It took thirty minutes to get a signal for the GPS, another hour or so to get him to the hospital, which isn’t so much a hospital anyway as some kind of emergency clinic out in the middle of nowhere, in a town with a name I can’t even pronounce. It’s so provincial, they don’t even recognize me here. We might as well be in another country.
They’ve got Dad on a drip inside just to get his fluids back up, while Rachel and I wait for news of what it is that’s happening. The doctors don’t seem all that concerned, but they don’t seem to know much about what it is that’s wrong with him either.
I was tempted to take him directly to a better hospital back in the city, but Rachel wanted to have someone see him straight away, so it made sense to come here. If it gets serious, I’ll have him relocated, but until we know more, we can’t really do anything but leave him here and wait.
Dad never gets sick, so I don’t reckon it’s going to be anything serious anyway. When they sort out his dehydration and get the test results back I reckon they’ll just tell us it’s either something he ate or because he spent too much time in the backyard under the sun.
He’s already embarrassed that we’ve brought him here, thinking he’s doing nothing else but wasting people’s time, so he’ll probably be mortified when we find out it’s nothing more than that. I’m looking forward to seeing the look on his pasty green face.
Rachel seems to be pretty concerned, so I try my best to make her feel better by telling her stuff that she probably won’t already know about Dad, and I think it works. I knew Dad was in love with this woman, but up until now I hadn’t realized how much Rachel was in love with him. It’s funny how it takes some kind of mini crisis to realize that. I think it’s the look you can’t avoid giving when you think about what might happen if that person wasn’t around any more.
That obviously isn’t going to happen, and I make sure she knows that. Dad is too much of a pain in the ass to have something so innocuous be all that serious for him.
When I’ve dealt with Rachel’s concerns, and we have nothing left to do but wait, I go over that dream again and again, trying to restore it back to its perfection, trying to make sure I never forget it. It’s already losing its glossy sheen, and in the event that nothing like that happens again, either in the dream world or for real, I don’t want to forget it completely.
The way that she looked at me, the deepness of the emotion that I felt when she did, or because she did, the way I could almost taste her. Shit man, that’s scary and beautiful all at the same time, and I cannot begin to explain what it does to my dick. Real life has sometimes never seemed as clear as that, and I would do absolutely anything in my power to experience it again.
I even try to get back to that same dream right there in the hospital, my head rested into my sweater and propped up against the wall. I swear I’m halfway there too, when the doctor picks that moment to come out to give us an update.
“What does more tests mean exactly?”
I can tell by the tone of her voice that Rachel is skeptical.
“We just want to keep him in today and possibly tonight for observation, that’s all.”
“Observation?”
“Exactly.”
“Looking for what exactly?”
“Well I’m afraid that’s something we don’t know at the moment. That’s why we are doing the tests.”
Rachel is not convinced and nor am I. It all seems a little vague to me. Dad’s sleeping so we can’t ask his opinion, but as far as I’m concerned, if he needs to stay in anywhere, I want it to be somewhere that has a reputation, a proper department and some of the best medical staff the country can offer. Even if it’s only a bout of food poisoning, I’m happy to pay for it. I can probably even get this covered on my insurance plan, but even if I can’t, money’s no issue to me. We only came here in the first place because it was quick, and now we know that Dad’s condition isn’t immediately life threatening, we can decide to move him elsewhere if we want to.
It’s almost day break. I’ve had a couple of hours sleep at the very most, and I can feel sleep dragging me back down. The last thing I want to do is drive into New York, but I also don’t feel all that comfortable about leaving him here. Whatever happens here, someone will have to go back and pick up Tilly, or at least tell her what’s going on. Whatever we decide to do with Dad, Rachel doesn’t want to leave him on his own.
“You go back, I’ll stay here with Marvin until we know what’s going on. I don’t want you to have your vacation ruined because of something silly.”
“It’s your vacation much more than it is mine, Rachel. What about getting him to a better hospital?”
“I’m not sure if that’s necessary, plus it might be bad to move him.”
“I can get a private ambulance to take you both to a hospital in the city with the best doctors in America. They probably don’t know what the hell they are doing here, and they might even be waiting for the good doctors to come on shift. It’s not exactly overrun.”
“And what happens to you and the rest of the vacation?”
“I’ll head back and pick up Tilly, and we can decide what to do when you find out about Dad. We can always do it another time.”
“There’s no reason why you and Tilly can’t stay there yourselves anyway.”
Tilly and I, on our own, in the middle of nowhere. Why is this kind of temptation put in front of me, with my career on the line, if I can’t hold myself back?
“Nor any reason why you can’t rejoin us when you find out what’s going on.”
You know, save me from myself, or catch your daughter and your step-son fucking. Whichever suits you.
“I am worried about him you know.”
“Me too. I’d feel more comfortable knowing he was somewhere serious as well.”
“How long do you think it would take to arrange a private ambulance?”
“Less time than for them to find out what it is they are running tests for.”
