admit defeat when he sent no replies. She would call him tomorrow, and harass him until he told her everything. She decided to send one last text before bed, turning an old joke back on him.

  What are you wearing?

  That's not the game we're playing.

  She smiled – so he was still reading them. The sneak.

  What game r we playing?

  Tit for tat. Will u make plans?

  Yes, she lied. She would make the same plan she made every year. In her pajamas, with a bottle of wine for company, she would go through photographs of her mom and dad, rubbing Logan's penny all the while. Hoping for a miracle. For a wish.

  OK. Ur turn. I'm wearing...A smile...

  Omigosh, she hadn't been expecting that reply. She hadn't been expecting any reply, thinking he'd gone back to sleep. He slept naked? Who knew? Too much information.

  TMI Bro

  U asked. N'night x

  Night x

  She burned her lips with the first sip of her cocoa, not paying attention, and then realized she hadn't added any milk. Ugh, cocoa with plain water was just not right. She tipped it into the sink and made her way back up to bed, finally feeling as though she might sleep.

  ~

  Logan

  He woke feeling groggy and grouchy and drank two cups of coffee before he felt alert enough to not slip and kill himself in the shower. As he dried himself off and pulled on his slacks, he wondered what Sophie had thought of his reply to her joke text. She had asked, and he'd simply answered with the truth. Although, he was aware that he hadn't replied in the same tone as the question. Sophie always said she was wearing Chanel, but he'd seen the sheep-patterned pj's she threw on before bed. Chanel and pj's maybe, he chuckled.

  He had a business meeting before lunch, so he grabbed a snack to eat in the office – granola bars and fruit. He could always send his assistant out for sandwiches later, but in the mean time he had to get to the office and clear away the plans he'd left strewn all over his desk, and get some paperwork done.

  Sliding into his car, he was again reminded of crazy Emily and her penchant for breaking things when she didn't get what she wanted. He hadn't been totally honest with Sophie about the whole break-up – true, the sex had been especially kinky, but that wasn't the reason he'd told her things were off. She'd wanted more than he could offer – he could always tell when a woman was getting serious by how much effort she put in to inviting him places and asking his future plans. He couldn't offer anyone more than a night or two of passion. A week, at most.

  The cold January air whirled about the inside of his silver Boxter as he drove the short distance to his office in town. He sure hoped he could find the time to take it to the shop after lunch. If he'd wanted to feel the air in his hair he'd have lowered the soft-top in order to do so. January was not the month to fly around a coastal town with the wind in his hair – it was in real danger of snapping off, as he parked up and locked his car.

  The idea of him locking the car suddenly struck him as absurd, with a gaping hole in the windscreen, but he did it nonetheless. Sara was already at her desk when he arrived inside, shaking the coat from his shoulders. She'd been giving him the wandering eye lately, and he was beginning to think a change of assistant was in order – someone older, less prone to flights of fancy, say. She was pretty in a girl-next-door kind of way, but as far as he was concerned, she could look like a bag of hammers so long as she could do her job.

  His phone buzzed.

  G'mornin' stepbrother, mine.

  Gd morning 2 u 2. What u lookin for?

  U know what I want.

  He could guess. A good kissing being a start. If he concentrated hard – which he refused to do – he could still conjure the taste of her mouth. Pizza and popcorn. Damn, he hadn't meant to concentrate on it. He felt himself grow hard as he sat behind his desk. He jumped as his phone vibrated again, the noise increasing as it made its way across his leather blotter.

  Tell me.

  What?

  Ur plans.

  Don't have any. Scout's honor.

  U were never a boyscout.

  I was as good as.

  Yeah, yeah. Tell sum1 who believes U.

  He laughed, scrubbing a hand across his mouth, and replied with, how's work?

  Same ole, same ole

  Now u sound like me. I swear I have no plans. I've gotta work. Chat later gator.

  In a while, crocodile.

  ~

  Sophie

  Sophie smiled thinking about Logan's earlier texts while walking through the client's house. She barely heard a word the old lady was saying, but managed to fake a smile as the cotton-haired woman asked, “well?”

  “Um...I'm not sure?”

  “What do you mean, you're 'not sure'? You're supposed to be sure, it's your job. It's not even as though the decision is a major one. Paper or paint?”

  “Ohhh,” catching on eventually, Sophie smiled in a friendly manner. “For in here? Paint, definitely paint. The steam would lift any paper you put up.”

  “Tsk. I told Hermin that, dear. You think he'd listen to me?” She shook her white dandelion head. “I had to get you in just so he'd listen for once.”

  ~

  Back in her car, Sophie fumed as she made her way home. She'd intentionally cleared her schedule this evening so that she could spend a few hours going through Mrs.. Carnady's home – it usually took between two and three hours to completely plan out a redec – and now that she'd been quite rudely dismissed by the old hag, she found herself with time to kill.

