Emerson and I slip through the back doors and plod up the carpeted staircase, skipping the creaky stair, coming at last to the second story landing. There are three bedrooms in my dad’s house: the master bedroom just off the landing, which he and Deborah are sharing now, and two smaller rooms at either side of the hall. My room is down to the right, Emerson’s is to the left. He doesn’t even bother saying goodnight before turning away and slipping into his room. With a sigh, I trudge back to my own quarters at the opposite end of the hall.
Closing the door gently behind me, I belly flop onto my bed, burying my face in the fluffy pillow and fighting the urge to scream. I can’t sort through everything that happened between Emerson and I tonight. Between the tense moments during Seven Minutes of Heaven to his accidental but steamy caress after I took a tumble off the trellis, I’m totally at a loss. Tonight was the first time we’ve seen each other outside of school and home since he and Deborah moved in. And it’s certainly the first time anything so...charged has passed between us.
I flip over onto my back, staring up at the ceiling. The glow-in-the-dark stars I put up as a kid still hang overhead, despite my near-adult status. With a pang of heartache, I realize that Emerson and I are bound to part ways once we turn eighteen and graduate high school. I’ll never know what could have been between us, if our parents hadn’t ruined everything by getting together. Then again, he probably never would have even learned my name if not for them. So I guess I should be somewhat grateful. Emphasis on somewhat.
Knowing that I’ll never fall asleep with all this tension built up inside of me, I roll over and slide open the top drawer of my night table. There, hidden among a jumble of makeup and jewelry, is a tiny device disguised to look like a tube of lipstick. Its actual purpose is a whole lot more in line with what I need right now.
I press a hidden button on the little bullet and smile as it whirs to life. My reliable vibrator—the best battery-operated boyfriend around. Laying back, I bring the vibrator down between my legs, slipping it beneath the lace panties that Emerson held in his hands not hours ago. The mere thought of his broad, capable hands is enough to get me off almost at once. Swallowing a low moan, I come into that black lace g-string, with Emerson’s face suspended in my mind’s eye all the while.
“Hopefully that won’t make breakfast too awkward,” I whisper to myself, savoring the relaxing wave that washes over me as I drift into a deep, satisfied sleep.
The silence that first fell between Emerson and I after he saved me from breaking my neck persists for the better part of the next two weeks. My handsome housemate may as well be a ghost, for all I see of him. He leaves for school early in the morning, stays out late at night, and generally avoids me like the plague. Did I totally wig him out that night at the party? I could have sworn that he was sending me some flirtatious signals, but maybe I totally misread him. Maybe he just thinks I’m an incest-loving freak show now.
I’ve never been the best flirt, I guess.
Riley almost dies when I give her all the juicy details a few days after the party. Turns out she let us get separated when the cops showed up, so that Emerson and I could have an “adventure” all on our own.
“So, he basically took off your panties and finger-banged you,” she sums it up as we head off on a coffee run during our school lunch hour.
“That is a very liberal translation,” I say, blushing like crazy as I stare out the passenger side window.
“He is so into you,” Riley grins. “I can’t believe it, after all this time.” She catches my frown and backtracks. “I mean, I can totally believe why he’d be into you, it’s just—”
“I know that’s he a bit above my pay grade, Ri,” I tell her, leaning back against my seat. “I’m not exactly up to par with the girls he usually hangs out with.”
Without preamble, Riley swerves violently onto the shoulder of the main road, causing me to yelp in abject terror.
“Listen to me,” she says firmly, taking my face in her hands. “You are every bit as sexy and bitchin’ as Emerson Sawyer. He’d be lucky to have you, Abby.”
“You don’t have to do that,” I insist. “He’s the badass, gorgeous lacrosse star, I’m the weird, short, artsy girl. If this were a teen movie, maybe we’d stand a chance. But I know my place on the food chain. Guys like Emerson don’t go for girls like me.”
