Stepbrother With Benefits 1 (2 page)

T
he school year's over
. I'm supposed to be packing up to leave. Supposed to be, but yeah, guess what I'm doing instead? Something stupid.

A couple of guys from the team dragged me out to play shirts versus skins football on the field because the cheerleaders were doing some last hoorah celebration, complete with those fuckably short skirts they love to wear. Fuck. Those legs. That ass. Fuck. Just fuck.

I can't deal with this shit, man. You don't even know how fucking hard this is right now.

Shirts versus skins, but it devolved into skins versus skins soon enough. Who even gives a fuck what team we're on? No one, apparently. It's all some ruse to impress the cheerleaders, so it's not like it matters. And, yeah, it's working. They're doing their little cheer celebration, but they keep looking over at us. Can't say I blame them.

This is college football and we're in the prime of our lives. Look, I'm kind of an asshole, alright? I know it. Everyone knows it. No reason to hide it.

I look good, though. Especially with a shirt off. Especially when I'm sweating, muscles tight, running around a field, throwing a football.

What position? Quarterback. Shouldn't it be obvious? I was born to be in the spotlight.

Probably helps that my dad's rich. Can't hurt at least.

The cheerleaders are done, and now they're just sitting on the bleachers watching us. Some of the guys pretend to have a huddle or some stupid shit, but it's all of them together. No offense, but what the fuck kind of huddle is that? Two teams would never huddle together. Doesn't make any goddamn sense.

"Last play, guys," someone says. "Make it good. Flashy. Then let's go get our water bottles. Make that flashy, too."

I almost laugh.
These guys
. They really need to get laid. I guess they're about to, so it's all good.

I do some flashy shit, throw the ball higher in the air than necessary so it looks cooler when someone catches it. I don't even care who, just someone. It works. They do. Is that guy supposed to be on my team? I can't tell anymore.

Stupid. This isn't real football, it's just stupid.

We're done. It's over. Walking. Yup.

You might be asking how someone drinks water from a water bottle in a flashy way. And if you're asking that, you need to stop and calm down a little because it's about to happen, so just sit there and see for yourself.

We all go get our water. I drink mine, because I'm thirsty, and not the kind of
thirsty
that these guys are. Yeah, the cheerleaders are cute, but I don't need or want any of that pussy right now. They don't do much for me. I'm a bad boy, but I've still got standards, you know?

The rest of the guys get real into it, though. Drinking, but losing half the water, letting it splash down their faces, dripping past their throats, onto their bare chests. Dude, you're already sweaty from football, so I don't know what this is going to do.

Whatever. It works. Fucking A, it works. It's like cheerleader bait or some shit. They flock to the muscled meat in front of them. Solo, in pairs, or sometimes three at a time, each heading towards the man of their dreams.

Dreams. Ha! Yeah, right. You know how long dreams last? One night. Then you forget about them when you wake up in the morning. This is pretty much the same thing, but it'll be even shorter. We're all leaving this afternoon and going back home.

Home.

A bunch of cheerleaders flock towards me, even though I didn't put on a show for them. Five. More than the other guys. I briefly wonder if I could have them all at the same time. Greedy, much? What the fuck would I even do with five girls at once? I don't know, but I wouldn't mind finding out sometime. I've got two hands, a cock, and a mouth. I'm sure the last girl can think of something to do, too. It'll work.

"Hey, Ethan."

"Hey, Chelsea," I say.

"Hey, Ethan."

This goes on. And on. Five times. Fuck my life.

Chelsea, Jaime, Robin, Maxi, and Bella. I'm not that much of a dick, alright? I do know what their names are. I've talked to them before. I'm on the football team and they're cheerleaders. Get off my case.

Yes, fuck you, I slept with Bella. That's it. Just her. Alright, look, shut the fuck up, I made out with Chelsea and Robin at the same time, and maybe I fingered Jaime, and, yes, I let Maxi suck my cock, but that's it.

Don't fucking judge me.

"Look, this is real interesting," I say, even though they've been babbling on for five minutes and I don't remember a word of what they said. "I've got to go, though. Plane to catch."

