Stepbrother Broken (The Hawthorne Brothers Book 2)

by Masters, Colleen

  If only my baggage didn’t come crashing down on others quite so often.

  “I’m sorry Danny,” I say to my friend, swallowing down my tears.

  “It’s fine Soph,” he says, laying a hand on my back.

  “You can’t rush progress, Sophie,” Gary says, “I know you’ll find a way around this stumbling block. You just need to give yourself some time.”

  “Summer classes start in a few weeks… Do you think that’ll be time enough?” I laugh, trying to lighten the mood.

  “You’re incorrigible,” Gary sighs, “But hard-headed stubbornness aside, I’m glad you’ll be doing the summer session this year. There are some excellent people coming in from New York—they may be able to offer you a fresh perspective. Since I, apparently, am far too traditional…”

  “You know I didn’t mean it like that,” I laugh as Gary pulls a melodramatic face.

  “As the youths say, ‘whatevs’,” he shoots back flippantly, hopping off the stage with more agility than seems possible, given his paunch. “On that note, enjoy your summer. See you urchins in the fall.”

  “What a charmer,” I mutter, as Gary takes his leave of us.

  “That’s one word for it,” Danny replies, shaking his head. “I can’t believe he cut us off like that.”

  “Let me buy you a drink to make up for it,” I suggest, grabbing my bag from backstage.

  “It’s not even noon yet,” Danny points out.

  “One word: Mimosas,” I smile, shrugging into my backpack. “Acceptable at any time of the day. Or morning.”

  “Don’t you have class or something?” Danny asks.

  “Not for another hour,” I reply, “Plenty of time for a good whistle-wetting.”

  “You’ve got a problem,” Danny laughs, shaking his head.

  “Come on,” I smile, lacing my arm through his, “Day drinking is what college is for. If not now, then when?”

  “That’s funny,” he says, letting me drag him toward the exit, “I thought college was for building a practical skill set and—”

  “Danny. We’re in drama school,” I remind him, “Practicality has nothing to do with it.”

  “Fair point,” he relents, “Lead on, Sophie. Isn’t that kind of your thing?”

  “Dickhead,” I mutter, giving my friend a playful shove as we set off for our favorite taqueria. Nothing like pre-gaming an economics lecture, am I right?

  One hour and two drinks later, Danny and I have eased the sting of our botched final rehearsal with a visit to Pequeño, home of the best tacos (and tequila) in town. We’ll have another shot at performing tomorrow, anyway. No harm, no foul. I was lucky enough to be spared the competitive perfectionist gene that my older sister Maddie most certainly inherited. It’s a good thing, too—you can’t afford to be too precious about rejection when you’re trying to be an actor.

  “So is your class this afternoon the one with Professor Sexy Pants?” Danny asks, polishing off the last sip of his drink.

  “It is indeed,” I grin, “I have to say, I never thought I’d actually enjoy one of my general education courses so much.”

  “Well, it doesn’t sound like it’s the class you’re enjoying, so much as the eye candy,” Danny points out, “You couldn’t stand going to lectures when that crusty old dude was giving them.”

  “Thank god for jury duty,” I laugh, stretching my arms up over my head. “Having Sexy Pants come in to sub was the best thing that could have happened to my semester.”

  “Does Sexy Pants have a name, or do his parents just have a sick sense of humor?” Danny asks, lounging back in his chair.

  “I believe it’s Luke,” I reply, “Lukas Hawthorne.”

  “Professor Hawthorne,” Danny repeats with relish, “Super hot.”

  “You don’t have to tell me,” I laugh, “I can’t hear a word he’s saying about personal finances, I’m too busy staring at that tight ass of his.”

  “That’s why I’m surprised you’re skipping class today. I would have thought that you’d want to take one last gander before the semester is over,” Danny says.

  “I’m not skipping class,” I reply, sitting up straight in my chair.

  “Uh, yeah. You are, as of now,” Danny says, holding up his cell to show me the time. It’s 1:00p.m. The appointed hour of my last economics lecture of the year.

