Stepdaddy Savage (8 page)

The fucking Bronx, dude? For real?

This guy who’s been doing his locks better be the best in New York otherwise I don’t really see the point.

Nevertheless, I drive all the way to NYC, cursing myself for agreeing to do this the whole way there. I spend the time thinking about what we’re about to do. Telling my mom about us. How is she going to take it? I come to the depressing conclusion I don’t know her well enough to have the slightest clue. I’m thinking back to my childhood, to even recent years, trying to pinpoint a touching moment, or just a time when I did something nice with her. Goddammit, I’m even searching my mind for one, single happy memory. But there’s none.

I do remember the day she coaxed me into going to school sick with fever and a bad case of a stomach bug, because Graham was staying at home that day and she thought it was a good time. I was fifteen at the time, and I’d agreed, because she’d bullshitted me into believing Graham would take us on a Hawaiian vacation if they were together. She sold me the big happy family dream and I ate it up.

But three hours into my school day, my teacher called my parents up and told them I’ve been throwing up and had an outrageously high fever; 103 degrees, I think.

Graham had rushed in, he was the first person to barge into the nurse’s office, my mom following after him sheepishly.

“Why the fuck did you go to school today, Dahlia?” His voice was low and raspy, and Gina the nurse almost tipped back in awe when she heard him cursing like a drunk sailor.

I had looked between him and my mom, who stood behind his back. Mom shook her head, her eyes shut. I had to cover her ass.

“Ah…” I had looked around me, stalling, looking for a good excuse. “I had an important exam I didn’t want to miss.”

He’d called bullshit on my excuse without even uttering one word. It was in the way he scrunched his eyebrows together and got up from squatting down to where I was lying on the nurse’s bed, tipping his chin down like he was disappointed with my answer.

“Get your shit, we’re going home.” His voice cut through my skin, reached my bones and made them shudder.

“Yes, Graham.” I had licked my lips nervously, watching him turn around and walk to the door. My mom had just stood there, her nostrils flaring, and cursed under her breathe.

“You just had to ruin everything, didn’t you, Dahl?” She’d almost spat the words. Nurse Gina, already shocked by my stepdaddy’s behavior, stood up, intending to tell my mom off, but it was too late. Annabelle had already turned around and left us both.

I hit the accelerator and jerk my chin up, taking a deep breath as I speed into the concrete jungle that’s New York. Yes, I have plenty of memories with my mom, but none of them good.

Maybe Graham is right.

Maybe it is time to cut her loose.

“You’re not Graham.” The guy behind the counter observes sharply. He is good looking. Actually, good looking doesn’t even begin to describe it. He looks like the dudes you see on romance novels. Tan, ripped and sporting that gorgeous cocky grin that makes women consider things like rimming and anal. Yes, that good looking. He is also familiar and has an Irish accent to die for. Seriously, what do they feed them in Ireland that make them grow into such handsome, tough, badass specimen?

“No, I’m not Graham,” I say, leaning my hip against his counter.

His shop is nothing like I’ve ever seen before. They sell everything, from keys to knives and they have a backyard full of metal junk. I don’t know how to explain it, but the place looks about as legal as a sweat shop.

“You figured out that one quickly.” I smile sarcastically, checking out his place. Everything is cluttered and stuffy and the air is musty. I don’t like it here.

“Ah, you’re a funny one,” his Irish twang sing-songs. I sneak another glare at him and decide that he’s familiar.

As if sensing my confusion, he states, “I’m the bouncer at Hot N’ Bothered.”

“Oh, that’s right. You were the one who escorted my friend, Jade, to her cab.”

I only remember this piece of information because Jade spend forty minutes telling me how hot he was and how she’d have totally tried to bang him if it wasn’t for my scary-as-shit stepfather.

“Aye, that’s me. Carter.” He reaches to shake my hand.

“I’m Dahlia, but everyone calls me Dahl.”

“Okay, Dahlia.”

“I just said Dahl.” I cock one eyebrow, amused, and he sends a condescending smirk my way.

“Sweetheart, I reckon your daddy will cut my balls and feed them to me if I call you by your nickname. He’s not a patient man when it comes down to things that belong to him.”

I am at a loss for words.
What?
Graham has warned people off about me? Since when? And what does he mean by “I’m his?” I’m not anyone’s. This is beyond ridiculous and despite the fact Carter is nice eye candy, I think I’ve had enough. I wave in his general direction, huffing.

“Right. Can you just give me the keys please?” I ask. He nods once and disappears behind a wood door leading to the back of his store. I tap my nails on the glass counter under me, blowing a lock of blonde hair from my face. I’m so smitten with Graham, I sometimes forget how controlling he can be. First, he kicks my mom out of the house, she had it coming, she’s been abusing this arrangement ever since they signed those papers, and now he’s warning people about not getting near me…or using my nickname. I fish out my phone to text Jade and tell her I’m standing across from her crush.

Dahl (06:44)

Guess where I am.

Jade (06:45)

Inside Daddy Savage’s boxers? Playing with his magic wand?

Dahl (06:45)

Get your mind out of the gutter, please. I’m in the Bronx getting some new keys for my house and guess who is working here?

Jade (06:46)

Channing Tatum!

Dahl (06:49)

Dude, you’re so lame at this game. No. The bouncer who got you in the cab that night we were caught.

Jade (06:50)

NO WAY! Send me a pic. And give him my phone number.

Dahl (06:50)

No. He works for Graham. Name’s Carter. He is probably shady as hell.

