Crude: A Stepbrother Romance Read online

  He’s ignoring me and my brake-screeching driveway entrance, his back still to me as he turns his head just a bit to bring a pack of cigarettes up to his mouth and draw one out with his lips. His very perfect, very sexy lips there on his very perfect, very defined jaw.

  Um, wow.

  I’m taking a step forward when two things happen. At the top of the curving stone steps, the front door to the house opens and my dad steps out with a blonde woman on his arm.

  And then the mysterious and sexy biker in my driveway turns around, looks right at me, and suddenly starts grinning.

  Oh you have got to be kidding me.

  Stranger? Well, yes, but not really. Because I know him. Well, I’ve at least had the displeasure of meeting him

  He’s the boy from the open mic songwriters show the night before last at the Music Hall. The show I most certainly wasn’t supposed to be at, and the show my father thinks I was at Megan’s house studying during. The open mic show where I don’t play the Mozart and the Tchaikovsky from my lessons, I play and sing my own songs.

  Oh my God, what is HE doing here?!

  He’s the boy who loudly shushed his buddies when they started to cat-call me on stage. The boy who met me right off the stage with a grin and a look that promised all sorts of bad decisions and offered to buy me a drink. A drink I, of course, declined seeing as I’m underage. The boy who leaned close and asked when I was playing next as he ran his finger through a stray lock of my wild red hair and tucked it behind me ear. The boy who had me absolutely tongue-tied and hanging off of his words until…well, until he got quite crude with them and I marched away, wishing I’d slapped him.

  And of course, the boy who’s been in my thoughts ever since then, in ways he definitely shouldn’t be, because he’s so obviously trouble.

  And here he is grinning at me and lighting a cigarette next to his motorcycle in my father’s driveway.

  Seriously, what is happening here?

  My dad beams at me as he walks down the stairs with the woman I now recognize as Amanda, my dad’s girlfriend. Somewhere in my head, an alarm bell starts to go off quietly.

  “Ah, good! You’re both here!”

  The alarm bell is joined by a second, and they start to get louder.

  “Paige,” He smiles widely at me; “You remember Amanda. Well, we were going to wait, but we’ve got some very exciting news for you.” He looks towards Mr. Trouble; “Both of you!”

  The wailing of the alarm bells starts to crescendo inside my head.

  “Paige, this is Knox, Amanda’s son.”

  The driveway starts to spin under my feet as the warning bells reach a cacophony, and my dad and Amanda are just standing there smiling.

  “Knox already heard, but Paige, we wanted to be here together to tell you that Amanda and I have decided-”

  Oh please no, please God don’t say it-

  “We’ve decided to get married this fall!”

  The world goes silent, and it’s in slow motion as my jaw drops and I turn to stare in horror at the dangerous, tattooed, muscled bad-boy standing there grinning at me.

  “So Paige, meet Knox, your new stepbrother.”

  My tongue turns to lead in my mouth and I just stand there staring at him in shock as the takes the cigarette out of his mouth, crosses those lean muscle arms over his chest and just grins at me. His eyes roam quite freely over my body as he opens those perfectly devilish lips; “Well, well, well.”

  Oh this is not good.

  There’s a beat, and then a moment of clarity as I suddenly recognize the fiery-haired, angry chick standing in front of me. And then my jaw about drops to the ground.

  Holy shit.

  There’s no way this is the girl from that night. She’s got glasses on now, and she’s wearing her hair up in this old-lady librarian bun, with this ridiculous collared shirt tucked into pleated mom-khakis - fucking khakis. Like, who the hell even wears khakis anymore?

  My brain says there’s no way this can be the same girl, but the longer I just stare at her, not saying anything like some kind of weirdo, it all comes together. She had her hair down then, her red hair wild and streaming out from under a cowboy hat. This was the girl in the knee-high boots, with that slinky shirt that you could kind of see her bra through.

  The girl who sang her fuckin’ heart out on that stage, so much so that even the assholes like me who were only at that bar to begin with because of their loose carding policy shut the fuck up and listened.

  The girl who was all sass and vinegar when I tried to buy her a drink after, and the girl who took off the second I tried to make a move on her. OK, scratch that; the girl that looked at me like I had three heads when I suggested that we go get to know each other better in the men’s room.

  Yeah, OK, so not exactly my finest moment.

