Crude: A Stepbrother Romance Page 5

  “Oh man!” Mark shakes his head; “That was some gnarly shit, dude. You fucked up his whole junior and senior years!”

  There are some things in life you can’t take back, as much as you want to, and Cynthia Roberts is one of those things. I’m not proud of that; at all. In fact, I hate myself for it. There’s the chase, and doing things you shouldn’t, and the thrill of the forbidden and all that. And then there’s being wild and being young, but then there’s just crossing a line that you shouldn’t cross.

  And Cynthia Roberts? Yeah, that was breaking bad in the worst way.

  I frown as I grab another half-cold beer from the table and crack it open, staring into it as that whole thing from last year that I keep trying to forget about comes creeping back into my mind.

  I was young; way too young, and she fuckin’ knew it. And I was drunk, and my dad had just died, and she was just all over me. I mean how do you say no to that?

  I didn’t know how to say no.

  And of course these two pricks found out, and then a lot more people found out. People like Luke Roberts.

  People like Mr. Roberts.

  I wince and try and push it all away as I take a huge sip of my fresh beer. Shit, I mean what if one of these assholes made a pass at my mom? I’d fuckin’ kill them.

  You should be nicer to her.

  I have no idea why of all people Paige’s voice pops into my head like that right then, but I know she’s right. I should be nicer; a lot fucking nicer. It’s sort of tough when she’s marrying dad’s boss like a year after he’s in the ground though.

  “Yo, Earth to Knox.” I look up and realize Justin’s giving me a weird look as he holds the smoking roach of the joint out to me; “What are you, lost in thought there, mother-fucker?”

  Mark cracks up, and I quickly swallow the bitter sense of self-loathing and regret welling up inside my throat and throw them a casual shrug as I take the pot; “Nah man, just trying to think of the best way to rub your face in it when I fuck Paige McCauley.”

  When I’m playing, I can lose myself. Even at practice, playing the songs I have to play, I can just zone out and let myself get utterly and totally lost in thought.

  And honestly, it’s not like I dislike classical at all. I love it, in fact, and it’s why I started playing in the first place. I love the beauty in it; the math, the rules, the way it comes through you like something primal and something sensual through your fingertips and onto the keys.

  But then, music is more to me than that to me, and I want to explore more of it. I mean even the greats broke the rules; Debussy ignored modern song and chord structure to make some of the most beautiful pieces of work of the 19th century. Heck, Beethoven eliminated orchestral introduction in the concerto, and, well, I know that’s dangerously close to music-nerd-speak, but take my word that it worked out pretty amazingly for everyone.

  So why can’t I?

  Why am I stuck following the rules? Why am I stuck following the exact path that’s been chosen for me with zero variation, and not an inch of room to even explore something else that might just interest me?

  I think of the one time I started to play my dad something I wrote, about my mom nonetheless. And I’d practiced for weeks to play it for him and make it sound perfect for him, and I didn’t even get thirty seconds into it. He wouldn't have it; I’d barely started before he shut the whole thing down.

  “What about some Chopin, honey? Don’t you like Chopin?

  “Of course I do, I just wanted to play this for you too-”

  “You want to go places in life, don’t you honey?”

  “Dad, I just-”

  “You need a good school to have a good future, Paige, and the extra curriculars they want are classical, not Britney Spears.”

  “Dad, it’s not-”

  “Enough, Paige. Just start at the top, OK?”

  I’m so caught in my own thoughts that I don’t even realize I’ve stopped playing until I blink and realize my hand are still; the room silent.

  “Why’d you stop?”

  I look up sharply; apparently I’ve also been so lost in it all that I haven’t noticed Knox coming in and slumping into a chair across the room from me. A shirtless Knox, wearing just a pair of jeans that hug his hips perfectly as he drapes himself across the stuffed chair with his legs over the arm.

  Does he even OWN shirts?

  “How long have you been sitting there?”

  “Long enough to hear how good you are. Why’d you stop?”

  I frown; there’s no reason to go down that particular memory lane with him of all people; “Because you were watching.”

  OK, it’s not even a good lie, considering he was sitting there long before I stopped, but if he catches it, he mercifully doesn’t push it.

  “What, you don’t want to play in front of people?” He says, raising an eyebrow.

  “I- I don’t know.” I say, dropping my hands into my lap. Yes? No?” I smile and shake my head; “I guess I’m not sure.”

  Knox grins; “Apparently. So, what’s the problem? Stage fright?”

  “No.”

  Maybe.

  He chuckles; “So play me one of yours.”

  I quickly shake my head; “No way!”