"Awww."

"Awww."

Five of those. Fuck my life. Seriously, just fuck it.

"I'll see you next year, though. Good job uh... cheering?"

They actually do a good job, so it's not like this is a stretch, but it sounds goofy as fuck. They act like it's the nicest compliment anyone's ever given them, though.

"Thanks, Ethan!"

You know the drill. Five of those. Wow, seriously?

"Talk to you ladies later," I say.

I think that's it. Or I thought that was it, but when I start to walk away, I've got a following. Yeah, you guessed it, five.

"Do you need help packing?" Chelsea asks.

"Back in your room?" Maxi adds.

"We don't mind." That's Robin.

"If we help you pack fast..." Jaime.

Bella's not even subtle. She mimes sucking my cock by poking her tongue in her cheek and moving her hand in front of her mouth when she thinks no one else is looking. The other girls giggle when they see her.

I don't even fucking know what is going on anymore. Is this real life? Fuck.

"I'm done packing," I lie. "Have to leave now, actually. Seriously, my plane's leaving in an hour. I'm going to be late." Another lie, I've got four hours and the plane isn't going to leave without me.

Did I mention my dad's rich? Private company jet. You have no idea how good that shit is. Seriously, it's good.

They all make a sad little pouty face, but I just laugh and keep on walking. I notice some of the other guys nearby staring at me like I'm insane.

Hey, fuck you, I'm not insane. I'm Ethan Colton, cocky asshole, arrogant prick, and bad boy extraordinaire. I could fuck every girl here if I wanted to, but it's getting kind of old. I need a change of pace.

I
'm home
. I'm here. It's exactly like I remembered it, which is to say it still doesn't feel like home to me.

My mom remarried when I was fifteen, and my stepfather is... well, let's just say he has a lot of money. Colton Enterprises ring a bell? He's basically a billionaire. I like him, but I'm still adjusting, I guess. I try to think of him as a father, and I try to think of this place as my home, but it's still hard.

It doesn't help that overnight I went from being an only child to having a brother, either. It especially doesn't help that my brother is Ethan Colton.

He's a troublemaker. He's always been a troublemaker. I've known him since the second grade, and I don't know if he's changed at all since then. He used to flip up girl's skirts when we were in elementary school, and to be honest he's basically done the same thing ever since. For a different reason now, but it's still all the same to me.

He's the boy your mother warned you about, except my mother never warned me about this. We had "the talk" before she and my stepfather finally married and moved in together, bringing me with her, but it was basically that I'd have a brother now, and she knew it would take some adjusting, but she thought it'd be good for all of us.

Nothing good comes from Ethan, trust me. He's a jerk, a womanizer, a misogynistic prick, he's...

He's standing on the pool deck right now, covered in water, the slick shine of wet sunlight shimmering across his body. I stop and stare, mouth dropped open, still shouldering my packed bag from the trip back here.

He must have just gotten out of the pool, because water is dripping from his board shorts, pooling at his feet. He's hot. I mean, it's hot out. That's what I meant. Please don't put words in my mouth.

This is different, though. Yes, I know my stepbrother is attractive, because how couldn't I? That doesn't make him any less of an arrogant jerk, though. It doesn't mean he's humped and dumped any less woman than he has. It doesn't mean that he's ever had a stable relationship that lasted more than a couple of weeks.

It's just... this is a weird thought to have, and I know it, but it feels like he's just oozing sex right now. Like it's melting off his body, the water acting as a release for his inner sexual beast. Is that...?

No. No! I shouldn't be looking at him that way, this is so disturbing and wrong, but his swim trunks are loose and there's a definite bulge in the front. I don't even want to know what he's thinking about. Is there a girl here? Is he going to... while I'm... ick.

Ethan is an asshole. I don't care if he's hot. Outside, I mean. Swimming. It
is
hot out. Maybe I should go swimming, too? I think my bathing suit still fits me.