  “Shit!” I cry, jumping to my feet and snatching up my backpack, “I’ve got to go!”

  “I’ll just put these on your tab,” Danny replies, nodding at our empty glasses.

  I dig a couple twenties out of my purse, chuck them in my snarky friend’s direction, and take off like a shot out the door. The lecture hall is all the way across campus. Good thing I’ve already got my sneakers on. I race across the grassy lawns that sprawl between the buildings of Sheridan University, dodging picnic blankets, study sessions, and more than a few Frisbee games. Everyone is out and about, celebrating the end of the semester. But not me. Hell, I’ll be back here in no time to take some summer performance courses so I have the option of graduating early next year. Besides, I’ve never been one for school spirit, so the festivities are rather lost on me.

  Panting, sweaty, and a little tipsy, I finally lunge into the economics building and wrench open the lecture hall door. A hundred people swivel around in their arena-style seats to face me as I step through the doorway, still wearing my skintight dance clothes. I know they say first impressions are the most important, but this last impression might do a number on my classmates’ opinion of me, too. Of course, it isn’t really my peers I’m concerned with just now.

  “Nice of you to join us, Ms. Porter,” says the tall, cut figure facing the whiteboard at the front of the room. When that figure turns to face me, I have to brace myself against the doorway to keep from tumbling down the stairs that lead to him.

  Lukas Hawthorne stands there in all his glory, as enticing as he was the first day he showed up to take over our economics lecture. He’s about six two, with a broad but balanced body. He wears his chestnut brown hair cut short, and sports the tiniest hint of dark stubble on his distinct jaw. His muscles have been honed by years of training for just about every sport there is. I know, because he did that training right here at Sheridan. He’s a legendary athlete around here, particularly in track. His gorgeous face is plastered all over the marketing materials for the school. Those dark greens eyes of his probably convince more people to enroll here every year than the course offerings.

  And right now, those eyes are trained on me—looking like a proper hot mess.

  “Sorry I’m late,” I breathe, transfixed by Luke’s steady gaze.

  “Don’t worry about it,” he replies coolly, giving me a searing once-over, “I hear that Jazzercise classes tend to run over now and then.”

  Stifled laughter rings out through the lecture hall as I glance down at my dance attire. No choice but to own it, I guess. Tossing my messy braid over one shoulder, I straighten my spine and shoot Luke an easy smile.

  “Yeah, well. It’s a lifestyle,” I say, walking confidently to the last empty chair in the room and sinking down with a satisfied smile.

  But Luke takes no notice of my slick response. He’s already turned away from me and resumed his lesson, as if I’d never appeared in the first place. I let the smile fade from my lips as he goes on. I have to admit, I’m disappointed in his disinterest. Since he first showed up a weeks ago, I’ve been doing everything in my power to catch his eye. But no matter what I do, I can’t seem to snag his interest. I’m not saying that I’m man bait or anything, but I’ve found that guys are typically responsive when I give them an opening. Not Luke Hawthorne, though. He’s barely spared me a passing glance.

  Oh well. At least that gives me more time to stare unabashedly at him.

  From what I’ve been able to glean from campus gossip, Luke is back at Sheridan completing his MBA after attending undergrad here a few years ago. He’s not an official employee of the school, he just stepped in to teach
this class as a personal favor to an old professor. He’s a Montana native, a beast on the track, and apparently brilliant.

  And naturally, he’s a total womanizer.

  Every other week, he can be seen around campus with a new main squeeze. I swear, there must be a waiting list or something—he turns ladies over like clockwork. But to be perfectly honest, it doesn’t bother me one bit that he’s an expiration-dater. I’ve always preferred short, sexy flings to long, dull relationships myself. Especially since my dad passed away, the last thing I want is to be with a guy who insists on getting all emotionally invested from the get go. Give me a passionate tryst over commitment any day.