  Pulling up at a red light, she wriggled in her seat until she could reach her phone in her bag laying in the foot-well of the passenger side. There was a text from Logan from an hour previously.

  Chapter Two

  Knock, knock.

  Who's there? she replied, with a stupid fool grin on her face.

  Iva

  Iva who?

  Iva sore hand from knocking the past hour. Where U been?

  She laughed, despite the irritated beep from the driver behind her. Flinging her phone to the passenger seat, she drove through the green light just in time for the car behind to get stopped on the red. Another angry beep followed her as she winced. “Them's the breaks.”

  She pulled into a gas station, debating on whether or not to buy a chocolate bar. Her diet was boring her, and she hadn't had chocolate in weeks. First, she'd reply to Logan's text.

  I been workin. Not everyone has such a handy job as u, brother mine.

  That's funny, he replied. Coulda sworn you told people what color to paint walls. Real stressful, that.

  It is. Have u ever tried to explain the difference between strawberry and cerise to a client?

  Thankfully, no. What are ur plans for the night?

  Little of this. Little of that.

  Is it always little?

  Smartass. I'm going to surprise Taylor with an early night.

  Kinky.

  Not that type of early night. Jeez. I'm going home early.

  Oh, boring.

  Can't all be as sexually adventurous as u r.

  True. It's hard to be this good.

  She found hersel
f wondering – and not for the first time – just exactly how good he was. She'd been hearing about his sexcapades for so long that she often thought he made them up just to amuse her or shock her. She wondered as well what he'd think of her vanilla life, and all the boring ins and outs – literally – of her and Taylor's sex life.

  It wasn't that she didn't enjoy sex with Taylor, but she could definitely do with a bit of variety in the bedroom. A straight missionary man, Taylor never had sex anywhere other than the bedroom, and never in the middle of the day, or the middle of the night. Mornings were iffy. Actually, if it didn't happen just before sleep, it usually didn't happen. How she had gravitated to such a straight-laced lover, when her own fantasies ran a little wilder, a little hotter, she'd yet to figure out. Maybe she could sit him down and have a chat with him about it. Relationships broke down when there was no communication after all.

  Ur gone all quiet on me. Sup?

  Nothing. Just thinking.

  Don't burst a blood vessel.

  If I do, will u send me flowers?

  Nah, u hate flowers.

  These were things Taylor never remembered. Every Valentine's Day, every anniversary, and every time they'd had a fight, he'd buy her some damn flowers. She didn't even own a vase – something she imagined he already knew since he lived there.

  That's why I luv u bro, u get me.

  :) Enjoy ur early night

  Will do x

  xx

  Deciding against the chocolate after all, she pulled back into traffic. The dashboard clock said five oh eight p.m. She'd be home in time to present a united front to his client, at the very least. The thought making her smile, she drove on, tapping her fingers and singing along to Coldplay on the stereo. The lights were blazing when Sophie pulled up, taking note of a strange car in her driveway, which she assumed belonged to the client Taylor was wooing.

  Rifling through her bag, she pulled out her set of house keys and let herself inside quietly, so as not to disturb his meeting too much. The living room was empty, as was the kitchen. Two plates, scraped and stacked one on top of the other, were sitting beside the sink, and two glasses with the remnants of last night's Merlot pooling in the bottoms stood by them. The house was strangely quiet, and Sophie wondered where Taylor had brought his client. They certainly weren't here.

  Checking the dining room and the study, just to be sure, she shrugged, toeing off her shoes, dangling them from two fingers as she skipped up the stairs. Steam curled around the bedroom door, as Sophie wandered inside. If Taylor had left the shower running, she'd murder him.

  She marched to the door and grasped the handle, ready to enter, when she heard a soft moan coming from inside. It was not a male sound, that moan. It was very decidedly female. A tight feeling in her chest, she turned the handle in slow motion, steam seeping out to smack her in the face. It took a moment for the scene to clear, and when it had, she wished it hadn't.

  Taylor, his broad back turned to the door, pressed a woman to the corner of the shower where the two walls met. A thigh either side of his waist, she panted and moaned as he quite eagerly fucked the shit out of her. Her dark hair, piled up on top of her head, bobbed with each thrust and retreat.

  “Oh, baby. Yeah, that's right, take my cock.”

  And she'd thought he was vanilla? Her anger stirring, she opened the door fully, striding inside. The brunette's eyes went wide as she tracked Sophie's progress toward the shower stall. She bucked and struggled, but Taylor, intent on his mission, thought it was all part of her arousal and fucked her twice as hard for her efforts. As he gave one last thrust, and groaned through his orgasm, Sophie slid the door open and turned off the shower. “I would let you finish up, but I don't think any amount of soap is going to get you clean, Taylor.”

