Beast Brothers: A Stepbrother Sports Romance

by Stephanie Brother

  The directions to George’s place seem simple enough. He lives far out in the country, and has been there his whole life. It still amuses me that my mom fell for him. She’s always been a city girl — city, or suburbs, anyway — and now she’s talking about country living and all its virtues. I guess that’s what love does to a person.

  I’m really happy for her though. My dad left us when I was ten, and my mom worked hard to pay the bills and take care of me. I still see my dad every month or two, but my mom is my hero, and I wish her every happiness.

  I like her boyfriend, George, a lot too. I’d met him when he and my mom had come to the city. They’ve only been seeing each other for about six months, but things seem to be getting serious. George has two sons, and the youngest is only twelve, so my mom often stays at George’s house, rather than him staying at her condo.

  As I think about my mom’s newfound happiness, my anger at Clay’s betrayal flares. I’m usually slow to trust men, and slow to give my heart to someone. As much as she tried to put forward a brave face, I saw what my mom went through when my dad left us, and I don’t want to make the same mistake with someone. But I’d had a good feeling about Clay from the beginning. I really thought that we were perfect for each other. We were both very focused on our careers, yet we made time for each other. We had professional goals, but we also both wanted a family in a few years. We had similar taste in foods; we liked going to the theater; he was interested in my job at the museum— I shake my head, disgusted. What a waste of the past ten months. And either I have terrible judgment when it comes to men, or Clay is a terrific liar. I’m not sure which is true; maybe both.

  The city thins out as I reach the outskirts. Gone are the shopping centers and dense housing. I pass wooded areas and open fields. The houses out here have more land and more space between them. The traffic thins too.

  I hope Clay is worrying about me right now, but who knows? Maybe he picked up someone else at the restaurant, or maybe he’d never even gone. Maybe he and the black-haired woman are still together, at the bar, or somewhere else…

  I finally let the tears fall as I approach my exit.

  According to the directions, George’s house is about twenty minutes from here. I’m looking forward to seeing my mom, but I’m not sure I’m ready to see her and her “boyfriend” being all lovey dovey right now. I also don’t want to talk about what happened tonight, and if I show up in tears, there’ll be no avoiding that discussion.

  I make a left at the end of the off-ramp, cross over the highway, and see a bar on the right that’s humming with activity. Maybe just one small drink before continuing on to George’s will help me clear my head and give me the ability to face the lovebirds with a smile on my face.

  Chapter 3

  It’s not until I’m about to enter the bar that I realize I didn’t get around to trashing my so-called lucky blouse as planned. I’m still wearing it, along with a pencil skirt and heels. A couple dressed in jeans and flannel exit the bar as I’m going in, and the woman gives me a long look, head to toe, her eyebrow raised in obvious judgment.

  The establishment is definitely casual, and my first glance inside confirms this impression. Feeling completely overdressed, I consider turning around, but a friendly woman greets me as soon as my foot’s in the door. It would feel awkward and rude to leave now. Besides, I really need a drink.

  It turns out to be a bar and restaurant, both parts nearly equal in size, and both crowded. The hostess directs me to the bar, and as I walk in, several heads turn and stare, with some gazes more blatant than others. I am clearly an outsider. A city girl in a sea of denim and tshirts. The locals don’t seem unfriendly, just curious, so I decide to ignore them and soldier on.

  Though the room is nearly full, many people are clustered at small tables, and a couple of groups are playing pool on tables in the back of the room. I manage to find a seat at the bar itself and am quickly greeted by the bartender, a woman around my age.

  “Hi there. What can I get you?” I can tell she’s taking notice of my out-of-place clothing too, but her smile is friendly. I typically drink whatever trendy martini is being featured, but I catch myself before asking for something fussy.

  I hesitate for a moment and then order the first simple drink that comes to mind. “A whiskey and Coke, please.”

  “Coming right up.” She slides a bowl of pretzels in front of me before making my drink. I have no appetite, but I nibble a few just to pass the time.

