PULSE: A Stepbrother Romance

by Sarah Sparrows

  “You really missed this place, didn’t you?” He asked.

  “…You might say that,” I admitted cautiously.

  “Yeah. I think I did too.”

  The moment was surreal. After all this time, I was finally back here, and so was he…but his entire jackass deal was nowhere in sight. He even looked sad as he took it all in. His shoulders were slumped, and there was something in his eyes…something I couldn’t put my finger on…

  “Well, we’d better get you lot inside!” Hensley chuckled loudly from behind. We snapped out of it, turning to face the charmingly boisterous driver. His arms were full of luggage, and we quickly scrambled to give him a hand with everything.

  “Oh, don’t worry about me, I can easily get this all inside…”

  “Nonsense, Hensley,” Sawyer told him. “You’re not our personal servant. Let us give you a hand with this.”

  “Well…if you insist…” he remarked with a soft smile.

  We followed our associate up the stairs, where he paused to set down his armfuls of suitcases. Whipping a thick keyring from his pocket, he sifted through a dozen keys in the blink of an eye.

  “Here we go! Mister and Missus Samuels, may I humbly welcome you back to the Beach House…”

  With a hard turn of his wrist, the door loudly unlocked, and he stepped aside while pushing it open.

  Sawyer and I passed beside him and into the large foyer. With a flick of his finger to the light switch, the room was quickly bathed in light.

  Oh fuck, I thought to myself. It’s just as beautiful as I remember it.

  Beautiful, stained hardwood floors stretched across the villa – accented perfectly by the off-white paint across the crisp, modern walls. Various pieces of exquisite décor tastefully surrounded us – predominately represented by a modest array of paintings on the wall and display pieces from world travels available on accent tables or nearby shelves. Above us hung a beautiful crystal chandelier, twinkling in the splendor of its own lights. My eyes trailed past it and up to the second floor, wrapped in exquisite black iron railings as it stretched across the foyer.

  “I’d forgotten how much I missed this fucking place,” I heard Sawyer murmur beside me. “Never thought I’d be back here again…”

  My brow furrowed. Had he seriously meant to leave us forever?

  I opened my mouth to press the issue.

  “Well, you’re free to dawdle as much as you’d like, but preferably after you’re both situated on the luggage front!” Hensley laughed from behind. “Although, I don’t blame you…it’s nice to see the house getting some use. It’s been dreadful checking on things here while it collected dust.”

  “Yeah, I’m surprised it’s in as good shape as it is,” I admitted quickly. “I’d honestly expected to walk in on cobwebs…and sheets over the furniture.”

  “Oh, you don’t seriously think your parents were going to have you stay here if that were really the case?” Hensley popped up beside me, peering slyly into my eyes.

  I tried to turn away, but he’d already seen them.

  “My word! You did! For shame, Ms. Saffron! Of course they bid a crew of housekeepers to whip the house back into shape! Must have been about two weeks ago, if memory serves…why, they even came back yesterday, just to freshen it up!”

  “That makes sense,” Sawyer commented. “I’m happy they had the foresight to do so.”

  “You too?” Hensley shook his head in mock disappointment. “Well, this will just have to be our little secret,” he smiled. “Can’t have your parents knowing you think so very little of them…”

  Sawyer and I shared a smile.

  As we started moving our things towards our rooms, I couldn’t help but reflect on how different my stepbrother was being. His usual jackass demeanor had evaporated upon us arriving here. Even on the drive, he’d been distant. It was almost as if he hadn’t wanted to be anywhere near me.

  But that had changed when the Beach House came into view.

  He acted like he had before, in those brief flashes. Instead of antagonizing me, he was calm, agreeable, and almost carefree.

  It had been a long time since I’d seen him relaxed.

  Then again, it had been a long time since I’d seen him.

  It occurred to me that he might have changed. The first impression had left a little something to be desired. He had visibly been the same unrepentant asshole he was when he abandoned us, but now…

  I was starting to have my doubts.

  Hensley left to check on some things around the Beach House while we continued moving our luggage to our rooms. We’d packed enough apiece to last us the summer, and it showed in the volume of suitcases.

  Surprisingly – or maybe not – Sawyer had fit his possessions in less than a quarter of what I brought. It’s not like I had packed heavily, either. I’d limited myself to maybe ten pairs of shoes, and roughly three outfits tailored to each of them. A girl never knows what she’ll need to be prepared for, right?

  “Do you need a hand with this?”

  I glanced over at him as I paused. In the moment, I was struggling with one of my largest suitcases, trying to extract it from the vehicle.

  “I…wait, are you already done?”

  “Yeah, I finished up a few minutes ago. Looks like you could use some help.”

  “Sure, if you…don’t mind…” I responded, standing back.

  Sawyer slipped into place in front of the deep trunk. With the heat, he had pulled off his unbuttoned over-shirt and the top beneath, revealing a trimming, black tank top. For the first time, I was seeing the definition of his strong, toned arms…and a slight gasp caught in my throat.

