by Alex Grayson
“Can we talk for a minute?”
I want to say no. I want to turn my nose up and walk inside without even considering the idea. But when I see the look on his face everything shifts.
ZAYDEN
I TAKE A STEP BACK from Rylee and fist my hands at my side. This was a mistake. I shouldn’t be here. I should be at home with dad, helping him with Danielle. This is the very last place I need to be. I don’t even know why I came. Oliver’s off with some bimbo he picked up after the fight, so I can’t even use him as an excuse. All I know is, after my phone call with dad tonight, I didn’t want to go home. I wanted, no needed, a break from the harsh realities of life. I’m an asshole and a coward because of it, but I wanted to get away from it all for a little while.
Rylee was the first person I thought of. Maybe it was because of the way she looked at me tonight, or whatever weird connection we shared. All I do know is I needed to see her. It was an impulse I had no way of curbing. And it’s confusing as fuck, because I don’t like the chick. She’s still the same spoiled girl as before. Except, I’m beginning to wonder if there’s more to her than the money she was born into.
Rylee looks at me like I’m some caged wild animal, unsure if and when I’ll pounce. Her arms are crossed over her chest, like she’s protecting herself. I feel close to the edge, but the last thing I want from her is wariness, so I try to relax my features and loosen my tense muscles.
“Do you… uh….” She gestures to the wicker furniture set on the porch. “Do you want to sit?”
I jerk my chin up and wait until she’s seated at one end of the couch before sitting down on the opposite end. I probably should have taken the chair, but for some unexplainable reason I want to be closer to her.
“I can grab you something to drink if you like,” she offers. “Tea, Coke, water?”
“I’m good.”
“Okay.”
She licks her lips nervously and tucks her hands between her knees. I lean back, resting an arm along the back of the couch, letting my knees fall open. She keeps her head forward, but her eyes dart toward me every few seconds.
“Do I make you nervous or something?” It’s a dumb question. The answer is in the bounce of her knees and the stiff set of her shoulders. But I want to see if she’ll answer truthfully.
“Or something,” she mutters, barely loud enough for me to hear.
“What was that?”
“Nothing,” she answers louder.
I smile, but keep my laughter in. We’re silent for a few moments, both listening to the rustling of the leafless branches with the light breeze.
“Can you blame me?” I glance over at her sudden question. “One minute you’re trying your best to make my life hell, the next you’re warning me about dangers, and now, here you are wanting to talk. You hate me.”
I blow out a long breath and run my hand over my face then the back of my head. “I don’t hate you.”
She lets out a bitter laugh. “Could’ve fooled me.”
I turn so I’m facing her. “I don’t hate you, Rylee,” I state sternly. “I just don’t particularly like you.”
She lifts her head, her brows scrunched together.
“But why? I haven’t done anything to you. And I get the feeling it’s more than just Oliver hating me.”
I shrug. “People like you, people with money, are always the same. Entitled, greedy, pompous, and undeserving.”
Her lips press together into a scowl. “That’s fucking stupid.” I raise a brow at her outburst. “My mother may have money, but she’s worked her butt off for it her entire life. It’s not like it just fell into her lap, or mine for that matter. And I’m none of those things. For you to think you have the right to judge me when you know nothing about me makes you a judgmental bigoted asshole.”
“That may be true, but from my experience most rich people are.”
“What about Oliver? You’re friends with him, and he has more money at his fingertips than I do. And from my experience, he is entitled and pompous. Not to mention he’s also an asshole.”
“Oliver’s different. We were friends long before the greed of money could grip him. As far as the way he treats you, you’ll have to take that up with him.”
She’s silent for a moment before she asks quietly, “Why are you here, Zayden?”
Leaning forward, I rest my elbows on my knees and rake both hands through my hair. That’s the million-dollar question. Why the fuck am I here? I still don’t know the answer.
“I have some shit going on at home and I needed to get away from it for a bit,” I find myself admitting.
The couch creaks as she turns, her knee bent on the cushion as she leans back against the arm rest.
“Do you want to talk about it?”
I look at her. Although her thick brown hair is drawn up into a ponytail, the ends still fall over her shoulder and reach the top of her breasts. When it’s down, it falls past the middle of her back. The porch light is behind her, so her face is partially hidden by shadows, but I can see the concern in her gaze.
Danielle’s illness isn’t a secret. I’m not ashamed of her or what she’s forced to go through every day. Even so, it’s not something I care to discuss. It’s too painful. The only people I don’t mind talking about it with is Dad, Oliver, and, Hart. But for some reason, I want to tell Rylee.
I glance away and stare off into the darkness.
“My sister has emphysema due to an Alpha-1 antitrypsin deficiency. It’s classified in the severe stage. She had an episode today.”
“I’m so sorry, Zayden.”
I nod. “Most of the time she’s okay as long as she’s not active. But there are times, when even something as simple as taking a breath can be too much for her. She has to use an oxygen tank often because of it. I spoke with my dad after the fight and he said it hasn’t been a good night. She’s only nine years old and she can’t do anything other girls her age are doing. She can’t have sleepovers, ride a bike, or go to school.”
