by Zoe Davis
“Hungry?” Dad asked him.
“Yeah I could definitely eat; Elle, you hungry?” Brandon asked, turning to me.
I looked deep into his eyes and nodded. He had no idea just how hungry I was.
Chapter Two
We headed to a seafood restaurant near home that we used to go to when Brandon lived with us. I never cared for it, but I had a feeling I’d be fond of this place now that the new and improved Brandon was with us.
“Wow, this place looks exactly the same” he joked as we followed the waitress to our pirate-ship booth. “Remember all the times we came here, Elle?” I remembered. I remembered how he threw straw wrappers at me when I wasn’t looking or kicked me under the table. I remembered how he never got reprimanded because Dad was too afraid to discipline someone else’s son.
“So Brandon, I suppose you’re moving back here if you get this gig, huh?” Dad inquired, scooting inside the seat. My heart stopped at this news. Brandon moving back to Florida?
“Yep, it’s pretty exciting, huh? It’s going to be nice to be back home,” Brandon smiled across the table at me, as I wondered how he could ever think of Miami as his home.
I must have looked awkward as his eyes met mine; deep, green and confident as hell. It was enough to make me slide down in my seat, uncertain of my own newly acquired confidence.
“So Elle, what’s the 411?” he laughed. “Dad says you’ve got a boyfriend and you’re looking into going to Emory in the fall?” Brandon said.
“Yeah, pretty much” I said, laughing nervously as he peered into my eyes.
I was kicking myself inside. Come on Elle. He’s just your brother. Plenty of women have attractive brothers, but that doesn’t change anything!
“Well, we kind of broke up” I said as Dad’s hands fell to the table in disbelief. I caught a smile forming in the corner of Brandon’s lips.
“Andrew broke up with you? Oh sweetie” Dad started, but I interrupted.
“Dad seriously, it’s not a big deal, he was an ass” I shot back, not wanting to discuss it in front of Brandon or dad.
“Elle you know what I said about using that word” Dad pointed his finger out.
“It’s a perfectly harmless word” I debated him on the origin of language and how words are formed. He turned to Brandon, laughing.
“She’s Emory material, huh?” He elbowed Brandon.
“You know dad, Emory isn’t cheap,” Brandon grew stern.
“Not with a scholarship,” he proudly pointed out. “Elle worked really hard and ended up with one of the highest GPA’s in the state; they were falling over themselves to hand her one” he boasted.
“Well, I guess keeping your nose buried in books all these years really paid off, Elle?” He asked as I played with my hair, shrugging. “So why are you at the community college?”
“I wanted to get a few of my basics out of the way over the summer, just to get a head start, you know?” I felt my hands trembling as he watched me talking.
Brandon’s gaze seemed to be lingering on me longer than required by a casual conversation, and there was a fire in his eyes I’d never seen before. I swore I could feel tension coming from his side of the table, too.
But it only made me more nervous, and as I looked away, I felt the heat of blush coming to my face. I knew I needed to say something to take the attention off me, so I blurted out the first thing that came to my mind.
“Uh, what kind of job are you getting, anyway?” It wasn’t a bad choice, thankfully.
Brandon smiled wide and all I could think about was how much I wanted to plaster my face to his and feel his body wrapped around me.
“Well, I received my degree in Kinesiology and then I spent some time doing research in a myofascial program and-” Brandon was really getting into it just as Dad chimed in excitedly to simplify it.
“He’s a massage therapist; isn’t that cool, Elle?” Dad said as Brandon laughed, shrugging. He looked a little embarrassed but brushed it off quickly.
“Well, it’s not exactly like that but almost. I’ll have to give you a massage while I’m here, if you want, Elle” Brandon added as his eyes held on to me once more. I could feel myself turning red again, completely giving it away when I dropped my fork nervously onto the plate. The loud clanging seemed to attract the attention of the entire restaurant, making matters worse.
A light tingle crawled up my thighs at the thought of Brandon massaging me; the familiar warm electric feeling in my core hinted at a spark or two as I suddenly felt horny.
Elle, stop it! He’s family, move on.
I had to keep reprimanding myself all through dinner as we scarfed our food down. I continued to fight my lingering eyes that were trying to undress my stud step-brother. I couldn’t look at him for two seconds without imagining those ripped abs from the picture I saw of him.
After dinner we headed back to the house and less than an hour later, Dad was headed out the door, hugging me then Brandon. I had almost forgotten that I’d be home alone with Brandon this whole time. I felt pained with desire and sick with worry. I reminded myself that nothing would happen, but my body didn’t believe me.
