It was only the threat of a real jail term that caused Rafe to finally reach out for help. After three years of silence he finally produced a tattered, dog eared copy of his original birth certificate, listing Karl Moriarty as his biological father.
Dad was blown away by the news. He'd certainly never seen the birth certificate, much less signed it, but as soon as the public defender sent a copy of Rafe's mugshot he knew it was the truth. Rafe was his son.
I've seen the photo too, and there's no denying it. I've seen lots of pictures of dad as a younger man, back before he cut off his long hair, went gray and gained eight inches around his waist, and Rafe is pretty much a carbon copy of the brooding young musician: tall and muscular, with thick eyebrows arched over a set of piercing blue eyes, and a messy mop of golden brown hair that looks like it hasn't seen a comb in a decade.
In fact, the only way to tell that this wasn't a photo of a young version of Karl was by the three day stubble – dad has never been able to grow a beard – and a small, tear-shaped scar beneath Rafe's left eye. Other than that the resemblance is uncanny.
The public defender told dad that the judge was willing to drop the grand theft auto charge, a felony that would land Rafe in county jail for at least a year, and pretty much destroy any prospect of a normal life, and instead charge him with joyriding and release him on probation, but only if dad was willing to take him in and give him some sort of stable home life.
Of course mom blew a gasket the moment dad proposed that Rafe come and live with us. The idea of inviting a known criminal into her home terrified her, obviously. It was clear from the get go that she pretty much assumed Rafe would steal her Jeep the first chance he got, and for days she flat out refused to entertain the proposal.
Eventually, though, she was beaten down by dad's insistence that he owes it to the kid to give him a fighting chance. She still makes no secret of the fact that she thinks it's a terrible idea, but she's managed to accept the slim possibility that Rafe might not be evil incarnate. He might not pull out a can of spray paint and tag the front door the moment he arrives. He might just be a mixed up kid who's been through too much for someone his age to handle.
And so mom has spent the last month trying and failing to hide her worry from us, growing more erratic and jittery by the day. Now, just a couple of hours before Rafe is due to arrive, she's finally reached boiling point. She's clearing the house of anything valuable that might prove too great a temptation for a light-fingered criminal.
Me, on the other hand... well, I've got something entirely different on my mind. Something that has occupied my thoughts for every moment since I first saw Rafe's mugshot on dad's cellphone, and something that, if I'm being honest, freaks me the fuck out whenever I think about it.
It was his eyes that did it. From the moment I saw Rafe's photo I haven't been able to get them out of my mind. I've tried as hard as I can, but those piercing blue eyes have been seared into my retinas, as if I've stared too long at the sun. They're burned into my memory, and every time I close my eyes I can see them looking back at me... looking into me. Even on the tiny screen of dad's cellphone, in a photo taken with a shitty camera in the back room of a police station, those eyes cut through to the depths of my soul. They make me melt... make me feel like there's a tight, hot ball of energy building in my belly. More worrying than anything else, they... shit, it feels weird even thinking this... they make me as wet as fuck.
And in two hours he'll be knocking on the front door, and I'll see them in real life.
Damn, this is gonna be awkward.
"So, what are you wearing?" Penny asks, her voice tinny and hollow through the phone's speaker.
I play with the lacy fringe of my pillowcase while I try to think of an answer Penny won't be able to ridicule, but come up with zip. "I don't know, clothes? A pink sweater. What does it matter?"
Penny snorts. "Oh, come on, Maddy! Don't try and tell me you don't want to look your best when he meets you. I wasn't born yesterday, you know. I've seen the way you look when you talk about him. You're hot for Rafe. Don't deny it."
"I am not hot for him, Pen! He's my stepbrother! How could you even say that? It's gross!" Even as I speak I know I'm overdoing the shocked denial a little too much. She knows me too well to fall for that shit.
Penny laughs. "Yeah, I know, it's sick. And wrong. It's sick and wrong. Totally." She pauses for a moment. "But you still want to suck his dick, right?"
"Penny! Jesus, you're on speaker! My mom could have heard that. Just... just cool it, OK?"
On the other end of the line Penny collapses into a fit of giggles. I really wish I'd never mentioned that thing about Rafe's eyes. I should have known Penny would make the most of it. She's been my best friend since the first day of middle school, despite the fact that we seem to have absolutely nothing in common, and one of the countless ways she differs from me is in her attitude to sex. The girl's obsessed. She lost her virginity at 15 to some Italian douche on vacation, and since then sex has been the only thing on her mind. I often wonder what she even gets out of our friendship, because I always shut her down when the subject drifts to penis talk.
Penny breaks into song. "Madison and Rafe, sittin' in a tree, F. U. --"
I almost drop the phone in my rush to hang up, then wait a few beats for what I know is coming. Penny's so predictable I could count it down. 5... 4... 3... 2...
The phone buzzes. A Viber message.