“I can’t imagine how hard that must be for her,” Rylee remarks. “Or how difficult it must be on you and your dad.”
I jerk my head to her. “I don’t care about myself. What I feel is nothing compared to what she’s going through.”
She nods, and her throat bobs when she swallows. “Absolutely, but that doesn’t mean your feelings aren’t important. It’s obvious you care deeply for her, and something tells me you’re a good big brother.”
My lip curls up into a sneer. “I’m such a good brother that I’m here with you, instead of at home with her.”
She slides her ass across the cushion until her knee touches my thigh. Her hand is warm when she lays it on top of mine.
“That doesn’t make you a bad brother. It makes you human. Everyone needs a break sometimes.”
“Danielle doesn’t get any breaks from the pain she endures just from breathing. What makes it okay for me to have one?”
“She was given a crappy lot in life. That doesn’t mean you have to stop living your own life. It’s okay to take time for yourself. It helps to keep you sane during the difficult times.”
I clench my jaw and turn away from Rylee. I want to believe what she’s saying, but it’s hard to want something when my sister only lives half a life. There are so many things I want for Danielle, things she’ll more than likely never have.
“Her doctors want to put her on the transplant list, but insurance won’t pay for it because they claim her case isn’t severe enough,” I spit the last part. Rage fills me every time I think about those uppity insurance bastards.
“What are you and your father going to do?”
I look down at my hands and curl my fingers into fists. The damaged skin breaks apart. “Fight until I can pay for it myself and hope it’s not too late.”
Rylee grabs one of my clenched fists and uncurls my fingers. She runs the tip of her pointer finger lightly over one of the busted knuckles. “So that�
��s why you fight,” she murmurs.
“Yeah,” I answer huskily.
Having her hold my hand in her much smaller one, along with the way she daintily examines the damage on my knuckles feels good. Way more than it probably should.
Sitting this close, I smell roses. I wonder if it’s her natural scent or if it’s the shampoo she uses. Whatever it is, it’s intoxicating.
She lifts her head and her gaze meets mine. There’s something in her eyes that has my blood heating and traveling south, filling my cock to an uncomfortable level in my shorts.
I don’t realize what I’m doing until my hand is tangled in her hair. I lean closer at the same time tugging her toward me. I have no idea what’s come over me, but the need to feel her mouth against mine is something I’m unable to resist.
At the first taste of her lips, a low groan rumbles from the back of my throat. She tastes fucking incredible. Sweet. So goddamn sweet.
A little mewl vibrates from her lips and her fingers grip my thigh, sending shockwaves of pleasure racing through me.
This is wrong. She’s Oliver’s fucking stepsister, and he’d skin me alive and call me a traitor if he knew I was kissing his enemy. But right now, I don’t give two shits what Oliver would say or do. This feels too good to ignore.
Using the grip I still have on her hair; I tilt Rylee’s head at a better angle. Then I wrap an arm around her waist and hoist her onto my lap. Her knees go to either side of my hips as our kissing continues. She’s not even pressing down on me and I still feel the heat of her.
I nip her bottom lip causing her to suck in a breath. A shudder ripples down my spine when she laces her fingers in my hair. Gripping her waist, I pull her hot center down until it meets my cock, groaning at the contact. Any control I have left is slipping away by the minute.
I trail my lips down the slender column of her throat, marveling in her delicious taste.
“Wait,” she pants and tightens her fingers in my hair. I want to growl my disapproval, but the shakiness in her tone stops me. “I can’t—” She shakes her head. “We can’t do this.”
I rest my head against the back of the couch and try to catch my breath. “Why not?”
She dips her gaze away from me and stares at the strings of my hoodie.
“We just can’t.”
My fingers flex against her waist. “Look at me, Rylee.”
When she lifts her head, the beam from the porch light illuminates her face, revealing the redness tinting her cheeks.
“What’s wrong?” I ask gently.
“Nothing’s wrong,” she mutters. “That’s just it. It felt good. Really good. But I’ve never—”
She stops abruptly and bites her lip, uncertainty dimming her eyes. The look doesn’t match the confident and self-assured woman I know.
Realization dawns, and my cock jerks in my shorts. Her eyes widen at the movement.
I lift my head and look straight into her eyes. “Are you a virgin, Rylee?” I keep my tone even, although my mind is racing a mile a minute. How in the fuck could a girl as hot as her still be untouched?
“Yes.”
I close my eyes and release a shuddering breath. I don’t know why the thought of no one having touched Rylee before makes me so happy, but it damn sure does.
Deliriously so.
“There’s no need to be embarrassed.”
She scrunches up her pert little nose. “I wouldn’t say I’m embarrassed. Just… uncertain. I mean, you’ve got all this experience, and well… I don’t. I’m not like the girls you’re used to.”
I tuck a loose piece of hair behind her ear. “You’ve been listening to rumors.” I smirk.
Her hands settle against my pecks, her fingers slightly digging into the muscles. “Maybe.”
“You shouldn’t believe everything you hear.”
She cocks a brow. “So, you’re saying you don’t like girls with experience?”
“I’m saying I don’t only like girls with experience. I have no preference, so long as she’s into me and I’m into her.”
