Aubrie paused and I shrugged at her. “I haven’t heard from him, so don’t look at me.”
She frowned but didn’t say anything.
“Well, okay, have a good morning.” And then Mom was gone, back up to her room to probably do another workout.
I looked at Aubrie. “Did she seem a little slower than usual?”
Aubrie smiled, focusing back in on me. “No, no more than usual.”
“I could have sworn I saw her hamster wheel spinning twice as fast.”
She laughed. “Oh, don’t be so mean to your mother.”
I held up my hands. “I’m never mean. Just speaking the truth.”
She laughed again and we lapsed into silence, finishing our cereal. Finally, Aubrie pushed back from the island and stood up, putting her bowl in the sink.
“Okay. I have some stuff to do. Good luck with therapy.”
“Sounds good, Brie baby.”
She rolled her eyes and was gone. I watched her walk out of the room, my eyes glued to her perfect, round ass, barely concealed by her thin cotton shorts.
Fucking Aubrie, back in my life. Maybe, if all things went well, I’d recover faster than expected, and my mom would keep her busy. Maybe we wouldn’t run into each other too much this summer.
Maybe I wouldn’t have to spend the next three months covering my hard-ons every time she bent over to pick something up.
Chapter Three: Aubrie
I watched the water in the pool reflect sunlight as I sent out another text, panic beginning to well up in my core.
For the past hour, after my little run-in with Lincoln in the kitchen, I had been sending out S.O.S. texts to all my friends from high school, hoping that someone else was home for the summer. As the minutes ticked by and I was getting only silence in return, it began to dawn on me that maybe I really was going to have to spend all summer seeing nobody my age except for Lincoln.
My stepbrother. Lincoln “Based” Carter. Even with that limp, he looked freaking incredible. When he had walked downstairs, leaning heavily on his cane, I had been able to see the muscles stand out through his thin white T-shirt. It made the colorful tattoos all over his arms pop. He gave me one look, part “I-know-you-want-me” confidence and part “I’m-God’s-gift-to-this-Earth” arrogance, and it made me absolutely furious and totally excited. My heart was hammering in my chest the entire time we went at each other verbally. And as he reached up to grab the cereal from the cabinet, there was a brief moment where I could see the cut muscles all down his lower back, and a hint of some other tattoo along his side.
What the hell was wrong with me? I had stared at him like he was a piece of meat and all I wanted to do was jump his bones. I couldn’t help but wonder if he was even capable of having sex, or whatever, since he was all injured and stuff. That probably didn’t matter to him.
I glanced down at my phone.
I groaned. This was a nightmare. I had barely managed to get out of the house before the camera crew descended on us, shoving their microphones and lenses in our faces and trying to get me to say nice things about Lincoln. I was absolutely not going to be a part of his documentary, or whatever it was. No way in hell. Not in a million years.
Frankly, I didn’t want to be another character in Lincoln’s glamorous life. He had plenty of groupies and hangers-on that would love to get a little bit part in his show. That wasn’t for me, never would be, even if I hadn’t stopped thinking about him since that night of the wedding.
I leaned my head back and let the memory take over.
We pushed through the back door, a little drunk, a little giddy, and totally exhausted. Still, adrenaline was keeping me awake, the adrenaline that comes with dancing closely with your sexy-as-hell stepbrother all night, breathing in his smell and wanting to slip his cock into your mouth. He was too much, with a chiseled face and a body he clearly worked hard on.
“Shh, you’re going to wake them up,” he whispered.
“They’re not here, idiot,” I said, giggling.
He laughed. “That’s right. It’s their honeymoon.”
“No, their wedding night.”
“I’m sure they’re consummating it right now.”
I made a face. “Ew. Gross. I don’t want to think about my dad consummating anything.”
“And you think I want to imagine my mom doing that?”
“You brought it up.”
He laughed and pushed me playfully. Then he began to walk up the steps. I followed him, giggling.
“Want one last drink?” he asked me.
“What, you have alcohol?”
He grinned wickedly. “Small stash.”
“What a rebel.”
“Want one or not?”