  So consumed am I by thoughts of Luke Hawthorne’s romantic preferences that the lecture flies by. In no time at all, the students around me are gathering their things and chatting about their plans for the weekend. This place is going to be nuts starting tonight, it being the last day of the year and all. Keg stands, streaking, and drunken frat bros will be the name of the game around here. For my part, I’d just as soon skip it. My body is only 21, but I think my soul is somewhere in its mid-30’s and completely over its binge-drinking college days, thanks.

  “Sophia,” I hear that familiar, rich baritone say from the front of the room. I turn to see Luke Hawthorne waving me down toward him as the class disperses. “Would you stay behind for a minute? There’s something I want to discuss with you.”

  My stomach does its best washing machine impression as I freeze in my tracks. What could Luke Hawthorne possibly have to discuss with me? My imagination runs wild as my classmates file out around me, stealing curious glances as I make my way toward Luke. Does he want to discuss the seven digits of my phone number? Or where we should meet up for a drink later? Or how he’d like to see me bent over his desk while he—

  “What’s up?” I ask him, straining to make my voice sound even remotely casual.

  He leaves me hanging until the lecture hall door has closed behind the last student. Finally, it’s just us. I can feel my pulse quickening with every second we’re alone. I’ve been fantasizing about this for weeks, but I’d given up hope of it ever happening for real. But now that this smart, sexy, unattainable man is standing just a couple of feet away from me, I’d say things are getting very real, very fast.

  “I was hoping to catch you alone before you left for the summer,” Luke tells me, crossing his thick, muscular arms. The sleeves of his tasteful button-down are rolled up to above his elbows, and tighten around his sculpted biceps. I have to prompt myself to respond.

  “Oh. Uh. Why is that?” I ask him, looping my thumbs through the straps of my backpack, “Am I in trouble or something?”

  “Not yet,” he says, the corner of his mouth lifting into a knowing smile.

  Holycrapholycrapholycrap, I think excitedly to myself, Is he seriously about to go all dirty professor on me? How did I get to be so lucky? Should I have brought an apple or something?

  “But you might be, if you don’t course correct. And soon,” he goes on perplexingly.

  My brow furrows as I look up at him from my measly height of five six.

  “Sorry, I’m not sure what you’re talking about, Prof,” I laugh lightly.

  “I’m talking about the effort you put into this class, Ms. Porter,” he says bluntly, “Or rather, the lack of it.”

  My half smile fades away as I realize this meeting is going to be a lot less sexy than I’d hoped.

  “With all due respect,” I say, drawing myself up under his condescending gaze, “Econ. 101 wasn’t exactly my priority this semester. I didn’t have a lot of effort to spare.”

  “Yeah, that was pretty clear,” he shoots back, cocking an eyebrow at me. “You barely turned in any of your assignments, you were late more often than not, and I’m not convinced you’ve to listened to a word I've said these past few weeks.”

  That’s because I was too busy checking out that fine ass of yours, I think, face reddening with embarrassment. I don’t mind being called out on failing at something I care about deeply. But being scolded for not putting effort into something totally irrelevant to me really grates.

  “Look. Luke. Can I call you Luke?” I ask, cutting the bullshit.

  “By all means,” he replies, looking amused.

  “I honestly couldn’t give less of a shit about this class,” I tell him, “I’m just here to fulfill my graduation requirements. I’m a performer. That’s what matters to me. That’s what I spend my every waking hour trying to get better at.”

  “I understand being passionate about your hobbies,” Luke cuts in, “But it’s important to—”

  “Performing isn’t a hobby,” I snap, “It’s what I plan to do for the rest of my life.”

  “That’s what I used to think about sports, too,” Luke replies condescendingly.

  “Well, that’s a totally different story. No one really gets to be a professional athlete,” I say, crossing my arms.

  “No one really gets to be a professional actor either,” he shoots back, “It doesn’t sound that different to me, Sophie.”

  I stare up at Luke, my jaw clenched tightly. In about three minutes, this man has shattered my esteem of him into a thousand pieces. I should have known that someone like him would turn out to be a total asshole. No one man could be as gorgeous and brilliant as he is and still be a good person. That must be a law of physics or something.

  “I’m sure you’re not used to hearing this, Luke,” I say, all joking aside, “But you have no idea what the fuck you’re talking about.”

