This wasn’t something that I could talk about. Not with anyone.
“I don’t know,” I answered honestly. Maybe if I hadn’t been so wrapped up in what I was feeling about him and trying to decipher what he was feeling about me, I could gauge a little better how he was handling his mother’s death. “Danny’s, well, a guy. You know, the kind that doesn’t do so well opening up about things?”
“That’s right. He’s a big shot football player, isn’t he?”
I’d told Cindy a lot about my family over the last couple of years, including how my real mother had died and how I’d grown to love Selene as a maternal figure just the same. And of course, about Danny. I didn’t like to linger on him, so I kept our discussions on him short—the more you talked about boys, the more people thought you were interested in them. Still, she knew that he was a professional football player and that he was sexy as hell.
It hadn’t been me who told her that last part.
“Yes, he is.”
“So he probably can’t say anything without throwing a football around,” she commented. It was a lame joke and I felt a little defensive; Danny wasn’t like that. He was a good guy and more sensitive than people gave him credit for. But I understood that she was only trying to help by lightening the mood.
Forcing a smile, though she couldn’t see it, I said, “Probably not. But it doesn’t take a genius to know he’s hurting.”
Her voice had turned somber again when she said, “You’re right. Well, he’s lucky to have you.” My breath hitched and I felt a protest on the tip of my tongue ready to explain that he didn’t have me, that we were siblings, but before I could, she continued with, “Your dad, too. The best way to heal is for you guys to stick it out together.”
“Yeah, of course, you’re right.”
We hung up right after that. I explained that I wasn’t sure how long I’d stick around, but it would definitely be through the weekend. Cindy told me to take as much time as I needed and offered to do whatever she could to help me out. I promised we’d reschedule for another time and that she would definitely get over her asshole boyfriend, with or without me.
When I finally hung up the phone, I tossed it to the side and fell back onto my bed. I stared up at the lavender canopy, thinking about Danny. He’d taken me last night in a way that I never thought was never possible for us. The sex had been amazing, overwhelming, and wrong for more than one reason.
The most obvious was that we were siblings—stepsiblings, but related by our parent’s marriage at the very least—but there was also the fact that we’d just buried Danny’s mother. The dirt covering her grave hadn’t even begun to sprout grass or flowers or anything. There was no wear on her tombstone and not even a day had passed before I jumped her son’s bones.
I cringed. It sounded really bad when I thought about it like that.
But the thing was, as guilty as I felt about the whole thing—I knew it wasn’t appropriate—I couldn’t help how good it had felt. And not just good, but right. Like we’d always been meant to be together like that and it was maybe the very reason our families had been brought together in the first place.
It was ridiculous and I knew I was just trying to make what happened the night before okay, but I couldn’t help how I was feeling, could I?
Doesn’t much matter if Danny doesn’t want to be with you, does it? I thought to myself, the realization coming unbidden.
I sat up quickly, ignoring my pounding head, and got up from my bed. I grabbed a hairbrush and raked it through my long golden strands, staring at myself in the vanity mirror. “He does want me, though,” I told my reflection determinedly and as soon as I said it, I thought it had to be true.
You didn’t do that with people that you didn’t want.
As I brushed my hair aggressively, there was a soft knock on the door. “Honey?”
I froze, panic rushing through my system. It was my dad. Glancing down at myself, I made sure that I looked alright. Was I presentable? Was I covered? Could you tell that I’d had wild, passionate, crazy sex with my stepbrother the night before?
My shorts were wrinkled and bunched up, as was the oversized shirt I’d found in my closet, but otherwise, I looked decent. Not necessarily awake or good enough for the general public, but I wouldn’t embarrass myself if my dad walked in on me all of a sudden.
“You awake yet?” he called when I didn’t answer.
Clearing my throat, I said, “No, I’m up. C’mon in.”
Dad pushed the door open and poked his head inside. He looked a little tired and still crestfallen, but he definitely seemed better than he had yesterday. I think the funeral had done him some real good.
“Hey,” I said with a small smile. I was having a hard time looking him in the eyes, but he didn’t seem to notice.
“You should get cleaned up, I’m working on breakfast,” Dad told me, smiling in a way that wasn’t completely sad or broken.
I gave him a curious look, wondering how he was able to just pick himself up so soon. I was grateful, of course; I hated to see my dad like this. But it was hard to believe that he’d just woken up this morning all better.
He laughed at my expression. “I’m fine honey. Losing Selene…” He shook his head and his voice still cracked a little when he said her name, telling me that he was most definitely not fully recovered. “It’s a terrible thing. I won’t be one hundred percent anytime soon and maybe I never will be, not completely. But she wouldn’t have wanted us to mope around. She would have wanted us to live and be happy and keep going.”