  The muscles rippled as he effortlessly extracted the suitcase from the vehicle. I couldn’t peel my eyes off of his skin as I realized how built my stepbrother was. I knew he had bulked up in the intervening time – I would have to be blind to have not noticed – but this was way more than I had thought. Without his leather jacket or sweaters, Sawyer couldn’t hide his muscular build anymore.

  But it wasn’t all just mindless bulk. His musculature was streamlined, allowing him to move easily and carefully. He had stopped short of becoming an amateur bodybuilder, but it was still a distinct difference from the underdeveloped teenager of my past.

  “Something the matter?” Sawyer smiled coyly.

  I realized that I had been staring at his build…and long enough for him to have noticed.

  “No, no, nothing, I was just…”

  “Admiring, maybe?”

  “Oh, quit it.” I admonished him. “Let me just grab this…”

  I reached for the suitcase, but he lifted it out of the way. It didn’t escape my notice that I’d struggled with the damn thing, but he was effortlessly maneuvering it around with just his wrist.

  “No, I said I’d help you with this, remember? If you’re having this much trouble with getting it out of the car, how do you expect to get it up to the second floor and across the house?”

  He had me there.

  Pausing to grab another of my suitcases with his free hand, he followed me as I carried my small one and led him back into the Beach House. We climbed the staircase on the immediate left, and then continued onward into the left wing. We passed down the corridor towards our bedrooms, between frames featuring extraordinarily talented painters local to Pensacola.

  Mom had always been a fan of underappreciated artists. Even when it was just the two of us, and although she could barely afford to do so, she proudly displayed a few works from her friends in the dining room. After the marriage, Mom loved to support their work as well as that of local artists, often paying above what they would ask for even their larger prints. Chet had always seemed not only encouraging of this, but also delighted by it – it seemed to be one of the ways in which she enriched his life, the way that he treated it. I never remembered much art in his house before Mom and I moved in. It just seemed to be the kind of thing he never paid much attention to, at least not until they me
t one another.

  This hallway brought back fond memories. I was present for a number of Mom’s art purchases, and could distinctly recall most of these pieces in small, impromptu galleries – either thrown together on the boardwalk or in rented, single-day accommodations. Chet usually didn’t come along – he told anyone who would listen that he didn’t have the “eye” for that kind of thing – but he never criticized any of her choices in design.

  I mentally left myself a note to peruse all the art that sprawled across the Beach House again…maybe after we were already settled in.

  Lugging my suitcase with me, I plopped it down on the floor and turned to face Sawyer. “Alright, thanks. There shouldn’t be more than a few…”

  He paused in the doorway, staring strangely at my bed. I followed his gaze and realized that I had carelessly left a suitcase open…the one filled with my underwear. Countless bras and pairs of panties were sprawled around, seemingly overflowing from the case.

  “Oh! You pervert!” I shouted at him, grabbing the suitcases from his hands and dragging them out of the way of the door’s arc. “I can handle the rest of it myself! Get out of here!”

  “Sis, it’s not my fault that you…I mean, I’m sorry.” He muttered quickly, averting his eyes.

  “Can it!” I told him off, slamming the door in his face.

  I knew it wasn’t right to blame him. He had no idea that I had started unpacking that stuff. In fact, it was my fault that the case was even open. I had completely forgotten about it when he offered to help. But I still had my pride…along with some seriously conflicting feelings in my stomach.

  I hated that I loved his stupid muscles so much. Even more than that…I hated the elation I got from him seeing my exposed case of panties.

  Off to a great start, Saffron.

  SAWYER

  Chapter 6

  NEW ORLEANS

  FIVE YEARS AGO

  A few hours after the encounter outside Happy Pat’s, I dropped onto a couch in the back of the bar. It had to have been three in the morning, and I was exhausted after the pumping adrenaline had completely warmed off.

  “Holy shit, bro, you’re fucking unreal.” My surprise recruiter told me. He brought me a rag and some hydrogen peroxide for the cuts on my eyebrow and cheek, along with some antiseptic. “I thought we were fucked. You came in for the fucking clutch, man! Definitely earned your share. Hell, Skippy’s a drunk fuck anyway. If you wanna do this shit again, you are in.”

  “What was your name again?” I mumbled, holding the rag to the bottle and tipping it. “Didn’t they call you, what was it? Slippery Pete?”

  “Fuckin’ A, they did!” He laughed. “Slippery Pete, that’s me. And you…oh man, you have officially graduated from Fucker. Hell, I don’t know what we’re gonna call you…”

  “The name’s Sawyer,” I muttered.

  “No it ain’t. Sawyer’s weak. That’s a prissy little bullshit name. You need something hardcore…let me think on that one…”

  “I need somewhere to sleep,” I told him. “Getting pretty tired of the streets. Know a place?”