Rachel agrees it’s the best thing to do and I call my insurance company to arrange it. If the vacation is over, that’s fine by me. I can head back home and forget all about that sexual tension I can’t avoid with Tilly. If Tilly decides otherwise, however, I may have a complication on my hands. Two crises in one week, may be more than I can handle. And here I am trying to stay out of the newspapers.
The ambulance arrives within an hour of calling it, much quicker than either of us expect. The doctors are neither surprised, nor terribly bothered to see their recently arrived patient disappear, perhaps even relieved that they no longer have to perform their pantheon of random tests.
Dad is sort of semi-lucid as they load him in, conscious of what’s going on, but unable to respond to it. Rachel gets up alongside him, ready with a barrage of questions to fire at the new medical staff.
They take his pulse, check his vital signs, change his drip and tell us both not to worry. Already I feel a thousand times more reassured.
“You can call me when you know. I’ll drive out to get a signal, and check the cell every few hours or so.”
“Tell Tilly not to worry. Hopefully we’ll be back soon.”
“I’m sure you will.”
I watch the ambulance disappear out of the car park before it melts into the landscape of forest and hills that occupies the space between the hospital and the highway beyond.
I did not expect that at all, four days into our vacation. Arguments? Yes. Boredom? Check. Driving your dad to a hospital in the middle of nowhere and then watching him get taken away in a private ambulance to another? Definitely not.
When I get back to my car, my mind wanders back to Tilly. We are going to be alone, just her and me, for at least a day, maybe more. In the middle of nowhere, no cameras, no paparazzi, just Tilly, myself, the jacuzzi, sexual tension, sexy red panties and a huge dick that gets hard when I do little more than just stand next to her.
This is going to be interesting. Fuck, it could even be defining.
Landon
I can’t think of anything else at all on the drive back up to the house. I’m back in the dream and then I’m adding to it with what I want to do to her when I get back, and then I interrupt myself with thoughts of the possible consequences, coach stormy faced with that morning’s newspaper in front of him, the headline in bold print: The Donkey and his stepsister.
I imagine a career of watching other, less impressive players from the sidelines, well known sports personalities lamenting a wasted gift for a senseless act of passion, the inevitable downward spiral afterwards, and then I’m back again in that dream, in the fantasy that it becomes, Tilly and I wrapped in each other’s arms, that butt working hard to please me, her perfection driving me absolutely insane.
I’ve never found temptation easy to resist, and anyone who knows me will tell you I’m a sucker for a good looking girl. If such a thing existed, I’d tell you I had an addictive personality. I wonder if it’s because I’ve just spent my life searching for the right thing.
It’s not normal for me to be indecisive either, but obviously there is a lot at stake. My fucking career for one, my family for two. Both of those things are the most important things in my life. There is also one other major problem I’m overlooking somewhat, and that’s the fact that Tilly is my step-sister. I know enough about her already to know she wants it - I knew that from day one - I just don’t know enough about her to tell whether she’s got the balls to let it happen or not. Or whether I’ve got the balls to make it.
It has to be the lack of sleep, because there is no way I’d be over thinking something like this unless it really was serious, or I just wasn’t in the right frame of mind. Maybe Dad getting ill has bugged me out more than I thought it had. Maybe one month without getting laid is making my senses all wonky. What I really should do is drive back to the cottage, pack my bag, get Tilly in the car and take her home, but I know I’m not going to do that, and the reason I’m not going to do that is because I like taking risks and I just can’t help wanting to see where this goes. I can’t not look into Pandora’s box. Fuck, it’s going to be the death of me, I know it. It’s going to end my fucking career and I’m driving straight for it like the arrogant prick I’ve always been, always thinking with the wrong head.
I should just masturbate and get it over with. I should find a high class escort and pay for her silence. I should forget all about Tilly and what she’s doing to me, but I can’t. I feel like an addict in need of a fix, and the more I think about the possibility of what could happen, the more excited I get about it too.
I’m nervous, like I got before my first big game, the first time something mattered to me. I step out on that field now with chills down my spine, but I’m calm inside because I know I own it, right now, I’m not convinced of anything, and it’s making me feel uneasy.
It’s just coming up to nine when I pull up at the house. Tilly might already be awake, she might already be sunning herself on the decking, tanning those perfect legs of hers, or even better, braving a morning jacuzzi bath expecting to spend the day alone.
My heart is beating much faster than it should be, and before I head inside, I take a deep breath to calm myself, trying my best to focus on what is likely to be the biggest challenge so far of my career, resisting the flesh of my step-sister.
When I see her bed has been cleared up from the lounge, I automatically expect to find her either on the decking already or down at the bottom of the garden with her book.
She’s not in either of those two places, and disappointingly, she’s not in the jacuzzi either. I’m about to call her name, when I decide to get changed first, catch up on my own sleep and try and see if a) I can return to that dream world Tilly in absence of the real thing and b) work out if lack of sleep is fucking with my perspective, because considering ruining a whole career over one girl is definitely not something I should even be entertaining right now.
I don’t see her right away. The light is off and the drapes are pulled across so the only light seeping in I’ve brought with me from the living room. I don’t expect to see her either, so I’m not exactly looking, but there she is, as clear as day, my step-sister, semi-naked, fast asleep, in my bed.