I smiled at him. It was the truth. I imagined Selene in the room with his, shaking her head as we moped and wept and grieved over her loss. She would have hated that. In her mind, loss was one of those things that was inevitable. It was going to happen and you just had to get through it and move on. Life didn’t stop and the people who were gone were okay. Wherever they were, they still loved us and they still wanted us to be happy.
I never thought that was truer than right at this moment. Selene was a wonderful, lively person and she would have wanted us to be that, too.
“You’re right,” I told him though my heart still ached. It was only partially for Selene though, and it made me feel guilty. “So what have we got going on today?”
Dad beamed at me, his eyes alight with excitement. “Well, it’s been awhile since you’ve been in town and Danny’s got a game today,” he told me happily. “I was thinking we could go and cheer him on. I’m sure he’d love to have you there.”
I wasn’t so sure, but I didn’t tell my dad that. I didn’t want him to think anything was going on between me and Danny—and not just because I didn’t know what was going on between us—so I kept my mouth shut about it.
Still, I wasn’t sure if I wanted to go.
“I don’t know dad,” I said hesitantly, not wanting to see him look disappointed, but still not sure if it was a good idea to go. Danny hadn’t called. Would he really want me there? “I’m not sure if I’m up for that today.”
Dad’s expression dropped and for a moment, I could see how truly broken up he was about Selene. For all of his bravado, his strong words and his cheerful expression, he was broken hearted. There was no question about that, and it meant that I couldn’t let him down. After all, whatever my ulterior motives might be, I was here to be with dad.
“Are you sure?” he asked me tentatively, working hard to keep up his cheerful demeanor this morning. “It would be really nice to have you there with me today.”
And that sealed the deal. I couldn’t say no now and besides, whether Danny wanted to see me or not, I wanted to see him. Definitely.
Sighing, I shook my head but smiled. “Oh, alright. But I need to borrow a shirt. I’m not going without a Packers shirt.”
Dad grinned widely. He was clearly thrilled that I had reconsidered and I probably could have asked for the Taj Mahal right then and he would have done just about anything to give it to me. I never considered myself
a princess, but dad worked hard to make sure that I didn’t want for things. He loved me too much I thought sometimes, but I was grateful for it. Truly, I was lucky.
“You got it,” he told me, his smile broad and unwavering. “You want gold or green? Or both? I don’t think I’ve got one in your size, but I’ve got an older one from a couple of years—and a couple of pounds—ago. You could call it vintage.”
He winked at me and I laughed. “Whatever you think is best, dad. Just so long as I’m not the only one in the stands without a Packers shirt. I don’t think I could handle the humiliation.”
Still smiling, he gave me a quick nod. “I’ll go find it. You go ahead and get cleaned up and head down for breakfast. I’ll have your shirt for you then. Bring a sweatshirt, though, just in case. They said there might be bad weather this afternoon.”
He left then, still smiling and happier than I’d seen him since I’d arrived. I realized then how much he really needed me here. I meant the world to him, his only daughter, and this game was important because it was a symbol that our family was still intact, despite losing his wife.
I watched him go down the hall before I sighed. This had the potential to blow up in my face. I glanced over at my bed where I’d tossed my cell after the call from Cindy this morning. Maybe I should call Danny…
The urge to do just that pulsed through my fingers, begging me to do it, but I didn’t think I could. If he hadn’t called me yet, then it meant he wasn’t ready to talk to me. If I called now, he’d just ignore the call, or worse, pick up and proceed to tell me how last night had been a terrible mistake.
I didn’t think I could handle that.
So I shook my head and headed down the hall to the bathroom to take a shower. I had rinsed off quickly last night after my night with Danny, but it had been a quick thing. I’d done it because I was a hygiene freak and thought it was important to clean up, but I hadn’t bothered with things like hair or shaving or anything else. So I’d do that now.
Standing under the spray, I thought about the events of last night. Things had gotten hot, fast. I wasn’t even sure who had started it, though I thought I’d kissed him first. Everything had just been too much; the wake, the funeral, and seeing Danny from across the room looking as though there were things lingering in his heart that were undeniable.
Well, he sure seemed to be denying them now.
I lathered up my hair, closing my eyes to keep the soap out, and frowned. He’d left so quickly. I’d tried going after him, wanting to stop him and tell him that everything would be okay; we’d work it out. But he hadn’t even glanced back at me, unwilling to talk about the wonderful sex we’d just had.
Rinsing out my hair, I made sure to shave—everywhere—and then turned off the water. I toweled off and wrapped up my hair, then headed down the hall to my room. I could smell what I was pretty sure was French toast wafting up the stairs towards me and when I made it into my room, I spotted dad’s old shirt on the bed. It was old and definitely worn, but it was a smaller size. My dad wasn’t necessarily fat, but he’d definitely put on a few pounds in the last few years, and this much smaller shirt was a testament to that fact.