“I’m going to miss you so much, but you remember to be a good hostess for Brandon and I’ll see you Wednesday night,” Dad said as his carpool honked impatiently at the end of the driveway.
He closed the door behind him and suddenly it was just me and Brandon, alone.
Brandon didn’t say a word to me, but instead walked to the sofa and turned on the T.V. I stood in the foyer deciding whether to stay with Brandon or head up to my room to read. I decided to stay.
I went to join him on the sofa where he was watching television, and noticed that he was watching some political talk show; something the old Brandon wouldn’t have done if his life depended on it.
No, the Brandon I knew when I was younger watched sports. Or sometimes he’d hog the television to watch his oafish reality shows about greased up meatheads living in some downtown la-la land where drama was the only reality.
I’d be sitting on the sofa, turning my nose up to it as I tried to stay focused on my sci-fi novel. But as I now sat next to the older Brandon, he seemed like the more intelligent one, and it was only increasing my attraction to him.
The political pundit’s monotone jargon went straight over my head, but I was secretly turned on by the occasional witty remarks Brandon made at the television.
“They should know better than to try that in Serbia, especially considering what happened, especially after swindling the voters in the southern part of the country” he’d say, looking over to me for some kind of approval.
“What’s your take on it? Do you follow this stuff?” He asked me, sounding excited.
“Um, sometimes” I blatantly lied. I had no idea what the hell he was talking about, but his intelligence mixed with those damned dreamy looks and new sense of maturity could have me spinning lies left and right.
“I just think they should stop fighting” I guessed at a vague answer. His eyes lit up.
“See, that’s exactly what I’ve been saying. They drew the party lines completely wrong and now there are warring factions all over the place,” he said as I nodded, utterly terrified I was going to look like an idiot. Why am I even trying so hard? I wondered. But one look at Brandon reminded me of the answer.
Every movement Brandon seemed to make was intent and confident. I wondered where this new interest in news and politics came from. Maybe they were dormant during his jock days and he had feared exploring them. Brandon was more intriguing by the moment. As he talked, I involuntarily matched the last couple of boyfriends I’d had up against Brandon, and they all looked like little boys next to him. All of my exes acted their age or younger. They played video games, teased jokingly, and had little aspiration beyond where to grab a burger that night. I would’ve guessed Brandon to be even more immature than them, but he suddenly seemed wise beyond his years.
Andrew, my most recent ex, tur
ned out to be just another horn ball jerk. I thought he saw something special in me, but as it turned out, he had eyes for any girl that would give him attention. During our relationship, one girl was a cheerleader named Reagan.
Reagan was one of those girls who lived for trying to steal boys away from their girlfriends, and for a while I’d only heard second-hand stories of her antics. But after a house party last week, I found out for myself how conniving she could be.
I had volunteered to take my friend Chrissie home after she’d had a little too much to drink. I made Andrew, knowing how he liked to drink, promise me that he was also leaving before he got too bad.
“Babe, don’t worry about it; damn,” he told me, annoyed as he drunkenly stumbled over every word. “You got me on a dog collar babe, damn” he finally said, which was a little infuriating, but I excused it to his drunken buzz.
I knew better than to assume alcohol was completely to blame for his behavior. He frequently spoke down to me but any time we’d argue over it he’d eventually apologize. I guess I was just waiting for the day he finally kept his promise to treat me better.
I kissed him on the cheek and we left.
Next thing I know, it’s the following morning and I’ve got texts from all of Andrew’s friends saying that Reagan had sucked his dick at the party. My follow up texts were full of questions.
How did they find out? Did someone walk in on them?
Are they sure it wasn’t a different couple?
How could he do this to me?
I wanted it to be a lie, but Andrew didn’t even try coming up with a story.
“What the fuck, Andrew? Is it true?” I asked him, tears streaming down my cheeks.
“Maybe if you gave me a blowjob every once in a while” He started, defiant.
I couldn’t take it anymore and we broke up right then. And though I was perfectly content dealing with it in my own shy, quiet way, I could see Brandon was quickly reading it on my face as we sat there.
Something about him, maybe it was whatever wisdom he had gained at college had made him perceptive enough to see it in my eyes, as hard as it was to believe.
“So, what’s the deal with that guy you were dating? What happened?” He asked me as the television host broke up the heated political argument and announced a commercial break.
“Uh, nothing. You know, it just wasn’t working out” I told him in as few words as possible. I really didn’t want to discuss this with him. He wasn’t buying it though.