  “Fuck, just crash right here. It’s what I do. “ There was the lumbering sound of the other occupant as he passed a corner, coming towards us. “You don’t mind, do ya, Gary?”

  Slippery Pete turned to the bar owner, who apparently moonlighted an illegal street fighting ring underneath the shelter around the back. Easily in his mid-fifties, with an extra layer of flab over his bones, age had not been kind to Gary. Grimy, graying hair puffed off of his head in a thick burst, and he looked like the kind of slimy, dirty business owner who was probably crawling with his own personal plague of fleas.

  “New guy guaranteed a good turnout for next weekend,” Gary muttered, casting an eye my way. His thick jowl hung in a grimace from his face, but he still seemed pleased nevertheless. “You fight like that, you get a couch. You drop the ball, and it’s back on the streets. Ya hear?”

  “Yessir,” I nodded. It wasn’t the most pleasing arrangement, but it was a compromise I could live with.

  “Another thing,” Gary mumbled, wiping his face off with a stray rag, “you fight good. You also fight sloppy. You need skill. Training. You stick around here, you fight in my ring, and I’ll see to it that you’re made all proper-like.”

  Adjusting the pad against my brow, I listened intently.

  “Buddy of mine, Chen…he runs a dojo nearby,” Gary continued. “His old man’s a regular here. I’ll see about landing you some classes. You want a trainer, you gotta pay. But you can do without in the beginning.”

  “Thanks,” I nodded. “I’ll fight for you.”

  “Good,” Gary replied, pointing around the corner in the back – past the Employees Only sign. “Now, go take a fucking shower. You smell like shit.”

  The bar owner wandered towards the door. As he passed through, I spotted a staircase behind it, likely leading up to his living accommodations above Happy Pat’s. Who DIDN’T live in this piece of shit bar?

  Slippery Pete chuckled. “Dad’s never been that friendly to the fresh meat. I think the old fucker likes ya.”

  PENSACOLA

  FOUR WEEKS AGO

  I quietly cursed at myself as I stared at the slammed, locked door. Why did I freeze up so much? The years I had spent brawling in the cage, and all it apparently took was a suitcase of my sister’s panties to throw me completely off my game. But I knew the answer – I’d wondered about it while I grew up with her, masturbating to the idea of her strip-teasing me down to those silky underclothes before dropping them at the edge of my bed.

  Oh well, I thought to myself. So, we’re off to a bad start. Whatever.

  Leaving my stepsister to her devices, I wandered back towards my room. With my hand on the door, it occurred to me to continue bringing her stuff – the rest of her suitcases were going to be a fight for her to carry up the stairs and across the wing alone – but indignity rose within me.

  Nah, fuck it.

  Hensley popped back into view. “Well, it looks like everything’s in order here…do you need a hand with anything else?”

  I was about to decline, but immediately realized that as long as he was around, she’d have the work done for her.

  “Well, there is one last thing, actually. Would you follow me for a moment?”

  “Sure!” Hensley smiled. “Anything you need, son.”

  We strolled downstairs while he remarked on the state of things, praising the cleaning crew for a job well done. “They’ll be in from time to time to ensure the house stays up to snuff,” he mentioned offhandedly. “Once a week, on Fridays. Around…1PM? 2PM? Somewhere around in that time frame. I’ll have to consult my notes…if I can remember where I put the blasted things...”

  “Oh, no need to worry about that,” I assured him. “We’ll figure it out. Do they have their own key?”

  “No, you’ll have to let them in,” Hensley explained. “Your parents thought that it was fine to have strangers here, cleaning everything while the house was unoccupied, but considered having them turn up unannounced while the two of you were here a bit much. Still, there’s an extra set of keys in the right-most kitchen cabinet, close to the refrigerator. If you feel you can’t be bothered, just hand them over when you see them next week. I’ve heard how you can be with your privacy, but thought I’d offer the option regardless.”

  Hensley paused, and I gave him a quick look.

  “…Of course, I’m sure you can, that is…”

  “It’s fine,” I told him, stepping onto the first floor. “It’s true. I do care about my privacy. Very much so. I appreciate you keeping that in consideration.”

  “Right. Of course. Silly me,” he started to mumble as his voice trailed off. “That is…what did you need my help with, again?”

  I indicated outside, towards the car. “Saffron’s not feeling too well. She asked me to bring her things in. After that, we’ll be happy to get out of your hair.”

  “I see,” he repl
ied, glancing back up the stairs. “Shouldn’t I check on her before she goes?”

  “Oh, there’s no need for that,” I answered coolly as we walked outside. “I’m here – and I’ll be just a few rooms away, too. It’ll be nothing for me to keep an eye on her. She insisted on laying down on not being disturbed.”

  “And we’re going to bring her things up to her room?” We moved around to the backseat, grasping suitcases and containers.

  “No, just there in the foyer will work.”