Side Swiped By My Step Brother (9 page)

Chapter Twelve

Jai

Walking into the lake house for the first time after so many years is a bit surreal. Dad heads straight for the kitchen to pour another round of drinks for everyone, but I take my bag and go into my bedroom. The inside of my lower lip stings. I stick the tip of my tongue into the mangled crevice. Christ, she got me good.

              It’s going to be an interesting couple of weeks, that’s for sure. Normally, I’d be able to brush something like this off, forget about it in a matter of seconds, and get on with things, but for some reason, the whole situation has me feeling a bit squirrely. Not a sensation that I like or am comfortable with, mind you. I’m not used to getting mixed signals like this from a girl, though. Not at all.

              I go into the bathroom. It’s connected to one of the guest rooms, and I’m not sure who’s going to be staying in there, if anyone, so I push the door shut before splashing cold water on my face. I pull my lower lip out and down and inspect at the wound, which actually feels far worse than it looks.

              I’m agitated, which is not the condition I want to be in right now, and especially not over a girl. I pace in front of the window. I could go back downstairs, get drunk, come back up here and have a good wank and fall asleep, but I’m not particularly interested in being in anyone’s company at the moment. A small part of me is curious as to what this surprise is that Dad has for me, though it’s probably something stupid, like a new set of golf clubs.

              At times like these, I wish I still smoked.

              I get my laptop from my bag and go and sit on the bed. No way in hell am I logging back on to Sugar, but I do hop onto another similar site and in no time I’m chatting with a bird who goes by the name of misstrix.

              Is that really you in the profile pic? she writes.

              Yes, I type back. Are those your real tits?

              We could meet up and u could find out :D What sorts of things r u into?

              All sorts.

              Omg me2. Ur hot. Lets hookup.

              My dick is about as hard as an earthworm on a rainy day. The person I am conversing with is probably little more than a teenager. No thanks. I close the laptop without replying and push the computer off to the side. Emma is probably at her apartment right now, packing a little bag to bring over here. I imagine her getting some of that sexy underwear that she said she likes to wear under her tomboy clothes. I think about her standing there tonight after we got ice cream, that look on her face, squeezing those delectable nipples of hers. Now my dick starts to get hard, and I’m not even touching myself. But I don’t actually want to be getting turned on by her, or the thought of her, because she’s being so fucking uptight about all of it. That’s what I don’t get about women: why they always have to bring all this emotional baggage into everything they do. Nothing is ever simple and straightforward; there’s always got to be some deeper emotional issue at play. If it was just about feeling good and doing what made you happy, Emma and I would have no problems at all. We could screw each other’s brains out and have a good time. Not have to be concerned about what other people might think. Because if they knew how good the sex was, they’d be jealous as bloody hell.

Chapter Thirteen

Emma

Zack’s lake house is not quite a mansion, but almost. It looks like a Spanish villa, with the red tile roof and cathedral windows, a sprawling green, perfectly manicured. Mom greets me as I step through the front door, glass of wine in hand.

              “Isn’t this place amazing?” she says. “Wait until you see the view of the lake tomorrow—it’s practically in the backyard. It’s incredible.”

              “The house is beautiful.” We’re standing in the foyer, and straight ahead of me is the staircase, which goes up about eight stairs before splitting, with one staircase going to the left, the other to the right. A chandelier, crystals twinkling, hangs above my head.

              Mom ushers me out to the back patio, where Zack and my sister and several people whose names I’ve already forgotten are. I sit down, take the glass of wine that’s being offered, and then try to smother a yawn behind my hand. From here, the lawn slopes gently down, and I can see the dark water of the lake. My mother was right—the lake practically is in the backyard.

              “Isn’t this place incredible?” Jessica whispers to me. She’s got a glass of wine, too. She holds her glass up to mine and we clink them together. “Zack has jet skis we can use.”

              Zack hears her say this and grins. “We’ve got all the fun toys. And you can use whatever you want. I want you to make yourself feel right at home here.”

              “That’s really kind of you, but I don’t know how good I’ll be on a jet ski,” I say. And the jet skis he has are probably insanely expensive; I can just seem myself crashing it into someone’s yacht or something. I try to stifle another yawn. I look around the table. Jai isn’t there. I feel a little relieved and a little disappointed at this realization. “I don’t think I’ve ever actually been on one before. I’m not the most coordinated person in the world.”

              “Oh, you’ll be fine,” Zack says. “And you know who’s really great on it—Jai. If you need any pointers, he’s your man. In fact, I’m sure he’d be more than happy to go out with you the first couple of times.”

              “What?” I say sharply, sitting upright. It feels as though my heart has stopped. Did he just something about Jai and I going out? Did Jai say something to him when they were driving over here?