“Oh please,” Riley moans, rolling her eyes, “In a few months’ time, we’re all gonna be out in the real world. You could take your high-waisted shorts and dark lipstick-wearing self to any major city and be an ‘it girl’ in three second flat. The rest of these assholes will have already peaked in high school, so count your blessings that you’re a weirdo now.”
“Thanks? I think?” I laugh, “Really, Ri. You always know how to cheer me up.”
“Damn straight I do,” she says, tossing her black curls over her shoulder. “That’s what best friends are for—assuring you that boning your maybe-someday-stepbrother is totally chill as long as your dad doesn’t put a ring on it first.”
I shake my head as Riley laughs, pulling back onto the road with the radio blasting.
I try my best to keep Riley’s words of encouragement close to my heart as the silence between me and Emerson continues on. You’d think we were locked in a nuclear arms race, for how cold things have become between us. I catch glimpses of him at school, and have the unfortunate experience of watching Courtney try to stick her tongue down his throat on more than one occasion. But as the days until my eighteenth birthday tick away, the silent treatment goes on.
A few days before my grand entrance into adulthood, I arrive home from school irritated and disgruntled. The stress of college applications and AP course work coupled with the ongoing radio silence between me and Emerson has me way on edge. So the very last thing I want to see when I walk in front door of my home is Dad and Deborah, making out like a couple of teenagers against the kitchen island.
“Jesus,” I mutter, starting for my room, “Is everybody getting some action around here besides me?”
“Oh! Abby!” Deborah giggles from the kitchen, “Good. You’re home.”
“Hi Dad. Hi Deb,” I mutter gloomily, standing at the foot of the stairs. “I’m just gonna head up to my room and get some studying in—”
“Nooo, come on. Come chat with us first!” Deb insists, bustling out into the foyer to apprehend me.
Though Emerson and I are the same age, Deborah is about ten years my dad’s junior. Truth be told, she looks even younger than her biological age. Her voluminous platinum blonde hair is always arranged in luscious curls, her makeup applied perfectly. This stands to reason, given that she works as a freelance makeup artist, mostly doing weddings and the like. She’s way taller than I am, especially given her penchant for wearing three-inch heels. And, I have to admit, the lady’s got a killer rack. Between the tits and her habit of wearing loud neon colors, it’s no wonder that my dad took notice of her. My question is, what does she see in him?
I wouldn’t say that my father is unattractive. He’s just very...unremarkable. He was quite the looker as a younger man, but my mom Sandy was the real beauty. Their wedding pictures look like something out of a movie. I inherited my mom’s facial features, but missed out on her vibrant red hair and hourglass curves. Can’t pick and choose what you inherit from your parents, I guess. And you certainly don’t get to choose who your parents are in the first place.
“It’s been ages since we’ve had a good talk,” Deb gushes, plunking me down at the kitchen table. “Tell me everything. How’s school? Any boyfriends? Spill, girl!”
I glance over at my father, silently begging him not to make me engage in small talk with his girlfriend. But he just grins at the two of us like we’re some big, happy family. As grating as Deb can be, I haven’t seen my dad smile like this in years. It’s the least I can do to muscle through some mindless chatter.
“Well,” I begin, “I dunno...”
The sound of the front doo
r opening is my saving grace. I look over my shoulder and see Emerson stride across the threshold, making a beeline for his room. But Deborah has other plans, and rushes out to greet him with a squeal.
“Not so fast!” she cries, seizing her son by the arm. “It’s not every day that I can manage to snag you and Abby for a chat. Come on! We’re having family time!”
“Are you high or something?” Emerson grumbles. I can tell by his inflection that it’s an honest question. I wonder what it must have been like for him, growing up with a single mom who had substance abuse issues. My dad’s drinking didn’t get bad until Mom passed away, and by then I was already fourteen. But from what I understand, Deb’s drinking has been going on for most of Emerson’s life. My heart twists painfully just thinking about what a rough go he must have had. No wonder he’s got more defense strategies than The Pentagon.