F. U. C. K. I. N. G. ;)
I sigh and set the phone on the beside table. My cheeks are burning, but I know Penny's right. I have been worrying about what to wear. I've already changed five times in the last hour, and though I'd settled on my cutest pink sweater I'm now worrying that it looks a little too preppy. A little too conservative.
That's the problem, you see. My wardrobe looks like the aftermath of an explosion at an uptight Martha's Vineyard branch of Tommy Hilfiger. It's the wardrobe of a woman who belongs on the deck of a sloop, all pastels and stripes, chinos, prissy sweaters and top-siders. It isn't sexy. It's just nice.
I study myself in the full length mirror, and I'm not at all happy with what I see. I've never really thought about it before – hell, most of my friends dress like I do – but now I look closely at myself I'm realizing just how ridiculous I look. The long, straight blonde hair pulled back in a simple ponytail. The pink sweater layered over a white blouse. The tan chinos that do absolutely nothing to show off my ass (and it's a great ass, damn it). There's nothing about me that's edgy, sexy or cool.
Rafe, on the other hand, looks like he's just stepped off stage. Sure, I've only see the one photo of him, but he looks like the kind of guy who screws groupies and trashes hotel rooms. It's not that his grungy, unwashed look is better or anything, but he just looks... more grown up. Less like a kid, I guess. I look like a fucking Country Club Barbie, and what's worse I look like I still play with Barbies. Believe me, there isn't a young woman on the planet who wants to look like that.
"Get it together, Maddy," I scold myself under my breath as I tug the sweater over my head, followed by the blouse. "He's just a guy."
I really can't figure out why I even care about what Rafe will think of me. Sure, he's hot, but what does that matter? It's not like anything could happen between us. He's my stepdad's son. He might as well be some sexless robot for all it matters.
But still I study myself in the mirror and wonder what I can do in the next five minutes to make myself look hot. It's just a self confidence thing, I'm telling myself. I don't want any guy to think I'm not a catch, even if we are kinda related.
It's only as I'm slipping my pants down my thighs that I hear the front door swing open through my window. I hop over to the window, still tugging at my pants, and look down to see a figure with golden brown hair sitting on the steps, looking out into the street as if he has no interest in coming inside.
"Rafe, it's so nice to finally meet you!" Mom calls out in a manically cheerful voice, standing in the doorway as
if she's guarding it.
Dad walks down the steps and crouches down on his haunches beside Rafe. He looks like he's been practicing this all day. "Son," he says softly, placing his hand on Rafe's knee, "I'm so sorry I wasn't around for you. If I'd known..." He shakes his head. "Well, I just wish things had gone differently, you know? I'm glad we finally have the chance to get to know each other."
Rafe suddenly stands and turns to the door, pulling dad's hand away. "Yeah, it's like my birthday and Christmas rolled into one. I'm as giddy as a fucking schoolgirl." He pushes past dad and heads for the door. "I'll be in my room."
Uh oh. That didn't go as planned.
Rafe shoves past mom and vanishes into the house. Mom looks shocked, but dad just shakes his head. "Give him time, he'll come around."
I duck back in through the window, kick off my pants and rush over to the wardrobe, fishing through the piles of discarded clothing for something – anything – that looks at least halfway cool. I might as well search for a Big Mac on the Burger King menu. This is a fucking pastel train wreck. I'm looking at the wardrobe for the cast of the Brady Bunch. Jesus, is this a neckerchief? Why? Why would anyone allow me to buy this? Why wasn't there a neckerchief intervention?
"Oh, sweet. My room comes with a free girl."
I freeze and squeeze my eyes tight. It's weird, but the first thing that pops into my head is a line from the first Jurassic Park movie. You remember that scene where Jeff Goldblum and Sam Neill are standing beside their Land Cruiser, and the T. Rex is searching for them? 'Keep absolutely still. Its vision is based on movement.' Maybe if I just stay still Rafe will lose track of my ass.
OK, so that probably doesn't work with humans. Now I'm wondering if I wish hard enough I might be able to turn back time by about ten seconds, so I could close the damned door before I bent over and pointed my ass in the air wearing nothing but my ugly laundry day underwear: an old bra with perished elastic on the right shoulder strap, and a stupid pair of pink panties covered in cartoon characters.
Nope, that didn't work either. I'm still bent over my pile of clothes, my door is still open, and only now I'm remembering that these damned panties are thin as fuck. If Rafe can see past the cartoon ponies he can totally see my pussy through the fabric.
Aaaaaaand I'm still crouching here, thrusting my ass towards Rafe as if I'm inviting him in for a quick dirty fuck. Bad first impression, Maddy. When your stepbrother sees your pussy before he see your face... well, that's not ideal.
I finally snap out of it and turn around slowly, grab a shirt from the massive pile of clothes as I go, and hold it in front of my chest like armor. No more peep show for you, my friend.
