“Here it is.” Brayson throws open the door to a pretty room. It’s white with bright accent colors in the comforter and curtains, like something from a home decorating magazine. Two small matching nightstands flank the large wooden frame of the bed. In the corner, there is a wardrobe, and next to it a smaller drawer unit—everything I’ll need for a comfortable stay.
“Mom put towels here. You don’t have your own bathroom, but there is one down the hall,” Carson says. I don’t think I imagine his eyes dropping down my body as he mentions the bathroom. It’s not exactly ideal to have to share washing facilities in a house of dudes. Walking around, clutching a towel to preserve my modesty has a real chance of ending up in embarrassment.
“Okay,” I say, resting my purse on the bed. “Thanks.”
Carson places my case on the floor, and we all stand awkwardly looking at the bed.
Oh, Lord. There are a whole lot of things going through my head right now. Things that a stepsister walking fresh into her dad’s house shouldn’t be thinking about her stepbrothers. Filthy things. Messy things. Wet and sticky things that make my pussy pulse. I shift, squeezing my legs together, wondering what these boys are thinking. Probably about their next game, or the training they need to do today, or the diet that their coach has them eating.
Probably nothing as dirty as me.
But when I catch Jefferson looking me over, with a glint in his eye, I start to doubt myself.
And when he jumps onto the bed, lying back with his hands behind his head, I doubt myself even more.
“This bed is comfortable,” he says.
“Mom will kill you,” Anderson laughs.
Carson jumps onto it too, and my mind slips even further into the gutter. Two men on my bed look good. I glance at the two who are currently shaking their heads at their brothers’ juvenile behavior. Four would look even better.
Not for the first time, I wonder how my friend Maisie manages it. I mean, I’m all for lots of sex. Last semester I was with a guy three times my size with three times my energy, but it was still only one cock to deal with. Maisie has to deal with five.
It’s kind of eye-watering to think about.
But I shouldn’t be thinking about it.
This trip is about getting to know my dad.
It’s not about anything that Jefferson looks to be conjuring in his head. It’s certainly not about the kind of thing that Maisie started to indulge in with her stepbrothers. As much as I could do with some bedroom-variety fun, I should be keeping these thoughts firmly in my head. At least for now.
Or should I?
In any other situation, any one of these guys would have made it onto my list of potential fuck buddies. If Maisie hadn’t have gotten with her five stepbrothers, maybe I wouldn’t have gone as far as thinking about more than one of them at a time.
Let’s just say my bestie has provided me with a whole lot of inspiration, and that is saying something. My imagination is a deep, dark, and dirty place.
“So, we should leave Sara to get settled,” Anderson says.
“She can get settled right here.” Carson pats the spot between him and Jefferson, which isn’t very wide. I’d have a butt cheek on each of their laps if I tried to get in there. Tempting. Oh, so tempting.
But a little too soon. I’m here for the whole summer—plenty of time to reconsider.
“It’s okay. I think I’ll head down…leave the unpacking until tonight,” I say, fluffing my hair.
“You sure?” Jefferson winks. I hear a groan from one of his brothers, but I don’t catch who.
“I’m sure.” I’m really not. It would be easy to stay up here with these goofballs and arrange my panties and jeans in the cupboards and drawers. I’m sure they’d love to watch me hold up all my lacy underwear under the guise of unpacking. I have plenty with me—enough to blow their minds.
But my dad is waiting downstairs. Procrastination be damned. I’m sure this won’t be the last time I get to pass the time with my stepbrothers. I get the feeling that my arrival is a fascinating novelty to them.
They all wait for me to leave the room first, surprising me with their gentlemanly tendencies. Who would have thought four hulking football players would have manners? I guess their mom has done a good job. Maybe even my dad has too.
I don’t know if Steve has manners. I don’t know much of anything yet, but as I descend the stairs, I’m looking forward to finding out.
I feel like the pied piper with the trail of men behind me. “Has she got you following her around already?” Steve asks with an affectionate smile. He’s sitting in the hallway on a bench next to a rack of shoes that looks like a store for boats. Seriously, they all have such big feet, and you know what they say about men with big feet?
Huge socks.
“We’re not following.”
Steve shakes his head. “One thing you need to face in life, boys. Women run the world. Always have, always will.”