“Sorry to hear that, hopefully you’re not too down over it” He said. I shrugged. I was down. I mean, was a terrible relationship and I’m glad to be out of it, but I had invested time and effort into it. I thought maybe he would change, but he never did.
“I’m okay,” I stated in a way that communicated my sadness, but also my strength. Then, without thinking, I blurted out the next question:
“Um, are you dating anyone?” I asked out of curiosity, but my heart was instantly racing at the realization that it’d maybe sounded like I was interested in him. I unsuccessfully tried to explain myself, “I mean, I was just, like, I don’t know” I stumbled over my lame attempt to show my reasoning. Thankfully, he didn’t seem to catch on.
“Um, a few girls here and there, but you know how it is” he said, sounding a little uncomfortable himself. I felt my body relax at his tone. Maybe he was just as nervous as I was. I wanted to believe he was and I felt my blood pulsing in my veins, sending my heart into overdrive.
“You know, I was a high school guy once; and I’m not saying I’m some mature wise adult now or anything, but we can be assholes at that age so don’t let it get to you” Brandon said.
I was charmed by his compassion, and yet very surprised. Of course, I remembered how much of an asshole he was. I had to live with him. It was strange that we were talking like I’d never known him when he was younger. I liked it better this way.
His cologne started drifting to my nose the longer we sat there, and I’d just hoped he wouldn’t notice me intentionally inhaling it as my senses ignited. The scent was warm and comforting, and it smelled natural. I wondered how much of it was him and how much was the cologne.
I felt goose-bumps rise across my skin as Brandon casually brought his arm over the back of the sofa; the long, muscular arm decorated with tattoos. I never really paid attention until now, but the designs swirling across his arm made him seem stronger somehow; confident. I grew nervous and lustful at the same time; I wanted everything that Brandon had and was and yet wanted nothing to happen at the same time. I think if he had kissed me right then I would’ve surrendered, but I wouldn’t dare make the first move.
I quickly diverted my thoughts to a teenage Brandon poking fun at me.
“Yeah, you were such an asshole” I suddenly blurted out into the established silence, surprising even myself. Way to build a wall, Elle, I thought to myself. I knew as soon as I’d said that, I would regret it.
“Ha!” Brandon’s laugh startled me. “I don’t blame you for saying that, Elle.”
Something about Brandon was endearing in a way that made me to lose control of myself when he was near. I could feel myself trusting him completely, like an old friend, and as he listened, I felt as though I could tell him anything.
This man was far from the boy who I grew up with, and I felt like the disbelief would never fade.
“I bet this situation has you pretty tense. Maybe you need a massage, hm?” Brandon suggested, hopping up from the couch and coming around behind me as my eyes widened with fear.
A massage? Him touching me? Is he serious? My mind was racing at the sudden suggestion.
But my hesitation faded as I felt his strong hands lower softly atop my shoulders.
I felt his fingers sinking into my tender muscles and the release that oozed from them melted my insides.
These are the same fingers that stroke that big dick, I though, instantly recoiling at the crude thought. But the image of his cock kept reappearing as he squeezed my tender muscles.
I let out a sigh; letting my head lower back until it hit his abs. Andrew had never once touched me like this; no one had. My mind was swimming in photographs I’d seen of Brandon. I imagined softly touching his abs as I traveled down to his waist-line. I wanted his cock so badly.
“Your hands are amazing” I giggled as the little strings of feel-good energy wiggled around in my mind.
“My frat didn’t call me ‘the doctor’ for nothing,” Brandon laughed.
The release in every muscle around my neck sent intoxicating waves of pleasure to my brain and all over my body.
I felt a hot tingling again between my thighs start to build up and I squirmed in place as Brandon kneaded through my upper arms, finishing the impromptu massage.
The battle between what was off-limits and up for grabs raged on as dirty images of Brandon filled my closed eyes. As I came to, I remembered that Brandon was practically my brother and was ashamed of my previous feelings.
Brandon’s dog tag suddenly jangled against the back of my hair as I found my curiosity of it returning.
“What’s this for?” I asked him, turning to look at it out of the corner of my eye.
“Oh, it’s just this thing we had in my fighting group” He answered as he held it between his fingers, studying it as an expression of nostalgia, coupled with a big smile, came across his face.
“Fighting group?” I asked.
“Yeah, yeah; it’s this mixed martial arts type fighting group we had in LA. It’s just thing I did one time to relax during finals one year,” he started.