  Country music is playing, the walls are paneled in unfinished wood, and the smell of something smoky and sweet like barbecued chicken wafts in from the room next door. I feel like I’ve wandered into another world.

  I don’t want to draw any more attention to myself, but I sneak a few glances at the other patrons from time to time. The bar is filled with young and old. Many people seem to know each other and the vibe is friendly. It doesn’t seem to be a meet market, like most of the bars in the city, but nonetheless, when I’m two-thirds into my drink, a man appears at my side.

  My head is angled toward the door when I feel someone bump against the back of my seat. I turn to see the closest thing to a real life Greek god standing next to me; if Greek gods wore baseball jerseys and jeans, that is. His chest is impossibly broad. His body looks like an idealized version of man, and couldn’t be more perfect if it had been painstakingly carved out of marble.

  This big hulk of a country boy squeezes himself in sideways between me and the stool next to me. He motions to the bartender and holds out his beer bottle as he calls to her, asking for another. Then he turns his attention to me.

  “Hi there,” he says, looking down at me.

  I’m momentarily stunned by both his close proximity and his enormous biceps. He’s so large he’s almost scary, though his manner is not threatening. He’s looking at me with a wide smile, his eyes slowly straying downward to my legs and then returning to meet my eyes.

  “Hi,” I reply, as I lean back to put a few more inches of space between us.

  When the bartender brings his beer over, the godlike man gestures to my glass. “What’re you having?”

  I put a hand over my drink to indicate that I don’t want a refill. “I’m just having this one,” I say. “I’m leaving soon.”

  His smile drops in an exaggerated display of disappointment. “Aww, no need to rush off now, darlin’.”

  Darlin’? I am definitely way out of my element in this place. I smile politely at the stranger and notice he has beautiful brown eyes covered by the thickest lashes. They’re the soulful kind of eyes that can probably be used to charm most women into doing whatever he wants. I’m sure he isn’t someone who’s used to being turned down.

  “Let me buy you a drink. Just one,” he says. He looks to the bartender who’s still standing in front of us.

  I shake my head at her, and then turn back to him. “No. Thank you, though. I appreciate the offer.” I give him a brief smile and then turn to look straight ahead towards the bottles on display. The bartender walks away, and I expect the muscled man to leave with his beer, but he persists.

  “Oh, you probably have a boyfriend, right?” he asks.

  I’m about to automatically confirm that I do have a boyfriend, when I remember with a sudden stab of pain, that I no longer do. An unwanted vision of Clay touching that other woman flashes through my mind and my chest aches.

  I turn toward the man; my eyes are at the level of his chest. His thin shirt is stretched tightly across his pecs. Not bad, I think. I’ve only been a single woman for about two hours, and I’m being hit on by someone with the body of a superhero. Maybe he’s here to save me from my pain.

  “I’m driving, “I say. “One drink is all I’m having tonight.”

  He leans in an inch closer and I catch the clean, fresh, soap smell of his skin. “Let me buy you a Coke then.” His eyes roam slowly over my blouse, skirt and heels again. “You’re not from around here, are you?”

  I just laugh in res
ponse, and return my attention to the wall at the back of the bar. The minute my eyes are off of him, though, I find myself missing the sight of his body. It’s a wonder to behold, just like the statues at the museum.

  He summons the bartender. “The lady here would like a Coke.”

  While he’s looking toward her, my eyes go back to him as if pulled by a magnet. I’m pretty sure my two hands wouldn’t be able to meet if I circled them around his upper arm, and something in me suddenly wants to try. I risk a downward glance and see strong thigh muscles straining against tight jeans. He’s wearing heavy boots with mud on them. I’ve never considered myself a fan of the country boy type, but then again, I’ve never been this close to one. My heart picks up pace the more I look at him.

  I pull my eyes back to his face, not wanting to get caught checking him out. He’s got fine stubble creating a sexy shadow along his jaw, and somehow it looks natural, not like the highly manicured facial hair I’m used to seeing on men in the city. This man next to me doesn’t look anything like men in the city.