“This is so wonderful,” Deb goes on, forcing Emerson into a chair across the table from me. We immediately avert our eyes, looking anywhere but at each other. The uncomfortable silence between us is deafening in this enclosed space. What I wouldn’t give for a trap door or an ejection seat right now.
“While we’ve got you both here,” my dad finally cuts in, wrapping an arm around Deb’s waist. “We should talk about your birthdays this weekend.”
“Birthdays?” Emerson asks, his brow furrowing.
“As in plural?” I add, looking up at my dad.
“Sure! Haven’t you guys figured it out yet?” Dad laughs, “Your birthdays are only one day apart! Abby’s is May 4th, and Emerson’s is May 3rd.”
A satisfied grin spreads across Emerson’s face as he leans back in his chair. For the first time since that night at the party, he swings his gaze directly my way.
“Look at that,” he says, keeping those blue eyes locked on mine. “I am your big brother after all.”
“Oh, that’s so precious!” Deb swoons. “I’m so glad you two are feeling more like family. That makes me so, so happy. What should we do to celebrate your eighteenth birthdays? Bowling? The movies?”
“I was gonna buy a shit load of porn, cigarettes, and scratch off lottery tickets and have myself a private party,” Emerson says bluntly. “You all are more than welcome to join in. Though things might get a little...awkward.”
I tear my eyes away from his at this last bit, feeling my cheeks burning hotly. He’s baiting me. I can tell.
“Honestly, Emerson,” Deb says, her cheerful veneer cracking, “Do you have to shit all over every nice thing I try to do for you?”
“Don’t worry, Deb. He was just kidding,” my dad coos, planting a kiss on his girlfriend’s forehead. “Weren’t you, Emerson?”
“Whatever helps you sleep at night, Sport,” Emerson replies shortly, slapping his palms against the table. “Now, as fun as this has been, I’ve got things to do.”
He strolls out of the kitchen, pausing for half a second to snatch a bag of chips out of the cupboard. Deb is so pissed off at his behavior that she and my dad don’t even try to stop me as I hurry off after Emerson.
“Hey,” I call to him, taking the stairs two at a time to catch up. “Emerson, wait.”
“What. Did I steal your afternoon snack?” he grins over his shoulder, holding the chips up over my head. His favorite game. “If you can grab ‘em you can have ‘em!”
“Yeah, no. I’m not interested in your chips,” I say, standing before him on the landing. “I just wanted to know if we’re on speaking terms again now or what.”
“What do you mean, Sis?” he asks, ripping open the bag and popping a chip into his mouth. This boy can even making chewing sexy. Goddamn him.
“I mean...are you done giving me the cold shoulder?” I press him. “You’ve been avoiding me since that party the other night. When we—”
“Whoa, whoa,” Emerson chuckles. “You are way paranoid. I haven’t been avoiding you. I just haven’t noticed you. There’s been other shit going on. And you’re pretty easy to miss.”
“Bullshit,” I snap, taking a step toward him. “I know you’ve been going out of your way not to see me ever since that stupid game in the closet. Something...happened between us, and—”
“I don’t know what you’re talking about,” he says, the joking laughter fading from his voice. “But I do know that I don’t want to hear another word about it out of you. OK?”
“You can’t just pretend that nothing happened!” I cry out, exasperated.
“Keep your voice down,” he growls, glancing down at the kitchen where our parents are still talking in hushed tones.
“I won’t. Not unless we can have a real conversation about this,” I say at full volume, crossing my arms. “You owe me that, at least.”
“You are so fucking impossible,” he says, shoving a hand through his chestnut hair. “OK. Fine. You wanna take a drive or something? Will that shut you up?”
Despite the context of his offer, my stomach still does a thrilled somersault at the idea of being alone with him. “Sure,” I say, “Let’s hit the road. Bro.”
“I hope you know I’m just using you as an excuse to get out of this house again,” he grumbles, dropping the chips onto the floor and storming off down the stairs. I follow right behind him, wondering whether or not he’s fucking with me. At this moment, it doesn’t much matter. I’m just happy that he’s speaking to me again at all.