  “Oh c’mon!” He’s getting up now, undraping his muscled body from the chair and coming towards me; “You’re such a tease!”

  I blush and grin; “Oh what are you even talking about?”

  “The songs! You got me all hooked on your stuff that night at- oh relax, Jo-Jo and my mom are out,” He says when he sees the look of worry cross my face; “Look, you got me hooked on those tunes before, and what, now I never get to hear them again?”

  “I dunno,” I mumble, blushing and looking at my hands against the keys; “I’ll have to think about it.”

  Ugh! What am I, flirting with him? How is this even a thing?

  “Oh c’mon, Paige! What if I beg?” I laugh as Knox drops to his knees next to the piano bench; “Pretty fucking please, with a cherry on top.”

  I roll my eyes, still feeling that silly glow in my cheeks; “Maybe, just- just not now.”

  “Hey, I mean it’s not like I haven’t heard you before.”

  “You really don’t want to let that night at the Music Hall go, do you?”

  Oh God, I AM flirting with him! And I hate to say it, but I don’t altogether dislike the giggly airy feeling floating through me when I do just let go like this.

  But then I gasp suddenly as Knox stands and leans into me, pushing me back into the piano with his hands on the keys on either side of me; “Oh, Paige, I’m not talking about the Music Hall, darlin.” He winks that same wicked and salacious looking wink; “I mean, when I was listening to you sing the other night in your room.”

  The heat erupts in my face as all those stupid girly “airy” feelings go crashing to the ground along with my dignity; “Oh screw you!” I hiss, shoving his laughing, cocky, arrogant face away from me and storming away from him.

  “Aww, c’mon!” I can hear him laughing as he starts to pound out “chopsticks” again on my piano; “Play it again, Sam!” He yells after me, laughing as I grit my teeth to drown out the ringing in my ears as I run up the stairs to my room.

  That prick.

  She’s ignoring me, which is fine.

  No wait, fun; it’s fun. And it’s fun because she actually sucks at ignoring me, big-time. To be fair, I’m hardly making it easy for her, but hey, life is full of complications, right? Besides, getting under Paige’s skin is just way too much fun.

  But of course, there’s more to it than that, because it’s not just teasing. Deep down, there’s something stupidly sexy about this uptight, prim and proper, goody-two-shoes virgin. There’s some sort of primal switch that gets tripped in my brain when I even get the hint of a thought of spreading uptight, daddy’s girl Paige McCauley’s leg around my waist and burying every inch of my cock inside of her. Fuck, I can’t even say her name in the same sentence without getti
ng rock hard.

  What the fuck is wrong with me? There’s “off-limits” and messing with what you shouldn’t, but I think we’ve established that “do not touch” isn’t really a warning sign I tend to pay attention to. But it’s more than that with this girl, and I know that. A girl as tightly wound and as controlled all her life like Paige has commitment and clingy written all over her. “Experiment before college?” Yeah, right. This is the girl that would be hiding herself away in my suitcase come time to leave.

  Forget that.

  Don’t get tied down, don’t let emotions trip you up; stay moving. It’s basically what my dad did, and I gotta say, it worked out for him pretty well.

  I’m sweaty and greasy from the heat and the bike after I come in from tuning up my shifter out in the driveway. I’ve basically turned a little corner of the “car port” - which I’ve come to learn is “rich-people-speak” for that humongous stone-paved driveway turnaround you always see to the side of mansions where they keep all their cars - into my own personal motorcycle service pit. I’m sure King Jo-Jo fucking hates seeing my little grease-pit of “poorness” sitting there stain his view every morning, but I’m guessing it’s one of those things he’s willing to concede on in his quest to be my new father.

  Whatever.

  Normally I’d give zero fucks about plopping right down on the furniture in grease-stained work-jeans, but if there’s one thing I’ve sort of picked up on living here, it’s that me being messy means some other person under Joe’s control needs to pick up my shit for me. This place has a cleaning team of three, a cook, and freakin’ Martin, the butler. Me leaving my shit everywhere or making a mess means they have to clean up after me like I’m some sort of toddler, and that grates on me something bad.

  So instead, I’m stripping off my sweaty undershirt and shucking off my grease-stained jeans before I swing open the bathroom door-

  Right into a suddenly shrieking Paige McCauley who’s frantically wrapping a towel around herself as she jumps back from the door.

  OK, I lied before. Remember when I said Paige in those stupid khakis and a long sleeve collared shirt was the sexiest thing ever?

  I take it all back. Because Paige in just a fucking towel, when I know she’s totally naked underneath it and standing four feet from me is definitely the hottest thing ever.