  I picture Clay, his lean frame clothed in a perfect suit and expensive tie; his overly groomed hair. Maybe a little attention from a rough and tumble country boy is just what I need to push my lying, cheating ex-boyfriend out of my head.

  I take the final gulp of my whiskey and Coke and then put a hand on the man’s broad shoulder. “I really do need to go,” I say. “Would you be a gentleman and walk me to my car?”

  His eyes widen and I smile at his surprised response to my invitation. I start to pull out my wallet but he stops me. “I’ve got it,” he says. He tosses two bills on the counter and then backs up just enough to give me space to slip off the stool.

  As I walk towards the exit, he escorts me with his warm hand gently resting on the small of my back. The heat of his touch radiates throughout my body. He moves ahead of me and holds the door open. He is a gentleman, or maybe not, I think, as his eyes hungrily scan my body when I move past him. Once we’re outside, he places his hand on my back again, though this time the position is lower.

  “Where are you parked?” he says, in a voice that’s deeper and more serious-sounding than it was in the bar.

  “Around this way.” I gesture to the left.

  As soon as we pass the side of the building and are out of view of the entrance, I stop and turn toward him, and his arms circle around me. We look into each other’s eyes for the briefest of moments before our mouths are drawn together. I reach up around his neck and pull him closer.

  I can taste beer on his lips, and the unfamiliarity of the flavor almost jolts me to my senses, but then he’s pressing against me, and the feel of his massive, hard body makes me melt into him. I’ve always been attracted to intellectual or professional types, men with more developed minds than physiques. This man’s body feels like a science lesson in muscle anatomy. He must work out for hours every day to maintain such well-defined bulk.

  While I’m marveling at the sheer size and density of him, he seems to be enjoying my body as well. He slides his hands over my silky blouse and then lower to my skirt, where he pulls my hips against him. He could easily crush me, but his touch is tender yet firm as he caresses my body.

  Our kisses deepen, and I feel a jolt of pure desire when he runs his tongue along my lower lip. Then he nips at it gently and I purr involuntarily before meeting his tongue with mine.

  “You taste good,” he murmurs when we pause to catch our breath. He backs me up against the side of the building and slips a hand under my blouse. Though his touch is warm, I shiver as he grasps the bare skin at my waist. “You feel good too,” he says in a low, gravelly voice that does funny things to my body. Funny, tingly things that threaten to melt me into a puddle at his feet.

  I curl my fingers into the hair at the back of his neck and dig my nails into his flesh as I pull his mouth back to mine. With my other hand, I blindly explore all those muscles I’d been admiring in the bar. His chest is so hard, and his massive arms are now surrounding me as I’m trapped between him and the wall.

  Our kisses grow desperate and I can feel his breathing change. His hand snakes further up my torso and brushes over my bra. He nips again at my swollen lip as his fingers find my nipple and pull at it through the thin fabric. My legs go weak as dizzying impulses fire throughout my body.

  “Where’s your car?” he breathes against my ear before he pulls my earlobe into his mouth and tugs. Before I answer, he continues, “Never mind. My truck’s around back.”

  Chapter 4

  My feet barely seem to touch the ground as he leads me towards the back of the parking lot. Our hands don’t leave each other’s bodies and we slow a few times because we can’t stop kissing each other. I feel like I’m under a spell, aware only of my body and his body, and all of the thrilling sensations triggered by the touch of his lips and hands.

  At his truck, which is huge like him, he opens the passenger door and backs me into the opening. We don’t get inside, but I’m vaguely aware that our position offers some privacy. We are back at each other’s bodies full speed, kissing, grasping, pulling, exploring. I really can’t get enough of the hardness and size of his arms and chest muscles. I could lose myself in them.

  My sexy superhero pushes his hands under my blouse again, and right now, I’m really glad that I didn’t throw it away. It is again, and forevermore, my lucky blouse. He cups my breasts in his hands, rubbing across my hardened peaks with his thumbs. It feels so naughty, and so wrong, but so very, very right. I whimper as he circles around them, and I feel wetness gather between my legs.