I make a scoffing sound in my throat, thinking about my mom, always at the beck and call of some asshole, never able to earn enough to make a difference. And now, at college, it’s always the boys who get their voices heard. Always the men who seem to get the best opportunities. How many scholarships are given out to male sports teams vs. female ones? I’d put money on it that men have more opportunities. The phrase is “Behind every great man is a great woman,” after all. We get to be great, but only when we’re not out in front.
If there’s one thing I’m determined never to do it is to stand behind any man. I’m never going to need to rely on anyone else, and that’s partly through my lottery win but will be through my education too.
“So, are you hungry?”
I shake my head because the burger I ate at my last rest stop is still sitting like lead in my stomach. “I hit the drive-thru on the way over, but I could use a drink.”
Steve stands, looking strangely weary for a man his age, and starts toward where I assume the kitchen is. “This way,” he says. “You want a soda or something else?”
“I could use a beer.”
I hear a snort from behind, and Steve turns, eyeing me with interest. “Beer. You’re not legal.”
“A beer never killed anyone,” I say, smiling. I don’t tell him that my Grandpa Jackson used to let me suck the frothy top from his beer when I was four. I don’t tell him that I used to enjoy a cold one on the back porch on nights my mom had made herself scarce at the bar in town. I’m not an alcoholic, but I do like the taste of a cold bottle of Bud on a warm day.
Steve doesn’t reply, but when we get to the kitchen, he pulls a couple of ice-cold beers from the fridge and hands me one.
“What?” Jefferson scoffs. “You’re letting her drink.”
“My daughter is home,” Steve says, beaming. “If she wants to share a beer with me, why the hell not.”
“I want to share a beer with you,” Carson says.
“Go ask your mom,” Steve responds. I see a flush spread across Carson’s cheeks as the embarrassment of having to check something with his parent hits home. He might not like it, but he heads out the door to do as he’s told. It tells me that these boys have been raised right—respectful and understanding of their place within the household. Steve must have been good at disciplining them when they were younger. This kind of response doesn’t come without effort.
“So, is your room okay?”
“It’s lovely. I didn’t unpack yet, but I will later. Thank you.”
Steve takes a seat at the counter, resting his beer on the marble surface. “No thanks necessary, Sara, for anything while you’re here. This is your home. I want you to consider it that way while you’re here…and after. Okay?”
I nod, taking a swig of my beer to swallow the lump in my throat.
“So, you’re at Eastern?” Anderson asks. He leans against the counter, folding his arms. His biceps look even bigger when they’re squashed against his chest like that. Wow.
“Yeah. I saw your game with them.”
“Really? You like football?”
I shrug. “I was with one of the team for a while, so it was expected.”
“Errr…we have a traitor in the house,” Jefferson says with a sneer. “We’ll need to be careful, not to talk game in front of her.”
“I said ‘was’ for one. And for two, I’m not a traitor. I have no vested interest in either Eastern or Lawson winning. A foot in each camp and no loyalty to either.”
Steve smiles as though he likes my answers. I get the feeling that the fact that I’m not a typical college girl is amusing him. “Still,” Jefferson says. “It’s not worth the risk.” He narrows his eyes at me as though he’s trying to read whether I’m really a threat or not.
“If my daughter says it’s not an issue, it’s not an issue,” Steve says firmly.
“It’s not an issue.”
“Okay, then.”
“So, do you play any sports?” Steve takes another sip from his bottle, and I can see from his expression that he’s enjoying it.
Carson comes back into the kitchen, followed by Amber. “I understand there’s some discussion about drinking beer,” she says, looking between Steve and me. I can see from her expression that she doesn’t really approve of either of us drinking.
“It’s not every day that a man’s daughter comes to stay,” Steve says, and Amber’s expression mellows.
“You’re right.” She heads for the fridge. “Come on, boys, this is a day to toast. A day of reunions.” She starts to hand bottles to each of her sons who twist off the lids and drink like they’re really thirsty. So this is probably the first time they’ve been allowed to drink at home, but I bet it’s not the first time they’ve had a drink. Four hulking ballers like my stepbrothers are probably hitting the frat party kegs every week, if not more frequently. “Cheers,” Amber says, holding her bottle to clink against mine. We all do it in turn, and I can’t help smiling so hard that my cheeks ache. “To Sara and Steve and a summer to remember.”
“A summer to remember,” everyone says.
And I hope it will be, for all the right reasons.