You’re just pathetic, I berate myself silently. Berating myself is something I’m pretty great at—I have a lot practice.
“Are you leaving again already?” Deb cries from the kitchen as we try to make our exit. “You just got home!”
“Yes Mother,” Emerson sighs, in his most over-the-top cordial voice. “Abigail and I are going to take a spin around town. Take in some fresh air. Cheerio!”
“Oh. Well. Good. You guys are spending some time together,” Deb says uncertainly. “Um. Be back...sometime?”
“Will do!” Emerson says, tipping an imaginary hat to our parents.
I step out the door after him, shaking my head in amused befuddlement.
“And I’m the weirdo, right?” I laugh.
“Haven’t you figured it out yet, Sis?” he says, striding over to the beat up Chevy parked in the driveway. “We’re both weirdoes, you and me. Get in the car.”
I trundle into the front seat, trying not to gawk as I settle in. I’ve never been allowed in Emerson’s car before. True, he and his mother have only been living with us for a few weeks. But still. Being admitted into this “sacred vessel” of his feels pretty significant. It’s all I can do to keep myself from caressing the worn out leather seats, the dusty dashboard, as if this car were a shrine to the boy I’m crazy for.
“So. What kind of shit do big brothers do with their little sisters?” he asks, rolling down his window and lighting up a smoke. “Want me to take you to the playground or something?”
“No. But you could bum me a cigarette, to begin with,” I say lightly.
“You don’t smoke,” Emerson scoffs, looking over at me sharply.
“Not anymore. But I did,” I inform him.
“No fucking way,” he says, narrowing his eyes.
“Yes fucking way, I assure you,” I reply. “Come on. Gimme one.”
“If you don’t mind my saying,” he goes on, passing me his pack of Camels and a lighter, “Smoking doesn’t really seem like your kind of thing.”
“There are lots of things you don’t know about me, Emerson,” I reply, plucking out a cigarette and lighting it up. “But if you’re real nice to me, I might just tell you a couple.”
He stares at me for a long, silent moment. The same look he trained on me the night of the party—in the closet when I handed him my panties, when he caught me in his arms after I fell—is there in his eyes again now. I do my best to draw deep breaths, hoping he can’t read my thoughts. My desires. But instead of giving me any sort of clue as to what he’s thinking, he just starts the car and drives off toward town.
We zoom alon
g in silence, unsure of what to say. Or at least, I’m unsure. Maybe he just doesn’t care to spare any words on me. After a while, he flips on the car radio. A song by the Foo Fighters comes on, and I sit up a little in my seat. They’re one of my favorite bands—just heavy enough for my taste. I start singing along, nodding my head with the beat. Emerson lets out a short, surprised laugh.
“Would have taken you for more of a Taylor Swift kind of girl,” he says over the music. “But I’m not supposed to make assumptions about you anymore, right?”
“That’s right,” I smile.
“Can I at least assume that you’ll want dinner at some point tonight?” he asks.
I have to fight hard from letting a dopey, love-struck look escape across my features. He just wants to grab food. It’s not a date. I just happen to be along for the ride. But still.
“Yeah, I’m starving,” I tell him.
“Great. Me too. Let’s swing by the Crystal Dawn,” he says, turning off onto a main road in town.
Chapter Three
The Crystal Dawn is our local diner, frequented by just about everyone in our relatively small town. High school kids, senior citizens, working class parents—no one can resist the Crystal’s Dawn’s greasy spoon appeal. Emerson rolls up to the silver diner and swings into a parking space, cutting off another car with a laugh.
“Do you just go out of your way to antagonize people?” I ask, stepping onto the sidewalk.
“I don’t mean to antagonize them. Most people just happen to be assholes. I just treat them the way they deserve.” he shrugs, tossing his smoke into the gutter. I follow suit, relishing my final drag. It’s been over a year since I’ve had a cigarette. Damn, do I miss them sometimes.
Stepbrother Billionaire Page 3