  “There’s no need to get upset,” he tells me, “I thought you could use a bit of honesty from someone at this school. It’s a shame to see someone as bright as you waste her potential.”

  “Let me guess. You think I should abandon my dreams, sell out, and become an upstanding citizen like you?” I shoot back with a laugh. “Thanks, but I’ll pass.”

  “We’ll see,” he shrugs.

  “Yes. We will,” I say resolutely, turning on my heel, “Enjoy the rat race, Prof.”

  I storm out of the lecture hall, leaving Luke Hawthorne behind in the dust. My hands are shaking with indignation. This guy doesn’t know the first thing about what I do. What could a MBA-toting jock know about art, or expression, or inspiration? I can’t tell if I’m more outraged by his assumptions or disappointed that he’s just another macho asshole. As an assertive woman, I’m used to men trying to tear me down to make themselves feel more important. It was ridiculous of me to imagine that this guy would be any different.

  As I burst back into the warm afternoon, I swallow a huge gulp of fresh air and do my best to calm down. This guy’s opinion of me doesn’t matter. I’ll never see him again in my life. I should just shake off his criticism and look forward to a summer full of classes that won’t include a single money-minded asshole.

  But for some reason, Luke’s words cling to me like a wool sweater in this summer heat. It wasn’t just criticism he had for me, after all, but praise. He thinks I’m bright. He thinks I have potential…and he thinks I’m wasting it. Well, add him to the list of people I’ll be proving wrong once I carve out the life I want for myself, no matter what it takes. God knows, there are already enough names on that list…what’s one more?

  Chapter Two

  I’ll say this for Luke Hawthorne: he certainly motivates me to bring my a-game to the final day of performances for the year. My fellow drama students and I spend the day presenting our final scenes, songs, and movement pieces for each other and our professors. Danny and I are scheduled to perform our dance piece at the very end of the day, and I can barely contain my excitement. When we get out on that stage again, it’s like we’re entirely different performers than we were the day before. Our bodies are entirely attuned, our every movement energized with a determination I haven’t felt since first arriving at school. We leave everything on the stage, losing ourselves in our last performance of the year. And our hard work doesn’t go unnoticed this time.

&
nbsp; “Good goddamn,” Gary gasps, wrapping us up in a bear hug as applause rains down from our peers and teachers, “I don’t know what the hell happened to you two overnight, but I suggest you nail it down and keep it forever!”

  I can’t help but laugh at the idea of keeping Luke Hawthorne nailed down forever. If such a thing is even possible, I’ll happily leave the task to some other poor sap, thank you very much.

  Elated by our job well done, Danny and I walk on air as we leave the performing arts building at dusk. We walk across campus with our arms thrown around each other, taking in the gorgeous night. I notice more than a few women—and men—stealing glances at Danny as we make our way past. I can’t blame them for starting. My friend is Hollywood-handsome and stylish as hell. But even though we have great chemistry as performers, Danny and I have never once hooked up here at Sheridan. He’s bisexual, and I’m pretty sure every single one of our fellow drama students harbors a crush on him. But our friendship has always outranked any sexual tension that might crop up between us—and I’m glad, too. I’m not very good at keeping my romantic interests around for more than a couple of weeks, and Danny is someone I want to have in my life for many years to come.

  “So, what do you think for tonight?” he asks me now, his arm thrown over my shoulders, “Every single frat is throwing some kind of party. Would you prefer togas or a tiki party? I’m pretty sure both will manage to be offensive, but—”

  “Ugh. I don’t want to ruin this day with a crappy frat party,” I groan, “You hate those things as much as I do. Why bother?”

  “Do you have a better idea?” Danny asks, “We could go watch shitty Disney movies with the drama freshmen, if that’s more your speed.”

  “Why don’t we go somewhere off campus?” I suggest.

  “Off campus?” Danny gasps theatrically, “What a novel idea!”

  “I know. But believe it or not, there’s an entire world outside of Sheridan,” I reply, “Why don’t we explore it a bit?”