Jade (06:51)

He’s fifty shades of hot. That’s what he is. DO IT.

I look up from my phone when I hear Carter’s footsteps. The floorboards creak, alerting me of his arrival. He hands me a brown paper bag, not unlike the ones they use at McDonalds, and sniffs, tilting his chin toward it.

“Here you go,
baby
. I printed the instructions. But don’t open it until it gets to G, okay?”

Shady. Shady. Shady
. My mind screams. Why can’t I open it? And why is it fucking sealed? He can call me baby, but not Dahl? How does that make any sense?

“Yes, fine, thank you,” I respond, turning around and scurrying toward my car. These men.

I’m stuck in a traffic jam from hell, it’s Friday evening and everyone’s driving back to New Jersey from New York and vice versa, and that gives me even more time to think. I’m going to turn eighteen at midnight tonight; less than six hours away. Graham is waiting for me to officially become an adult to take my virginity, I know that. I can’t blame him. Even if he trusts me, with his track record and previous arrests, he can’t risk someone else, my mom or Julio or even Jade, to snitch to the police about it. This means that there’s a very good chance I’m going to lose my virginity…tonight.

Originally, I wanted to have a little get-together with all the girls from the cheerleading squad at my house. Order some pizza, watch rom-coms and get drunk—Graham says it’s okay to drink at home.

But that was before I started making out with my stepfather and completely lost my line of thought. I am now more than happy that none of my plans had materialized. I can’t imagine having people over when all I want to do is wait for the clock to hit midnight and jump into bed with him.

As I near our house my heart thumps faster in my chest. My breathing becomes ragged and I get the feeling that something’s wrong. My house. It doesn’t look the same. When I round the corner of my well-lit street, passing lush freshly cut grass and giant mansions, I realize why. The lights are on everywhere. The front yard, the pool, everywhere. Lights in every shade and colors; blues and reds and pinks and greens. There’s music blasting from the pool, and “Sweet Child O’ Mine” by Guns N’ Roses—yes, this ironic song, of all songs—is playing loudly. I hear laughing and screaming and the splash of the pool as people jump into it.

Shit. Jade.

I take out my phone from the center console and text my best friend quickly.

Dahl (08:35)

Really? A surprise party @ mine?

Jade (8:40)

Yasssss. Thank me l8r dude.

Dahl (8:40)

How about I’ll thank you never? I had plans. And besides, it’s hardly a surprise when you make enough noise to wake up people in Alaska.

Jade (08:41)

Drag your ass inside, party pooper. We’re throwing you a balls out party and you’re not even here.

Reluctantly, I unlatch the seating belt and open the door. I’m climb out of the car and make my way to the house on wobbly feet. I’m not dressed for the occasion, but this is not why my stomach is in knots right now. I know Graham is somewhere in there, and I know that Jade has spoken to him since she had no other way around throwing me this party without his help. Most of all, I am painfully aware to the fact he might’ve spilled the beans in my best friend’s ears. My step-dad-turned-lover is a control freak who wants to shout that shit from the mountaintop. Even though I’m excited and proud to have him as my lover, I still need to digest it all, to come to terms with what I’m doing, which is essentially messing around with my mother’s husband.

No matter that he’s not really her husband.

And no matter the fact that she is acting like anything but my mom.

“Dahl! Oh, my, Dahl! Look at you! Happy 18
th
birthday!” Britney from calculus is launching herself at me like a missile from the double front door, throwing her arms around my neck. I hug her back, and soon, everybody from the cheerleading squad joins her. One of them forces a princess tiara onto my head. The house looks like something out of that show on TV about the spoiled sixteen-year-old brats who always get “surprised” with a car at the end. All the boys are on one side of the room scarfing down food, while all the girls jump around and sing off key. There are bodies everywhere. I don’t even know half of these people, I’m sure. There’s a giant Tiffany Blue three-tiered cake with a silver, glittery “D” topper with gift bags surrounding it. Is it my birthday or Taylor Swift’s?

I’m a victim of a pretty aggressive group hug, and all I can feel is other people’s hands and arms on my back and ass when something, don’t ask me what, makes me raise my head up to Graham’s office window that’s overlooking the front yard. The minute my eyes land on his window, my eyes click with his. He’s standing by the glass, his chin up, his expression proud and dangerous, staring at me like a hawk ready to dive down and destroy his prey. I shiver from the intensity. Unlocking myself from my girlfriends’ hug, I smile apologetically at them.

“Who’s here?” I ask Jade.

“Who isn’t?” She snorts out a laugh. “Stepdaddy Hottest was kind enough to shell out 2k for this party. Word got out.” She opens her arms, as if to say “well what can you do?” “Long story short? Half the school’s here. You better run upstairs and wear something nice.”

I do just that. I shoulder my way through the crowd of very drunk high school kids, all seniors like me, though, pushing and laughing and dancing in my living room. Graham is a private person, so I bet giving Jade the green light to do this was a sacrifice for him. It makes me want to give him my virginity even more. Not because I care about this stupid party, but because
he
cares about me. And in my world…in my world it’s everything and more. I’ve never had this before.

I open the door to my bedroom and find my sexy handsome lover lying on my bed, his shoulders pressed against my pink headboard, his legs stretched out, one over the other. I gulp, closing the door after me and taking a step deeper into the room. I can merely see the shadow of him since the lights are out, but I see his brooding expression, tailored suit and his fingers entwined over his lap. There’s nothing I want more than to kick everybody out of this goddamned house and ride him rodeo-style until my whole body is aching and bruised.