Her sweatpants are bunched up and on the floor below, but I would have known she wasn’t wearing them anyway because of the posture she likes to sleep in. It’s the same as that very first night, only the panties are different this time. One leg outside the duvet curled across it, one hand tucked up underneath her cheek, the rest of her tucked up inside.
I can’t believe it. I’m out for less than half a day and Tilly’s not only commandeered my bed, she’s lying it it like she owns it. I have to smile, not only because the picture I’m presented with is incredible, even in the milky half light’s grainy resolution, but mostly because the last thing I need is it presented to me on a plate.
This is like putting a chocolate cake in front of someone with a weight problem, or leaving a gambling addict in the middle of a casino. Or worst still, breaking into the house of someone with an addiction problem, going to their bedroom, their own personal, private space, and leaving exactly what they can’t have there for them to try and build up the courage to leave alone.
Believe me, I’m trying to build up the courage, but this is doubly hard because Tilly’s somehow still asleep. I should do the decent thing and leave her be, but to be honest, I should have done that the moment I opened the door and realized she was lying there. I’m still here, looking at the curve of her back, that perfect ass that shines like a moon caught behind a muggy filter of cloud on a dark night, the way her hair falls across the pillow, and I’m thinking not about leaving her alone, I’m thinking about getting into bed next to her and giving her exactly what she wants but is too afraid to ask for.
I’ve got to do something soon because my dick is getting hard imagining it. If she suddenly wakes up, and I’m stood here erect, standing over her like a pervert, it’s not going to go down too well.
I decide to wake her up. Fuck it. That’s reasonable isn’t it? I’ve had about an hour’s sleep all night, and it isn’t unreasonable to imagine I might need more. Tilly must have passed the ten hour mark. It might not be the reason I want to do it, but it’s the reason I’ll give her when it’s done.
I’m not going to wake her up like any normal person would either. I’m going to give her some payback for thinking she can sneak in here, sleep in my bed and not give a damn if I catch her. Maybe she planned on bumming back to the living room before morning, or that I wasn’t going to come back at all, or maybe I’m reading the whole thing wrong and she’s done this because she wants me to find her here.
I have a sudden feeling that she might not even be asleep at all, and have to get close to her just to make sure she still is. I round the bed, taking in the fullness of her body as I do so, unable to avoid it actually, because the light that comes off her I use to guide my path, put my face close to hers and make sure she’s not awake and about to punk me. It would be a hell of a set-up and I’d give it up to her hands down, but that’s not what’s about to happen. I can’t help but think that Tilly’s missed a trick. She could have got her own back for the way I woke her up the other morning, and I would have hated it but respected her for it too. Maybe she does want the Landon Maddox alarm bell after all. The wake me up slow and sweet method, and don’t stop going until I’ve come all the way up.
I used to date a chick who liked me to do that, and the way she screamed in the morning because of it made the whole house shake.
I’m not going to do that with Tilly, even though I reckon she’d appreciate it. Despite what all the newspapers say, I may be an ass, but I’m a gentleman first and foremost. I like to pull a chair out for a girl before she sits down, and I like to get consent before I make an assumption.
The last thing I need is a headline of that story. Maybe I can do that tomorrow depending on how she reacts to what I’m about to do to her now. Maybe she’ll just a
gree that the best thing for everyone is to head back to New York and I can forget all about the good and disastrous things that could happen if not, like getting my dick wet, falling for my sexy-assed step sister, and being sold to a basement club and frozen out of the league. Damn, temptation is a bitch, and making the right decisions, always a burden.
I wouldn’t be in this situation if every one of those girls was as honest as I am. I’ve never sold a story, cheated on someone, gone behind their back or ratted them out in my life. It’s not like my performance off the field has an effect on it either. If anything it’s the other way round. I’m tempted to let the coach see that without sex I just don’t perform as well. If I wasn’t throwing the yardage he’s come to expect from me he’d soon come back round to my way of thinking. Bad headlines don’t sink a club, but everyone knows that bad results do.
It’s a simple equation as well. You get laid, you feel happy, you throw well. I went seven games without being touched by an opposition player last season. I’m not talking sacks, I’m talking being touched in live play by a member of the opposite team. They don’t record stats like that because they don’t know how to measure them, but I know. Seven whole games without being touched, and it wasn’t because of the offensive line either, it’s because I do two things better than anyone else on this planet. I play ball and I please women, and one helps the other exponentially. That seven game run? One girl that ended up dropping me when it began to get serious, and selling her story for half a million dollars on how I was a kinky pervert in the bedroom. Me. Half of the shit we did because she asked for it. I’m not going to say I didn’t enjoy it, but none of the stuff she attributed to me was even my idea. Her lies yet everyone believed it. You see the kind of thing I have to contend with on a daily basis? If you’re in the spotlight, and you get with the wrong girl, your personal life and your private life can’t help but get crossed over. Looking at this fine sliver of perfection in front of me now, I can’t help but wonder if I’m going to fall into the same trap.
Prime: A Bad Boy Romance Page 43