  It’s then that he pushes his hips forward and I feel his excitement growing. If I’d thought his chest was big and hard, well… it’s got nothing on what I feel pressing against me through his jeans. He pulls back and then pushes against me again.

  “I want you…” he growls. And I want him. The energy between us is incredible. I’d never experienced anything like it.

  This is so crazy. I put Clay off until our fifth date before we had sex. I hadn’t been trying to play games; I just like to take things slow, to make sure things are right. I don’t like to make hasty decisions and deal with regrets. Now I’m making out with someone I’ve just met.

  He runs a hand up my leg and starts to push up the bottom of my skirt.

  Actually, I haven’t even technically met him. I’m getting hot and heavy with him, and I don’t even know his name.

  Suddenly my head clears and I come to my senses. I’m in a public parking lot, getting felt up by a stranger. A beautiful, ridiculously sexy stranger, but still, a stranger. This man could be married, for all I know. I hadn’t even looked for a ring on his finger. He could be a serial killer, for god’s sake. And we’re in public. Even if he were my boyfriend, this is not how I would conduct myself.

  In a rush of panic, I push him away from me and smooth down my skirt.

  “I’m so sorry,” I say. My breath is ragged from arousal, and I’m near tears at my sudden confusion. “I’m so sorry. I can’t do this. I don’t do this.”

  I meet his eyes briefly. I see confusion there too, but to my extreme relief, I don’t see any anger.

  “I’m sorry. I need to go,” I say.

  I step around him and he grabs at my arm.

  “Don’t. Please don’t,” I say. I can’t say much more for fear that I’ll break down, and I hope my eyes can somehow convey my apologies. I didn’t mean to lead him on. I expect him to be angry, but he mostly looks concerned.

  “Please. I need to go.” I pull away from him and he releases me. I feel the tears coming. I feel foolish and ridiculous as I head across the lot, quickly putting distance between us. I risk a quick glance backward and see that he’s standing where I left him, staring after me, one arm grasping the open door of his truck, the other resting over his heart.

  Chapter 5

  I wish I could blame alcohol. After just one mixed drink, I know that I can’t pin my poor decision-making on the whiskey.

 
; Relief washes over me as I pull out of the parking lot. I’m grateful that I came to my senses before things went too far. I have regrets, of course, but they’re not nearly as bad as the regrets I could have had if I hadn’t stopped the action when I did.

  But I feel terrible too. I know the blame for what happened is almost fully mine, but I’m sure my sudden lapse in judgment came directly out of my anger and sorrow over Clay’s betrayal.

  The stranger’s unbelievably hot body didn’t help my judgment either. I allow myself a brief smile and feel a sudden pang of regret at the thought of his body. Maybe this experience will serve to teach me that I’m looking for the wrong kind of guys. Had I ever even seen someone with a body like his in the city? Surely they must exist. Maybe I should join a gym and start hanging out with body builders.

  I try not to be too hard on myself as I continue on my way to George’s house. Earlier, I’d been afraid I’d show up there crying from what had happened with Clay. Instead I’m adjusting my bra as I drive and trying to smooth down my messed up hair. I still don’t want to talk to my mom about Clay, but I really don’t want to talk about my brief detour that resulted in a heavy makeout session!

  As I put more distance between me and the bar, the memory of it starts to seem surreal. Did I really just stop at a country roadhouse and nearly have sex with a total stranger in a dirt parking lot? It’s so completely out of character for me that I almost can’t believe it happened.

  If I can actually pretend it never did happen, and try to forget all about it, I think I’ll be much better off. I give one last thought to the hot stranger. When I think about exactly how hot his body was, I decide that he’s probably not all that upset about me leaving. With the way he looked, I’m sure he gets women anytime he wants them.

  After only one wrong turn and a slow drive down a long, gravel road, I finally arrive at George’s house. From what I can make out in the dark, it looks exactly like what I’d pictured from my mom’s description. It’s a big, white, two-story farmhouse with a wraparound porch. With no streetlights around, I can’t see much beyond it, but I can tell there are no neighbors nearby. When I step out of the car, the silence and stillness outside are striking and the air smells unbelievably fresh.