  She looks like a deer caught in headlights right now as her dad just fucking spills the news like that. And honestly, my face would probably look a just like it if I was hearing it for the first time on the steps of my house with - surprise! - my new family right there. As it stands, it’s exactly how my face looked yesterday when my mom broke the news to me. I mean, shit, I’m still nursing the hangover from processing that little nugget of news.

  This gi- Paige is staring at the two of them, slowly shaking her head. Jesus, she looks like she was even less ready for this than I was. And here I was thinking that it was Amanda who was the world’s most secretive parent, what with this whole surprise relationship. At least Paige looks just as fucking confused as I did last night, which I know is a weird sort of comfort, but at least I’m not the only one walking blind into this. I mean I guess I’d know my mom had a boyfriend, but hearing the “fiancé” bomb was a slap in the fucking face. Oh, and we’re moving in with him? Fantastic.

  And now here I am just meeting him for the first time right here in the driveway of his crazy-ass mansion on the day we move into it. No, let me take that back, I’m meeting him for the first time as my new stepfather. I’ve met Joe before, but it was three years ago as “Mr. McCauley, dad’s boss who’s here to offer his condolences and support.”

  Way to comfort the grieving widow, you prick.

  So here we are, about eighteen hours after my mom dropped the bomb. “P.S. I’m marrying you your dead dad’s boss; good luck with therapy for the rest of your life” is a pretty fucked up way to start dinner conversation with your son.

  OK, so it may have been slightly more tactful than that, but still; what the actual fuck? I mean don’t get me wrong, I hardly knew my dad anyways since he was always out on some job site drilling somewhere.

  But he was drilling for Joseph McCauley. Billionaire crude oil-tycoon Joseph McCauley. The very same Joseph McCauley, in fact, who’s standing there with my mom’s hand in his and looking at me like he’s sizing me up; like he’s worried about letting this son of a roughneck - this kid with tattoos and a leather jacket and a motorcycle - into his home and anywhere near his daughter.

  He should be.

  Because as my eyes dart back to her, standing there with her arms crossed tight over her chest and a wild, accusatory look in her eyes as she stares at me, I get a certain notion inside my head. Yeah, I’ve know girls just like this; the uptight, wound-up type. But I also know the wild side that’s trapped behind girls just like Paige McCauley. There’s a fierceness and yearning to run free that I can see behind her eyes, and as I stand there grinning right in her stuck-up scowling face, I know I’m gonna find that wildness.

  And I’m gonna unchain it.

  My father and Amanda are still hugging each other in disgusting ways as they walk around the side of the house through the flower garden there, and suddenly, I’m alone with him.

  The crude, disgusting, arrogant little shit who asked me...ugh, I don’t even want to think about it. Not then, not ever, and certainly not now that he’s my fucking stepbrother.

  Can we NOT use those two words together please?

  I’m suddenly disgusted at my
fleeting earlier thoughts; totally grossed out that I was checking out his shoulders in that tight t-shirt, and appalled about scoping out his tattoos running down those sculpted arms.

  Gross gross gross gross gross.

  He’s grinning this cocky, smirking smile at me, like he’s reading my thoughts as he reaches inside his pocket and pulls out a pack of cigarettes; “So, we meet again, huh?”

  That’s it? That’s his big reaction to all of this? I suddenly narrow my eyes at him; “Did you know about this?”

  He raises a brow at me as he leans into the lighter cupped in his palms and breathes in on the cigarette; “About what?”

  “About my dad and your- you can’t smoke here,” I say, frowning.

  “Why not?”

  “Because you just can’t.” I nervously look towards the side of the house, knowing perfectly well that my father would kill me if I just lit up a cigarette like that in front of him.

  Knox follows my look and rolls his eyes, chuckling as he blows smoke out through his nose; “Oh, I see,” He says with a laugh.

  “What’s that supposed to mean?”

  “Nothing, princess.”

  I frown; “Stop calling me that.”

  “You always do what your daddy tells you to do?”

  “What? No, I just-” Most of the time, yes. But I’m sure as hell not adding any more fuel to this little fire he’s trying to start.

  Knox leans back against the side of the stone staircase that leads up to the house; “So how often do you play at the Music Hall?”

  My eyes go wide; “I- I-” I’m sputtering, and and can feel my face going bright scarlet; “I mean-” There’s the sound of laughter, and I look over my shoulder to see my father and Amanda walking back around the side of the house. I whirl back to Knox, a pleading look in my eyes; “I- Look, I don’t-”

  “Oh I’m so glad to see you two getting along so well!” Amanda gushes, beaming at the two of us.

