by Amy Brent
“Right. Reunion,” I said. “Alright. I’ll see you at eight, Mom.”
I hung up the phone. Allie peered over at me. “What’s at eight?”
“Cocktails at my parents’ place. You know, the annual thing they do with all their friends? Want to be my date?”
Allie propped herself up on her elbow and smiled at me. She was beautiful in the morning, even with her hair in tangles and her makeup smudged under her eyes. “I would love to be your date. I haven’t seen your mom in forever.” She leaned in and kissed me lightly, then rolled away.
She stood and arched her back, unabashed about her nakedness. I watched her pad around the foot of my bed. She slipped into the bathroom and turned back to me before closing the door behind her. “I have an excuse to go buy a new dress now. I haven’t been shopping in ages,” she winked and locked herself in.
I locked my hands behind my head and stared at the ceiling. I was being a manipulative asshole. I knew it. The minute I agreed to bring Allie as my date. I had bigger intentions than attending a stupid cocktail party where I would do nothing but make small talk with people I only ever saw once every year.
I really was only going so that I could see Allie and Andrew in the same room together. I wanted to know what the dynamic was like. Despite her assuring me there was nothing between them, and that it had been nothing but a juvenile mistake, I had to see it with my own two eyes. A secret that two people kept for a decade was a serious thing. Was I just supposed to take both of them on their word?
Chance thought I should. He had said it at least a dozen times over the last three months. But it didn’t matter what he said. Or what Allie or Andrew said. If there were still something between them, tonight would help me see it. I would be able to find out once and for all if I could leave this thing behind me.
A nagging feeling in my gut already told me I wouldn’t be able to. How could I forget and forgive that Allie, my best friend, had fucked my older brother when she was sixteen and wasted? And, on top of that, they had thought they were pregnant. How could two people just bury that and pretend it had never happened?
The bathroom door opened, and Allie came back into the bedroom. She was naked. She sat on the edge of the bed beside me.
“Are you alright?” she asked, running her fingers over the knuckles of my left hand.
“Yeah, I’m good,” I lied, trying to give her a convincing smile. “A little tired, I guess.”
“Well,” she smiled, “fucking like a wild animal will do that to a man, I suppose.”
I chuckled.
“I should head out. I want to call Melissa and see if she will go shopping with me, and I don’t want to be out too late. I need plenty of time to prepare.”
“I’ll pick you up at seven?” I asked.
“Seven sounds perfect,” she said, leaning in and kissing me one last time before gathering her pants and panties, and then leaving the bedroom to track down her shirt and bra. She hollered goodbye once she was dressed. I heard the front door close behind her.
I stayed in bed still staring at the ceiling for a while.
I was probably asking for trouble with what I was doing. Perhaps I should call Chance and let him talk me out of it.
I shook my head as if I was having a conversation with myself. No, Steve. You have to know for certain, and this is the only way. If she still wants to fuck Andrew, you’ll sense it when you see them together tonight. And if she does, you can be done with her once and for all. She won’t have you wrapped around her finger anymore.
I sighed and sat up. I rubbed my eyes with the heels of my hands and got up, not looking forward to working. I showered but didn’t dress up. I was working from home, and I was grateful for that because my nerves were getting the best of me while I sent out business emails in my sweats and no shirt.
Why was I so nervous?
Probably because Chance was right. I cared about this girl. She and I went back a long way, and we had shared a lot. For a while, I had been convinced that she was the one for me. But for all those years, I had been too afraid to do anything about it. I also had thought she would never want someone like me.
She would want someone like Andrew.
I hit send on one last email and ran my fingers through my hair. This whole situation was infuriating.
Andrew was the sweeter one. He had always been considered the nicer brother. He was the one people went to when they had a problem and needed help. He was the one who was always associated with the phrase “he’d give you his shirt off his back if you needed it.” He had proven that he was that kind of guy when he stuck by Allie’s side for those two weeks after their drunken fuck fest.
I wondered what people would think of him if they knew he screwed a sixteen-year-old when he was twenty-two. What would my mother think?
I had been the younger brother; the brother who pushed the boundaries and relied too heavily on his good looks and charm to get him by. I didn’t get credit for being smart. I had the same grades all through high school and college that Andrew had. It had always been more interesting for people to make me out to be the bad brother. The rebellious brother. The brother all the girls were advised to stay away from.
I gritted my teeth and slammed my laptop closed. Fuck that. Fuck all of them. Liars and cheaters and secret keepers. Tonight things would be out in the open. Tonight I would know where I stood with Allie.
Sure, the sex was great. And sure, I cared about her. I cared about her a lot. But if I couldn’t trust her, there was no point in taking this thing—whatever it was—any further. If she and Andrew still had eyes for each other, I was going to break things off with her then and there.
Screw them both. They could have each other if they were still keeping me in the dark.