It had been one of his favorites, I remembered because he used to wear it when we were kids and he took us to games. He’d been a Packers fan since I was a little, little kid (maybe since he was a little, little kid). He’d evidently passed that on to the both of us because I had more than a few shirts.
I just hadn’t packed any.
Throwing off my towel, I dressed in a pair of tight blue jeans and a lacy push-up bra. There wasn’t a lot of point given that the shirt was a guy’s t-shirt and would still be huge on me anyway. No cleavage to be found.
Still. It was more of a “what if” bra.
I blushed a little as I pulled dad’s shirt on over my head. I knew that I was supposed to be ashamed, and part of me felt guilty for indulging in Danny the same night we’d put his mother in the ground, but I couldn’t deny that desire roiled through me just the same.
I couldn’t help but want more of him.
When I was dressed—I had to tie the shirt in the back, making it ride up until it was almost a crop top—I dabbed on some basic makeup and combed out my hair. I decided not to blow dry it, leaving it to air dry instead.
I grabbed a sweatshirt—green, of course—and headed downstairs to the kitchen. Sure enough, I found a stack of French toast waiting for me and a steaming mug of hot coffee. Dad was just putting his own plate on the table.
“Sit, eat,” he told me, still smiling brightly. He glanced down at his shirt. “It looks great. A little worn, but you make it look shiny and new.”
I laughed at him and shook my head. “Thanks, dad.”
We were quiet as we ate for the most part. The French toast was delicious and I was glad that dad had made breakfast this morning. Both the food and the coffee helped my lingering headache, along with the two ibuprofen I took after my shower.
When we’d finished, I helped dad with the dishes. As he washed and I dried, I asked him, “What time is the game today?”
“It isn’t until seven,” dad explained, making me wonder why I’d had to get all dressed up and everything this early. It was already ten, but if it wasn’t until late, then I could have spent another hour or so at the very least in bed and we could have had lunch instead of dinner.
“Oh,” I said. “Of course, it is. It’s Thursday.”
Afternoon games were always on Sundays. Or the odd Thanksgiving Thursday, but obviously that was only once a year.
Dad nodded. “But I thought we could do some running around and get set up in the stadium early for the game. Get some game snacks.”
I grinned at my dad. Game snacks. Would we drink a beer together, too? I hadn’t been to a game with him since I was old enough to drink and the thought suddenly amused me though it shouldn’t have. I’d done shots of bourbon with my father; what was one beer?
Still, it was an amusing idea.
“Alright, sounds good,” I told him and finished putting away the dishes.
We spent several hours driving around. We had lunch before the game—light, though, to make sure we weren’t too full to enjoy the game time snacks—and I even made a poster with Danny’s name and number on it so that we could wave it around during the game. Dad was pretty thrilled with that.
When we finally made it to the game, I was buzzing with excitement. It wasn’t like I’d never been to a Packers game or to one of Danny’s games. I hadn’t yet seen him play in person once joining the NFL. (I did watch every one of his games on ESPN though.) I was excited to see him now, though I tried to shove that down and remind myself that I still wasn’t sure where we stood.
Was he mad? Would he even want me to be there?
I pushed down my uncertainty and focused on the fact that I was here with my dad at a game that we both loved. We found our seats and I was surprised by how close we were to the field. I could see the players from where we were and after searching their faces for just a moment, I spotted one familiar form waving at us.
My dad waved back, but I didn’t move. Our eyes seemed to lock and I could see it even from here. Desire. His seemed to come alive with the emotion and I knew then that my worries had been unnecessary. However he might have left last night, however he might feel about it (however uncertain I might be), I knew that he definitely still wanted me.
Offering a smile that I hoped was sweet but might have been a little sexy, I unfolded my homemade banner for him and waved it, whooping loudly. My dad laughed at my antics and I watched Danny smile.
He might have blushed, too, but from here it was impossible to tell and then he was turning away as his coach called to him.
Hope bloomed in my breast as I realized that I had a chance at the only boy I’d ever really wanted.
Chapter Eight
I was grinning like a goddamned idiot, but I couldn’t help it. I knew dad would be here. He’d promised and bought the tickets
ages ago. The second ticket had been for mom, back when we’d both still believed she would be here with us, but then she’d died.
It weighed down my heart like a ton of bricks and sometimes I felt like I couldn’t breathe, not even a little bit, but then there were moments like these.
I could see Ashley in the stands with that stupid poster she made and it made me feel like everything would be alright. I wasn’t sure how—a big part of me knew that I couldn’t be with her like I wanted to be, like we had been last night—but seeing her here made me believe it was possible.
Struggling to focus, I listened to coach go over the play. I knew my part and I’d do just fine like I always did. This stuff was easy. I was a natural at football, whatever else my shortcomings might be, and that meant I didn’t need to sweat the small stuff. It also meant I had more pussy than I knew what to do with and that I was making more money than any one man needed.
Crush Page 9