“Oh.”
I lift her off my lap and set her beside me before getting to my feet. “It’s all irrelevant anyway. You’re right. We shouldn’t be doing this.”
Even as I say the words, I want to take them back. Being with Rylee the last few minutes has been relaxing and comfortable, something I don’t normally feel with girls. But I know Oliver would flip his shit if he found out. No girl is worth fucking up a ten-year friendship for.
“Yeah.”
I look back at Rylee when I reach the bottom of the porch steps. She has her hands stuffed between her knees again, staring off into space, with a frown marring her pretty face. I want to wipe it away, but I force myself to move toward the driveway instead.
Without another look backward, I quickly climb into my truck and leave temptation behind.
RYLEE
“TELL ME YOU WANT ME.” Zayden hovers above me, his breath dancing across my face.
“I want you.” My voice is muffled and distorted, causing the words to come out jumbled.
“Say it.” He rocks into me, sending a wave of pleasure through my lower extremities.
Every inch of my body aches for him.
Every cell ignites for him.
Heat spreads through my limbs- an inferno that’s threatening to swallow me from the inside out.
“I want you,” I repeat, but again the words don’t come out right.
“Tell me, Rylee.”
“I want you.”
“Tell me.” He’s growing impatient, his words sharp.
I try again, but this time not even the slightest sound comes out. It’s like being in a dream—one where you’re trying so hard to run but your feet feel weighted to the ground and you can’t seem to move.
“Rylee.” His voice grows louder, his weight pressing down on me. “Rylee.”
My eyes shoot open, and I blink rapidly into the light of the room. My chest rises and falls in quick succession.
It was just a dream—I tell myself, unsure if it’s relief or disappointment that settles in my gut.
“Rylee.” I glance up to find my mom standing in my doorway, realizing it must have been her that woke me so abruptly.
“What?” I question, my voice heavy with sleep.
“You’re going to be late for school. You were supposed to be up thirty minutes ago.”
“What?” I turn, looking at the clock on my nightstand, seeing that she’s right. I overslept. “Crap!” I shoot upright. “I’m up,” I tell her, throwing back the covers before quickly climbing out of bed.
“I’m heading to the office. Make sure you eat something before you leave.”
“Okay.” I shoo her out of my doorway. “I love you. Have a good day.” I practically shut the door in her face, knowing I need to get dressed like right now.
“I love you, too,” I hear her call from the hallway, but I’m already completely submerged in my closet, frantically trying to find something to wear.
I had meant to do laundry yesterday, but instead ended up lying in bed all day, mindlessly watching reruns of I Love Lucy while trying to cyber stalk Zayden. Not that it did me any good. The man is like a ghost. Who doesn’t have Facebook or Instagram these days? Even my mom has a Facebook account.
My mind once again floats back to Saturday night. The way he showed up unannounced. How he looked when he talked about his sister. The way it felt when he kissed me. The thrill that ran through me when I felt his erection pressing into me.
I flatten a palm to my chest, feeling like I might hyperventilate just thinking about it again. Everything that happened on the porch had been unexpected, that’s for sure. But it was also really… amazing. Though I doubt it was nearly as big of a deal for him as it was for me. I’m sure he goes around kissing girls all the time. The thought twists my stomach into an unsettling knot.
I’d be lying if I said the t
hought of Zayden with another girl doesn’t drive me insane with jealousy—it absolutely does. Even if I have no claim to him. Even if Saturday night was nothing more than a low moment for him, and I was the closest available female to distract him. Even if he has no real interest in me—it doesn’t change how I feel.
Asshole or not, that kiss did something to me. Something surprising and unexpected. I’ve been physically attracted to Zayden since the first time I saw him—who wouldn’t be? And while I’ve also been intrigued by him, I didn’t expect to actually feel something. And not just the thrill and excitement of kissing him—but something real. Something deep in my chest that’s been humming ever since—despite the way he bolted afterward.
I’ve tried to reason with myself several times since then—reminding myself who Zayden Michaels really is. A man who is rumored to only be interested in one thing. A man who is in cahoots with my asshat of a stepbrother. A man who helped make my first week at a new school absolutely miserable. I can’t have feelings for him.
And then the thought dawns on me—something I hadn’t considered before now. What if that kiss—what if him showing up the way he did—what if that was all part of some scheme he and Oliver cooked up? It’s totally plausible, right?
A man who’s made it clear he doesn’t like me shows up on my porch and tells me some sob story about his sister, who probably doesn’t even exist, in an attempt to lower my guard so I don’t see what’s coming next.
My anger flares.
He wouldn’t—would he?
If I’m being totally honest with myself, I can absolutely see him doing something like that. Maybe he came here hoping to trick me into having sex with him so he and Oliver could video tape it or something. Maybe it was all part of some sick, cruel joke, but when he learned I was a virgin he changed his mind. And the way he left right after finding out—I don’t know, something doesn’t quite add up. Either he’s a complete fraud and the mask he wears around everyone else is just that—a mask, and the Zayden I saw last night is the real Zayden. Or he’s toying with me on purpose. As much as I hate to admit it, my gut instinct is telling me it’s the latter.