  “Sophie!” he shouted in surprise, dropping the brunette's thighs as though scalded. “I um... I...it's--”

  “Not what it looks like?” she suggested. “Save it. I want you out of here. Both of you,” she speared the brunette with a look. “Now.”

  “Soph,” Taylor pleaded. “I swear this wasn't meant to happen. Please just let me explain.”

  “You can explain to the cops if you don't get the hell out of here, right now. I mean it Taylor. Leave.”

  She stormed out of the bathroom, and enclosed herself in the study while Taylor and his mistress gathered their shit and got the hell out of her house. The first tear didn't fall until she heard him place his key on the hall console and the door close with a soft thud. Then all hell broke loose inside her. She plonked her head down, tears burning and nose stinging. The bastard. How could he do that? In her shower. In her home. In her parents' home. That fucking bastard.

  She had no idea who the mystery woman was, but she was sure she'd hear about it one way or the other – this town was nothing if not rumor-efficient.

  Storming into the kitchen, she lifted her phone from her bag and stared at the screen. As if by telepathy alone, it lit up. Logan's name flashed on the screen. Did he already know? Someone could have seen the spectacle, she knew and phoned a friend, who phoned a friend, and so on, until it got back to Logan in Somersville. With no small amount of trepidation, she hit the message icon on the screen.

  How's ur early night going? Am I interrupting?

  Yes, she replied, wiping her nose with her sleeve.

  Sorrynotsorry :)

  She laughed despite herself, knowing she had to tell him. She hit the call button.

  “Hey,” he answered. “I thought I was interrupting?”

  “I need an interruption. Or maybe an intervention. An interjection? Hell if I know!”

  “What's wrong?” When no reply was forthcoming he pressed further. “Speak to me, Soph. What the fuck's happened? You're scaring me.”

  With heaving breaths and hiccups, she told him of the earlier events, finishing with, “I can't stay here. Not right now.”

  “Come to me,” he demanded more than suggested. “It'll be good for you, and besides, I haven't seen you in forever.”

  “You miss me, huh?” she asked in a voice gone hoarse from crying.

  “Every day,” he told her. She could sense the smile in his voice, and it brought a twitch to her own lips. Damn the man, he always could make her smile against her will.

  “Okay.”

  “Are you serious? You'll come here?” He sounded surprised, but happy, and Sophie had to admit the idea of both getting away from here and seeing her stepbrother appealed enormously.

  “Yeah.”

  “I'll book you a train ticket.” She could hear him rifling through some papers. “Just give me one minute and I'll book you a ticket right now.” As if she were about to change her mind.

  “I'll drive.” It would give her a chance to clear her head – which she desperately needed to do – and decide what to do about her share of Taylor's business. There was no way she wanted anything to do with him now, and that included his shitty business.

  “That'll take you hours,” he protested. “It's already six p.m.”

  “I'll be there as soon as I can.”

  “Absolutely not.”

  “Well then I won't come.” She sniffed.

  “Seriously? You're going to blackmail me?”

  “Yes.”

  “Fine. Just promise me you'll drive safely, and answer me when I text.”

  “I promise.” She gathered up her bag from the island and plodded up the stairs to pack a small bag of clothes and other items she might need. This would be good for her, he was right. She hadn't been out of this damn town in years, had never visited Logan at his beach house, and was feeling a tiny kernel of excitement as she flung clothes and shoes, cosmetics and books into her bag. Within ten minutes, she had engaged the alarm, dropped Taylor's key in the trash and locked up the house. She would forget everything for a little while. Taking a final minute to send her boss a text about some family emergency, she slid into her car and drove away, not sparing the house one more look in her rear view than wa
s necessary.

  ~

  Where r u now?

  Sophie sighed, waiting for the back light on her screen to fade. Where was she? She was sitting in her car, at the side of the road, looking like an absolute swamp monster, with swollen eyes and mascara tracked down her cheeks. She’d pulled over ten minutes ago, realizing she had no idea where she was going, and if she didn’t get her tears in check, she’d likely cause an accident.

  The nearest sign said, “Alfonse’s! Give your taste buds a treat. Enjoy all you can eat.” She’d driven for miles on auto pilot, taking no notice of where her mind was directing her, only wanting to get here. With a start, she became conscious of the fact that even when her brain was in melt down mode, she’d driven most of the way to Logan’s without hesitation.

  I’m pulled up near Alfonse's, she text back, wondering how she’d managed to get so far without totaling her little Fiat 500, or at least rear-ending someone in traffic. Although, she conceded, there wasn’t much traffic at 4am, even in a busy coastal town like Somersville.