Chapter 22
Allie
Melissa met me at the mall while I was trying on a red lace dress. She dropped her purse on the table as she sank down into a chair in front of my fitting room, looked me up and down, and shook her head. “No,” she said. “Not that one. Too red.”
“Too red?” I asked, planting a hand on my hip. “What does that even mean?”
“Meh,” she shrugged, waving me away to try to get me to go back into the fitting room. “I don’t like it. It doesn’t scream ‘Steven Marx’s date,’ you know? And that’s really what you want, right?”
“Right,” I said, starting to catch her drift. “This is why I invited you. I can never handle these kinds of things on my own. I’m useless.”
“You’re not useless. You just don’t have as good of an eye for fashion as I do. That’s not your fault. Now go back in there and show me the next one.”
I retreated back into the fitting room and shimmied out of the red dress. As I took a navy blue satin number off its hanger, Melissa called through the door to me. “So are you nervous about the party?”
I shrugged like she could see me. “A little.”
“Only a little?”
“Okay, a lot. I’m super nervous. This will be the first time I’m in the same room with Steven and Andrew since Steven found out about the whole thing ten years ago. I can’t help but worry what it will be like when we’re all together again.”
“Not going to lie to you, little sister. It’s probably going to be super weird,” Melissa said.
“I know.” I pouted as I unlocked the door to reveal the blue dress.
Melissa put her finger against her chin and feigned thoughtfulness as she inspected me in the dress. “This one is better,” she said. “Turn around.”
I turned, modeling the dress for her. She nodded a couple of times, then shook her head, then nodded again. Eventually, she slapped her hands on her thighs and shook her head decisively. “Nope. You can do better. Try again.”
“What’s wrong with this one?” I asked.
“Satin. Not cute.”
“Why didn’t you just say that right away?” I scowled.
“It’s more fun this way.” She grinned.
The third dress was a tight little black number with long sleeves. It had a plunging neckline, and the sleeves sat just off the shoulders. The hem ended above my knees and had small lace detailing along it. I opened the door and put both hands on my waist. “Okay, this one?”
Melissa cocked her head to the side. “I can get on board with that one. Throw on a cute pair of black pumps, and you’re good to go.”
The black pumps were easy to find. I went for a pair with an ankle strap for extra support, and by the time I was done, it was nearly four. Now feeling pressed for time, I hurried home and started getting ready.
At seven o’clock, my buzzer rang. I was putting my earrings on as I hurried to the keypad. “Hello?” I called.
“Miss Wright, your ride is here,” an unfamiliar male voice said.
“I’ll be right down,” I said, frowning in confusion.
After putting on my other earring, I peeled the price stickers off the bottoms of my shoes, stepped into them, and situated the ankle straps. I put on my red pea coat and snatched up my clutch from the kitchen counter. Then I rushed out the door, hurried down the steps, and made my way out to the street.
There was a black limo parked at the curb. A man was standing at the back door. He dipped his head to me and opened the door, then gestured for me to get in.
I got in, too surprised to ask any questions.
The limo was lit with a strip of blue light on the ceiling. Steven was sitting at the opposite end. His arms were outstretched on either side of him, draped across the back of the bench seat. One leg was crossed over the other. His hair was slicked back, as per his new style, and he had sharpened the lines of his beard. A silver watch glistened on his wrist in contrast to his black on black suit. He looked like a man straight out of a Hollywood blockbuster.
“Wow,” I said, unable to find the right words to express how impressed I was by the whole thing. “This is amazing. You look incredible.”
“Thank you,” he said with a small smile. He leaned forward and plucked a bottle of champagne from an ice bucket. I hadn’t even noticed the limo had a bar. The cork had already been popped. Steven poured me a glass and handed it to me. “To a great evening,” he said, sipping from the glass he poured for himself.
“A great evening,” I said, my stomach curling in on itself. I sure hoped it would be a good evening. “Thank you for inviting me.”
“Who else would I invite?” he asked as the limo pulled out on to the street.
Someone who hasn’t fucked your brother, I thought shamefully to myself. “I don’t know,” I giggled.
The limo was warm. I unbuttoned my coat and laid it on the seat beside me.
“You look so fucking hot in that dress.” Steven licked his lips, his eyes raking over me like I was a zebra and he was a lion.
“Thank you. I had you in mind when I bought it.”
“Damn,” he said, resting his champagne glass back in its holder. “I would love to fuck you right here. Would you like that? On your knees on the leather?”
I licked my lips. “Yes,” I said. “Come here. Come do it.”
Steven unbuttoned his suit jacket. My panties grew immediately wet. I grabbed the hem of my dress and started pulling it up.
Then his phone rang. He groaned and pulled it out of his pocket. “Shit, I have to get this,” he said. “Work.”