The moment I see him my breath catches in my throat. I must look like an idiot. Rafe leans casually against the door frame, an olive green military duffel bag slung over one shoulder. The rope strap cuts into his tight gray t-shirt, twisting the fabric sideways, making it cling to his body.
Jesus, are those his pecs?
My eyes move down Rafe's body to his torn blue jeans. I can tell right away that these aren't the kind of artfully distressed jeans that sell for $200 in the mall with a fancy brand slapped on the ass, but just regular old Levi's that have been torn to shreds over years of wear.
I trace the contours of his body, back up past the torn knees, flitting quickly over the obvious crotch bulge, across the twisted, wrinkled fabric that clings to a perfectly formed six pack and bulging pecs, and up to his face.
Rafe wears an amused smirk, and he meets my eyes without a hint of embarrassment at my nakedness. One eyebrow arches a little higher than the other, and as I watch he runs his fingers through his messy, tousled mop of hair. I can feel the hairs on the back of my neck stand to attention, and the room suddenly feels about 10 degrees warmer.
Oh God, I can't stop myself imaging all sorts of naughty things. All these images are just flashing through my mind, like Rafe unzipping his fly and bringing out his thick cock as I fall back on my heap of clothes and spread my –
Jesus, stop it!
"So... do you talk, or are you like one of those French mimes? Are you trapped in an invisible box? Should I get help?"
Shit. I didn't realize I'd been staring. "Hilo! I mean hello. Hi. Fuck. I'm Madison." Smooth, Maddy, real fucking smooth.
Rafe looks at my door and taps the nameplate screwed there. It says 'Princess Maddy', and it's pink and covered in glitter.
"Yeah, I kinda figured that one out for myself," Rafe smirks.
"That was a gift!" I blurt out defensively. "I mean, my mom put it up when I was a kid. I've been meaning to take it down." Damn. Could I possibly look any more like a stupid little Disney fan of a girl? This abso-fucking-lutely isn't the first impression I was hoping to make.
Rafe swings the duffel bag over his shoulder and drops it by his feet. "Yeah, that's sweet," he says, stifling a yawn. "Did she also give you those hot little My Little Pony panties?"
Without thinking I yank the shirt down to cover my embarrassing underwear, and the world suddenly shifts into horrifying slow motion as I realize what's happening. The button of the shirt collar somehow hooked in beneath the strap of my bra, and when I pull it down the perished strap snaps with a sharp twang. The first I know of it is the painful sting of recoiling elastic against my belly, and I look down with horror to see that the cup of my bra has fallen down with it. My right tit is completely on show.
"Jesus!" I yell, wrapping my arm protectively over myself. "Get out! Get the fuck out!" World, swallow me up.
Rafe just smiles as he slowly lifts his bag from the floor, as if my tits are the fifth set he's seen since breakfast, no big deal. 7 out of 10, bonus points for perkiness. He's still smirking as he vanishes behind the door frame. I bolt across the room, slam closed the door and flip the lock, just in case he strolls back in for another look.
Oh God oh God oh my fucking God! I feel the blush begin to rush towards my face, and I can already tell it'll be a serious one. It's the kind of blush that starts in my toes and spreads to cover every inch of skin, and will return every time I remember this moment as long as my heart continues to beat.
Mortified, I quickly tug on an old t-shirt and shorts before hurrying over to the bed and diving beneath the safety of the sheets, then I grab my phone and dial Penny.
A few awful seconds go by as I listen to the dial tone, and I almost cry with relief when Penny finally picks up. I have to tell someone about this or I'll just explode.
"So, is he here?" Penny asks right away, hungry for gossip.
"Jesus! Pen, you won't believe what just happened. Oh, this is bad. This is soooo bad. Rafe saw my tits!"
Penny cackles. "Way to go, Maddy! I can see I've taught you well, my child."
"Pen, I'm being serious! He just walked into my room and my shitty old bra snapped while we were talking! Fuck, that was embarrassing. How am I ever going to face him again? Fuck!"
Penny stops laughing just long enough to make an attempt at reassurance. "OK, settle down, crazy girl. Look, they're just tits. We all have them. Half the girls I know have accidentally flashed their brothers. Hell, Brad's always walking in on me when I'm naked. He must have seen my tits a thousand times. My pussy, too. Trust me, it's not a big deal. Brothers and sisters get used to it. You're just, like, ahead of the curve. Congratulations!"
Unbelievably, Penny's words actually help a little. What she's saying makes absolutely no sense, of course – she's known her brother all her life, and there's no way Brad could look at Penny with anything approaching lust. I've known Rafe for a grand total of 30 seconds, and I've been half naked for all 30. It's not the same thing at all, but the fact that Penny seems pretty chilled out about it settles me down a little.
"So you really don't think I should be worried?"
"Well," replies Penny, "if you want to really rush this whole brother-sister milestone thing along you kinda need to get a look at his cock to even things out. Y'know, tit for... tat."
Stepbrother Fallen Page 2