              “Yeah, you know, take you out on the jet ski the first time or two, so you can get used to it. Or not.” Zack shrugs. “They’re pretty easy to get the hang of.”

              “Oh, yeah. Of course.” I relax a little, though I can see, out of the corner of my eye, Jessica looking at me curiously. “I knew that’s what you meant. I could probably get the hang of it, if it’s not too difficult.”

              “You seem a little on edge,” Jessica says quietly. I take a sip of wine.

              “I’m fine. It’s just been a long day. I’m pretty tired, actually. I don’t even know what time it is.”

              “You don’t have to stay up all night if you don’t want to,” Mom says. “And it is getting rather late. Do you want me to show you where you’ll be sleeping?”

              “That would be great. I’m sorry, I’m just really tired.”

              “Aw, come on, just have one more glass of wine with me,” Jess says, pulling on my arm.

              “They’ll be plenty of time for more wine later,” Mom says. “If she’s tired, let her get some sleep.” She smiles at me. “Come on; I’ll show you where you’re going to sleep.”

              I say goodnight to everyone and follow my mother inside. I grab my duffel bag and the dress.

              “I hope that dress fits you better than the one you wore tonight,” she says as we walk up the stairs.

              “It will, I promise. I didn’t mean to show up to the dinner in that dress—the whole day was kind of a disaster.”

              My mother stops when she reaches the top of the stairs. “You have seemed a bit flustered all evening. You’re sure everything okay?”

              I try to force a smile. “Yeah, Mom. Everything’s fine.”

              Her gaze goes to my neck. “That really is quite the . . . love bite. I see you’ve lost the scarf somewhere.”

              “I’ll get you a new one. I . . . I don’t know what happened to it.”

              “Don’t worry about it. And—you can tell me it’s none of my business if you want, but . . . are you seeing someone? Because if there is someone special in your life, and you’d like to invite him to the wedding, I’d love to meet him. He could even come out here and spend a few days with us, too.”

              “Uh, no. I’m definitely not seeing someone.”

              She gives me a conspiratorial look. “It’s okay if you don’t want to talk about it yet. And it’s okay if you’re just going out there and having a little fun, too. You deserve it, after everything that Tom put you through.” She starts walking again, and I fall in step behind her, glad that her back is to me and she can’t see the expression on my face. I feel so tired I don’t know if I can keep this up much longer, and if she asks anymore questions, I’m likely to just come clean and tell her that it was Jai who was responsible for the “love bite” on my neck.

              “Well, here we are. This is the room you’ll be staying in is right here,” Mom says. She pushes the door open. “And Zack really meant it when he said to make yourself at home. He’s really happy to have us here, all under the same roof. Now you should get some sleep. We’ve all had a long day. A busy and fulfilling day, but I think everyone will sleep well tonight.” She gives me a hug. “Good night, sweetheart.”

              “Good night.”

              I go into the room and drop my bag at the foot of the bed. I throw the dress on the bed, even though I should probably hang it up. I look around. The room is sparsely decorated, very modern. The bed is a queen, on a platform. A purple orchid sits in a terra cotta pot on one of the bedside tables. There’s two wingback chairs by the window, a dresser, a circular rug in the middle of the floor made up of geometric shapes in primary colors. The bed does look awfully inviting.

              I yawn again, glad that I’ll have the chance to get a good night’s sleep, also relieved that I didn’t run into Jai tonight. Who knows—maybe I can avoid him the entire time I’m here.

              I start to get undressed, stripping down to my bra and underwear. It’s distracting, knowing that Jai is somewhere under this very roof. I hate that I’m still even thinking about him, after all this. I pick up the dress off the bed and go over to the closet door. I open it, but it turns out it’s not a closet, but a bathroom. I turn the light on. It’s gleaming, all polished marble and the shiny chrome of the faucet. My reflection stares back at me in the large mirror over the sink.

              I’m hanging the dress off the shower curtain rod when a door I assumed was a linen closet opens. I jump. It’s Jai. His pants are still on but he’s shirtless, and he jumps a little too when he sees me. The surprised look quickly vanishes off his face though. Behind him, I can see into the other room, another bedroom.

              “What are you doing?” I snap.

              A fleeting smile crosses his face. “What am I doing? I’m coming in here to take a shower. What are you doing?”

              “I’m just . . . I’m hanging my dress up. And then I’m going to bed.”

              “Is that so.”

              “Yes.” I look over his shoulder. “That’s . . . that’s your room?

              “It’s been my room since I was a kid.”

              “Oh.”

              We stand there for a moment, neither of saying anything.