“That’s fine,” I said, still working my dress up over my hips. Steven watched me as he answered the call. I spread my legs, showing him my lacy black panties, and pulled them to the side.
He watched, transfixed, as he spoke huskily into his phone.
I sat like that for ten minutes before I closed my legs and pulled my dress back down. Steven mouthed that he was sorry several times. I understood. Work had to come first—especially with where things were for him business wise. He had bigger priorities than fucking me in the back seat of a limo.
Which was unfortunate, because I was horny as hell and now had to endure the cocktail party with a soaking wet pussy.
Steven hung up the phone when we were around the corner from his parents’ house. “I’m sorry,” he said. “There’s always the drive home. It gives us something to look forward to.”
I smiled as the limo parked. “Definitely.”
The party was as I remembered it being. The house was an old Victorian style home with three living rooms and a massive dining room. The hall was set up to cater to the night's event, decorated with candelabras filled with burning white pillar candles and set with silver platters of appetizers and desserts. Steven’s mother had hired caterers who spent their time wandering among the guests with trays of wine, champagne, and the cocktail of the evening, which was a pink bubbly concoction.
Steven’s mother pulled me in for a hug when she saw me. I squeezed her back, and we pulled apart smiling at each other.
“It’s so nice to see you, Mrs. Marx,” I said. “I’m so happy I could come tonight.”
“Oh, likewise sweetheart. You look stunning, as always. And Steven,” she said, looking her son up and down, “handsome as ever.” They hugged, and she patted his cheek the same way she used to when he was seventeen.
Steven gave me a crooked look, and I laughed. Then he offered me his arm, and the two of us began making our rounds throughout the party.
When we arrived in the dining room, my stomach leaped into my throat. Andrew was there, in the corner, chatting with a tall, slender blonde woman with red lips. He spotted us and waved, then excused himself from his conversation. My heart fluttered in my chest at his approach.
When he was in front of us, he slapped Steven on the shoulder. “I’m happy to see you,” he said. “And even happier to see the company you’ve brought with you. I’m glad you are both on speaking terms again.”
Steven shrugged and glanced at me. “Three months was a long time not to talk to my best friend.”
I smiled and tightened my grip on his forearm. “It was the worst. How are you, Andrew? It’s been a while.”
“Indeed, it has,” he said with a nod. His hair was lighter than Steven’s and much unrulier. Tonight, he had tamed it with a lot of product. It stood tall on his head, making him appear to be the taller brother—which I knew he was not. Steven had always been taller. Andrew was dressed in a black suit with a gray shirt underneath. His tie was thin and ironed. He looked good, as usual, but he paled in comparison to his younger brother.
A server went by us and Andrew plucked a glass of red wine from the tray. “Things have been good. Keeping busy with work, and what not. What about the two of you? How are things going with the app production, Steven?”
I listened tentatively while the Marx brothers caught up. I wondered how long it had been since they had spoken. Maybe Steven had kept his word and shunned Andrew for as long as he had avoided me. This made me feel guilty. I felt like I had driven a wedge between them.
Nothing seemed to be bothering either of them, though. Steven chatted happily about his work, and Andrew asked him dozens of questions. They laughed and joked like they always used to, and even made plans to go out for drinks the following week to catch up without the constant interruption of people milling around the party hoping to get a word in with the Marx brothers.
Andrew and I were the same as we always had been. Conversation was easy. There was no flirting. There was no tension. I hoped Steven was able to see how normal things were between us. There had never been anything there in the first place.
By chatting with Andrew tonight, I hoped I was able to prove to Steven that he was the one I cared about. He had always been the one.
Chapter 23
Steven
I held Allie’s coat out for her at the end of the evening and helped her slide into it. I stood beside her as she buttoned it up, then the two of us hugged my mother and father and thanked them for having us. Andrew was there with a glass of wine in one hand. He held out his other hand for me to shake.
“I’ll call you later, and we’ll f
igure out when to meet next week,” Andrew said.
“Sounds good. Talk soon.”
Andrew then turned to Allie. She stepped forward and gave him a hug, as per their usual farewells. It wasn’t flirty. It wasn’t inappropriate. In fact, it was the exact same way I hugged Melissa whenever I saw her.
When the front door closed behind us, I wrapped one arm around Allie’s waist. We made our way down the path to the limo which was waiting for us. The driver asked us how our evening went when he opened the back door for us. Allie told him it was wonderful and thanked him, and then we both slid inside.
Allie made her way up the bench seat on the side and kicked off her heels. She crossed one leg over her knee and began massaging her foot. “I always forget how much I hate wearing heels,” she muttered. “Especially on nights where you barely sit down. It’s a torture.”
I laughed and shook my head at her. “Then stop wearing them.”
“But they look so good,” she whined.
“You look good in or out of heels,” I said. “And torture isn’t high heels. Torture is being around you when you look so damn fine and not being able to touch you how I want to.”
