theater back home in Miami, I hadn’t had to get a part-time job yet so… I was basically free four days a week. Four days of sitting here thinking about my step-brothers abs. Or his fingers—or his dick!
Jerry, the confirmed workaholic, spent long days and nearly as long nights at the office, leaving Mom to join a variety of local organizations to fill her days. She spent most afternoons at the country club, playing tennis with a new set of well-to-do real housewives like herself, and often stayed to have dinner with them at the club or trying out some new fancy restaurant around town.
It left me with a lot of privacy, privacy I’d enjoyed and taken full advantage of in long, leisurely swims in skimpy bikinis, lounging by the pool deck, in and out of the hot tub, sipping clandestine cocktails—Jerry had a strict no-drinking policy in place—and no one around to see. Now Ryan lived here, big, hunky, sexy, Ryan, and my days of lazily lounging in my favorite skimpy bikinis were over. Now I’d probably have to invest in a new bathing suit. Perhaps even a—God forbid—one-piece! And I’d probably have to—
A knock at the door interrupted my private reverie. It was a firm knock, a confident knock, a new knock. Not the quick, brash rap my stepfather used when calling me to dinner or the timid, gentle one my mother used when she wanted to just talk .
I got up and inched closer to the door, creeping as if the person on the other side might see, until I reached it. “Yes?” I asked hesitantly, my heart pounding in anticipation.
“Hey,” came a rich, masculine, velvet voice from the other side, as hesitant as it was confident. “I just wanted to, I mean… I think we got off on the wrong foot down there…”
I nodded, about to speak— about to open the door— when he continued instead. “I mean, just because you were late to my party doesn’t mean you’re a total dick, right?”
I clicked my tongue, shaking my head as I inched my hand—so eager to pull the door open and get one more clandestine glimpse of my hunky stepbrother—away from the doorknob instead. “Oh, you’re gonna ignore me?” He sounded instantly irritated and far less hesitant than a moment earlier. “Fine then, be that way! I didn’t want to apologize, anyway!”
I chuckled, inching from the door and back to my window, muttering to myself along the way, “Ah, but big brother, you just did!”
Chapter Four
I saw my mother sitting in the breakfast nook the minute I walked in the house, my skin sticky with sweat from my early morning run. I’d gotten up early, before anyone else, still embarrassed over my outburst the night before and none too eager to confront anyone about it before dawn. I’d already missed my chance with Ryan. Far from triumphant, I was realizing more than ever that my silent treatment had been a missed opportunity rather than a victory lap.
Three miles around the calm, quiet, ritzy neighborhood we’d moved into had helped me put my stupid outburst—and subsequent fallout—into perspective. Now, with mom peering back at me, pinch-faced—I was resigned to being the family black sheep all over again.
Great.
“Morning,” I said, grabbing a dish towel from the carefully organized drawer by the sink to wipe the sweat from my face. Normally I’d be mortified at my post-run appearance–hair pulled back in a casual ponytail, my face aglow with perspiration, T-shirt damp with sweat–but after last night’s botched and interrupted Welcome Home party—to say nothing of the aftermath—I figured nothing I’d do would ever impress Ryan–or my family—again, so… why bother?
“Good run?” Mom asked as I poured myself a glass of orange juice from the fresh carton in the fridge.
I shrugged, tired from a restless night’s sleep and feeling out of sorts in every conceivable way. “I’ve had better,” I grunted honestly.
She nodded, sliding out the seat across from her in the breakfast nook – a clear
Jerry, the confirmed workaholic, spent long days and nearly as long nights at the office, leaving Mom to join a variety of local organizations to fill her days. She spent most afternoons at the country club, playing tennis with a new set of well-to-do real housewives like herself, and often stayed to have dinner with them at the club or trying out some new fancy restaurant around town.
It left me with a lot of privacy, privacy I’d enjoyed and taken full advantage of in long, leisurely swims in skimpy bikinis, lounging by the pool deck, in and out of the hot tub, sipping clandestine cocktails—Jerry had a strict no-drinking policy in place—and no one around to see. Now Ryan lived here, big, hunky, sexy, Ryan, and my days of lazily lounging in my favorite skimpy bikinis were over. Now I’d probably have to invest in a new bathing suit. Perhaps even a—God forbid—one-piece! And I’d probably have to—
A knock at the door interrupted my private reverie. It was a firm knock, a confident knock, a new knock. Not the quick, brash rap my stepfather used when calling me to dinner or the timid, gentle one my mother used when she wanted to just talk .
I got up and inched closer to the door, creeping as if the person on the other side might see, until I reached it. “Yes?” I asked hesitantly, my heart pounding in anticipation.
“Hey,” came a rich, masculine, velvet voice from the other side, as hesitant as it was confident. “I just wanted to, I mean… I think we got off on the wrong foot down there…”
I nodded, about to speak— about to open the door— when he continued instead. “I mean, just because you were late to my party doesn’t mean you’re a total dick, right?”
I clicked my tongue, shaking my head as I inched my hand—so eager to pull the door open and get one more clandestine glimpse of my hunky stepbrother—away from the doorknob instead. “Oh, you’re gonna ignore me?” He sounded instantly irritated and far less hesitant than a moment earlier. “Fine then, be that way! I didn’t want to apologize, anyway!”
I chuckled, inching from the door and back to my window, muttering to myself along the way, “Ah, but big brother, you just did!”
Chapter Four
I saw my mother sitting in the breakfast nook the minute I walked in the house, my skin sticky with sweat from my early morning run. I’d gotten up early, before anyone else, still embarrassed over my outburst the night before and none too eager to confront anyone about it before dawn. I’d already missed my chance with Ryan. Far from triumphant, I was realizing more than ever that my silent treatment had been a missed opportunity rather than a victory lap.
Three miles around the calm, quiet, ritzy neighborhood we’d moved into had helped me put my stupid outburst—and subsequent fallout—into perspective. Now, with mom peering back at me, pinch-faced—I was resigned to being the family black sheep all over again.
Great.
“Morning,” I said, grabbing a dish towel from the carefully organized drawer by the sink to wipe the sweat from my face. Normally I’d be mortified at my post-run appearance–hair pulled back in a casual ponytail, my face aglow with perspiration, T-shirt damp with sweat–but after last night’s botched and interrupted Welcome Home party—to say nothing of the aftermath—I figured nothing I’d do would ever impress Ryan–or my family—again, so… why bother?
“Good run?” Mom asked as I poured myself a glass of orange juice from the fresh carton in the fridge.
I shrugged, tired from a restless night’s sleep and feeling out of sorts in every conceivable way. “I’ve had better,” I grunted honestly.
She nodded, sliding out the seat across from her in the breakfast nook – a clear
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