              “Nice underwear,” he says finally.

              I fold my arms over my chest, even though I’ve got my bra on.

              “It’s a bit late for the modesty now, wouldn’t you say?” he asks. “My lip still hurts, you know. You took a chunk right out of it.”

              I raise my chin. “Good. And you better not try anything else like that again, or I’ll be taking a whole lot more than a little chunk of your lip. I’m not exactly sure why they decided to put us in such close quarters, but I don’t plan on having anything else to do with you. Just so you know. And I’d appreciate it if you would respect that, though I wouldn’t be surprised if you don’t. All things considered.”

              “You’re awfully haughty sounding, you know that?”

              “That’s funny, coming from someone as self-absorbed as you are. I hardly even know you and I can tell how much of an arrogant, selfish prick you are. So I mean it—just leave me alone.”

              He leans against the doorframe and gazes at me, the expression on his face difficult to read.

              “What, exactly, is your problem?” he says. “I understand the whole playing hard to get and the excitement of the chase and all that bullshit, but you’re taking it a little too far, wouldn’t you say? I’m starting to think you’re bipolar.”

              “What is my problem? My problem is that you’d have the nerve to ask me that in the first place! That you’d actually be able to stand there and act like you have done nothing wrong! You think I’m bipolar? Well, I think you’re a sociopath! And guess what? My ex-boyfriend is a fucking sociopath, and sociopaths might be all right in bed, but the rest of the time, you’re just a bunch of dickheads who don’t give a shit about anyone else.”

              “Wow, are you sure you’re not a psych major?” He shakes his head, a look of disgust crossing his face. “You’re batty. You really are. If you want to call me a sociopath and tell yourself that I’m the most egotistical bag of shit who ever walked this earth, then fine, be my guest, but you are off your fucking rocker, darling. You really are.”

              “Are you kidding me?” I take a step closer to him, then another. I want to slap that smug look off his face. “You just want to stand there and act like you’re this innocent bystander. That you did nothing wrong. But I know that’s not the truth. And I actually don’t want to know anything else about you. Because anyone who would be so completely fine with cheating on their wife—”

              “Whoa!” He holds up his hands. “What?”

              “You heard me.” I take another step, and am close enough to jab him in the chest with my forefinger, which is exactly what I do. “I saw your wedding ring in the hotel room that morning. You know, when you were pretending to be Mr. Chivalry by going to get me a pastry or whatever the hell it was you brought back. I know that plenty of married people out there cheat and that there’s plenty of people out there who are totally fine with sleeping with someone who’s married, but I am not one of those people! And I guess I should’ve known better.”

              He grabs my wrist and jerks my arm, and, once again, it seems that he knows exactly how much pressure to exert before real pain actually sets in. The look on his face, though, is dark, and for a second I wonder if I’ve gone too far, and how loudly I’ll have to scream for someone to hear me. But outwardly, I just stare back at him. A muscle twitches in his jaw, and he’s looking at me with such intensity it feels like I’m just going to dissolve.

              He brings his face right to mine. “You’re funny,” he says. “You really are. I’m not married. Never have been, as never plan on it, as a matter of fact.” He squeezes my wrist a little tighter.

              “You’re just making it worse—I saw your ring. Saw it with my own two eyes.”

              He lowers my arm, and then presses my hand against his crotch. I can feel how hard he is. I try to jerk away but his grip is like a vice.

              “You are completely infuriating, and that is such a fucking turn on,” he whispers. “Do you feel that? Do you feel how hard your fucking antics have me? All this nonsensical bullshit you’ve been going on and on about? I’d find it tiresome with most girls, but with you . . .” He moves his head so his mouth is right against my ear. He takes a deep breath, nips at my earlobe. “I am not married. The wedding ring you saw is my father’s. You know, for the wedding they’re having tomorrow.” He presses my hand harder against him and takes a sharp breath in.

              “So why was it just sitting there on the table? Why wasn’t it in a box or something?”

              “It was in a box. If you’d looked a little harder, you would’ve seen the little black box right next to it. I took it out to look at because my mother was curious whether or not it was the same one he had when he was married to her.”

              I try to pull my hand away again but he’s not letting go.

              “That’s total bullshit. Who would use the same ring?”

              “Some people would. If it had been in the family for a while, say. Which it has. The ring my father wore when he was married to my mother was made by my great grandfather, who was a goldsmith.”

              “Oh.”

              “But it’s not, in case you’re wondering. I don’t know what he did with that ring. Probably put it in a safe deposit box or something. Who knows. Who cares.”

              My cheeks start to flush. “Well . . . I jumped to conclusions, then.”

              “That would be a drastic understatement.”