  She glares at me, red faced from the shock of me bursting in on her like this and swears under her breath; “Why the hell is there no lock on that door.”

  “Maybe there is and you just subconsciously wanted to leave it open,” I say with a grin after I somehow manage to swallow the lump in my throat and teach my mouth to make words again.

  She shoots me a sneering, patronizing smile and rolls her eyes. But damn, if she was going with “standoffish and cold” with that look, or fuck, any look while she’s standing there in that white fluffy towel hugging her body like that, she’s failed. With that smattering of freckles across the top of her chest, the smooth skin of her thighs showing, and her wet hair framing her those crystal blue eyes and pouty, defying lips….

  Yeah, in fact, it’s doing the opposite of whatever she thinks it’s going to do.

  I can feel my jaw tighten as I move closer, my eyes locked on her. Yeah, and all that shit I said? It’s going right out the window the longer I’m close to her like this. She bites her lip, glancing nervously up at me with a blush across her freckles cheeks. I take another step, and I can see her swallow, but she’s not pulling away, and she’s not running from the room or telling me to get lost. And suddenly, I’m much closer to her than I ever expected to get to her.

  She smells so fucking clean, so perfect. There’s something like lavender or some kind of flower scent of her shampoo or conditioner that’s clawing at my mind like some sort of wild beast and drawing me closer, as if I needed any other reason not to move away from her right now.

  “So listen, I was thinking,” Of course I’m opening my mouth before my brain can tell me just to shut the fuck up and enjoy the view; “You put any more thought into my offer?”

  Idiot; idiot-idiot-idiot.

  Paige blushes and finally tears her eyes away from me; “Jesus, Knox. Look, I told you - and I wish that I hadn’t, believe me, but I told that I-”

  “Well what if we looked at it like an internship or something?”

  An internship? I need to stop fucking talking right now.

  She arches a brow at me; “Excuse me?”

  “You know, so you don’t just jump in. You try it out; baby steps.”

  I’m leaning against the marbled sink counter, and trying to pretend I don’t notice the huge hard-on in my shorts. Because while I’ve got sneaking suspicion that I’m ruining this, I’m also really curious to see how far I can push little miss prude here before she runs away or slaps me.

  But she’s not doing either. In fact, she hasn’t moved back from me at all, and instead, I can see that flush creeping up her cleavage and her neck, and I’m watching her shoulders move as her breathing gets deeper and quicker.

  She’s interested. OK, maybe not interested-interested, but curious enough that she’s not leaving. I level my eyes with her and reach out with my hand. She bites her lips when the back of my hand touches her collarbone, sweeping her hair back over her shoulder and exposing the skin there, and that flush gets hotter in her face as I feel my own pulse start to hammer in my ears.

  But she’s not moving away.

  “Stop it,” She says quietly, her eyes dropping to the tented front of my shorts and going wide before quickly darting back up to my face. I can feel my cock throb at that look; so fucking innocent and so Goddamn sexy at the same time.

  “Stop what?” I say with a smirk, my eyes leveling at her and my hand still trailing back and forth over her collarbone. Goddamn is her skin smooth; “Hey, it’s just an offer. You know, for you. I mean no one wants to go off to college with zero experience.” A smile teases the corners of her lips, and I can feel the hammering inside my ears getting louder and louder; “Thought I could just give you some pointers.”

  Slap me. Tell me to fuck off. Roll your eyes and walk away from my bullshit. She needs to pick one, if not all of these things, and do it right now. Because the room is somehow getting smaller, and warmer, and that fucking scent of her shampoo and that wide-eyed look on her face is just bringing me to my fucking knees in here.

  But then she opens those perfect, pouty lips, and she doesn’t do any of those things; “Like what?” She says quietly.

  Oh fuck. She did not just ask that. Except she did, and suddenly the heat of the room is roaring in my ears.

  And suddenly, “baby steps” are the last fucking thing I want to do. I want to tear this towel off her perfect body and push her up against the wall right here in her father’s house. I want to taste that untouched virgin pussy with my tongue until she’s screaming. I want to bury my cock in her for the very first time; feel where no one’s been before and show her exactly what she’s been missing.

  Of course, there’s also the voice in my head that casually reminds me that even if I haven’t seen them, I’m betting Joe owns guns. And I’m also betting that taking another step across the thin ice I’m already treading on is a great way to see them quicker than I want to.

  Fuck the voice in my head.

  “Like what?” I say, moving closer to her, so close that I can just feel the softness of the towel against my bare chest and hear the soft, delicate intake of her breath. I lean close to her ear, my lips barely grazing against her earlobe, making her gasp quietly; “Oh, you know, things I’m betting you’ve never tried before.”