  My father smiles and pats me on the back, shooting a quick look at Knox before they start to head up the sweeping steps to the front door; “Dinner at six sharp, guys.”

  The second they’re inside, I whirl back on Knox; “You can’t tell my father about that night!” I glance nervously at the front door; “Look, I wasn’t supposed to be there, I’m underage.”

  Knox laughs; “Yeah, no shit; me too.”

  I frown; “You were drinking.”

  “What are you, eleven? Don’t worry, sis, I won’t tell dad about that you slumming it at the dive bar.”

  I wrinkle my nose at the “sis” comment, but I nod, feeling the tension in my shoulders start to let go a little.

  “I guess I also won’t tell him about the see-through shirt and the way your eyes lit up when I offered to take you into the bathroom.”

  My jaw drops as I narrow my eyes at him; “I did not! Oh my God, gross!”

  Knox just laughs as flicks his cigarette butt into the driveway as he shakes his head and walks into the house. I growl to myself as I march over and stamp out the butt before following him into my house.

  He’s through the main foyer and into the ballroom - yes, we have a ballroom - shaking his head and whistling as he looks around the massive room; “OK, I take it back; you are definitely ‘princess’ from here on.” He shakes his head; “This place is a fucking palace.”

  “It’s just a house,” I grumble.

  “Yeah, this is ‘just a house’ like a Aston Martin is just a car.” He looks up at the wall, and I can see his eyebrows raise; “Holy fuck, is that a Dali?

  I glance at the painting he’s eyeing and nod; “Yeah.”

  “Is it real?”

  “My dad collects his stuff,” I mumble. I’m cringing a little, knowing fully well how this looks, and even more so, how it paints me.

  Knox just shakes his head and rolls his eyes at me. He walks over to my Steinway grand piano and opens the lid, and before I can say a thing, he starts to pound out “chopsticks” across the keys.

  “Please don’t touch that.” I say, stiffening.

  “What, is this another exhibit in this fucking museum?”

  “It’s mine.”

  “Doesn’t look like that fancy electric keyboard you were playing the other night.”

  “Oh my God, seriously.”

  He’s laughing as I feel my whole face going red again as I glance nervously back out into the hall.

  “You need to fucking relax, princess.”

  “I’m serious!” I hiss at him; “You can’t-”

  “Alright! Alright! I get it! Jesus.” He shakes his head at me and walks back over to the piano. I start to bristle, but he only reaches out to close the lid again over the keys; “So you’re like, pretty good at the whole piano thing.”

  I look down at my hands as I twist them around each other; “I don’t know, I guess,” I say with a shrug.

  He rolls his eyes; “It was a compliment, not a question. I mean you’re really pretty good.”

  “Thanks.”

  He nods at the piano and steps aside; “Can you play that second song from-” He stops himself and rolls his eyes as he sees the sudden look on my face; “The second song you played ‘before’?” He finishes with dramatic air-quotes.

  I blush; “I- I can’t.”

  And I can’t tell him why. I can’t tell him how my dad feels about that sort of music and about me ‘wasting my talents’ on it. Because a guy like Knox, with his leather jacket and his tattoos and that dangerous look in his eyes - a boy like that wouldn’t understand. A boy like that is all about breaking the rules and thumbing his nose at people who know better than he does, and I know he just wouldn’t get it.

  “Huh?”

  “I can’t.”

  “What, you don’t sing?”

  “No.”

  “I beg to differ.”

  “I-” I falter, looking for the right words that’ll make him understand and not just get an eye roll or some snide comment from him; “I don’t. That kind of singing and that kind of music is a waste of time.”

  Knox just stares at me, and I can see that hint of a grin just start to peek around his lips as he starts to shake his head at me; “Wow.”

  So much for choosing the right words, idiot.

  “Look, I know how that sounds, but it’s-”

  “Princess, this is way worse than I thought. I mean it’s really up there, isn’t it?”

  I frown; “What?”

  But Knox just grins as he walks past me out of the room; “That stick in your ass.”

  Oh shut up.

  “So, Knox, what exactly are you doing this fall?”

  We’re eating in the royal dining chambers, with the Lord of the Realm’s servants tending to our every need around us.

  OK, we’re in the dining room, but it might as well be King fucking Arthur's castle. I mean there’s a goddamn shield on the wall, for fuck’s sake. And Joe might not be Arthur, but there really is a servant; OK, fine, butler.