While I'm lost in Lala-land, I don't even notice Ethan drying off, wrapping a towel around his waist, and coming back inside. I'm standing there, mouth open, staring at where he used to be, and now he's just smirking at me like it's the most amusing thing he's ever seen.

"Hey, sis," he says. "What's up? Need help with that bag?"

I snap out of it and look away from him. It's cooler inside from the air conditioning, and his skin prickles with goosebumps, his bare chest rippling with hot, chilled muscle, his nipples peaking and hardening. He's just another boy, I remind myself. There's plenty like him, Ashley. You've seen shirtless boy's before.

It's different this time, though. He looks different. I haven't seen Ethan since Christmas break, and it feels like he's changed. Not in a good way, I'm sure.

"Shut up," I tell him. "What are you even doing here?"

"Uh, summer break?" he says. "Should be obvious. Same reason you're here."

"I thought you were going on some vacation or something," I say. "Cancun or whatever? Who knows with you."

"Wow, that hurts," he says, covering his heart with both hands as if I've mortally wounded him. He staggers side to side, acting out this fake death scene. "My own sister, my own flesh and blood, I can't believe this."

"Obviously you haven't taken any biology classes at that party school of yours," I say. "Just because your father married my mother doesn't make us related, especially not by blood, you idiot."

"Ah, yeah, right," he says, flashing me his patented bad boy grin.

I can see why a lot of girls fall for it. Not me, of course. I'm different. I'm only different because I know him better than anyone, probably. It's really not helping right now, though, especially since he's still shirtless. It's doubly not helping with that towel wrapped around his waist. If I didn't just see him standing out there by the pool, I could almost imagine him having just stepped out of the shower, with nothing besides a towel covering his bare body. The remembered image of the slight bulge from before comes back to me, and I have to shake my head in disgust and look away again to stop myself from...

From what? Daydreaming? About Ethan? Ugh! Disgusting.

"Anyways," he says. "Yeah, about summer break. I'm just going to chill here. Maybe we can do some bonding or something. Hang out? Who knows. Unless you're going to be busy doing summer reading or whatever the hell you smart girls do. Write some book report for extra credit next year?"

"Ha ha," I say, faking a laugh. "Right. Funny, Ethan. I don't think we've had to do that since middle school. Not that you'd remember, since you never did it anyways."

"Oh, you're keeping tabs on me now? Cool. I didn't know I was so important to you."

I blush and turn away from him. Again. God, how many times is this going to happen? I can't even look him in the face anymore. I try to tell myself it's because he looks obscene right now, that it's because he's just trying to mess with me, what with being shirtless and vaguely flirting. Is... wait, is that what he's doing? Flirting?

No, definitely not. Not only is he my stepbrother, but I'm not the type of girl someone like Ethan Colton would ever flirt with. He likes the dumb cheerleader type that he can hook up with and then toss aside without much trouble. He's not stupid. Or, he's got some street smarts. Not the good kind, mind you, but the kind that lets him manipulate and use people.

Not me. I'm not going to fall for his tricks. Never.

"Where are mom and dad?" I ask. "I need to talk to them."

"Gonna have to wait, Princess. They're on vacation for the week."

Since I'm already turned away, and I'm trying to keep myself from stammering and staring at him, I head to the kitchen to get something to drink. Unfortunately Ethan follows me, and now he's closer than ever. I reach into the cabinet to grab a glass and he just reaches up right behind me to get one for himself, too.

He's standing so close to me that our hands brush as we pull the glasses from the cabinet. He's standing so close that I can feel him behind me. Close. So close that...

Holy shit! Oh my God. Yes, that's the bulge. From before. Touching me. Pressing lightly against my butt.

I drop my glass. It starts to fall, heading on a crash course to an imminent, shattering demise. Ethan catches it, though. In the process, he gets even closer to me. Our bodies touch, my back to his front, closer than... closer than I've ever been to someone, almost. Or, not really. I mean, I've had sex before, but that's the closest, and... Ethan is basically as close as that, his erection pressing into... against...

He puts the glasses on the counter and places his hands on my hips. "Hey, Little Miss Perfect, you alright? You're shaking."

I need to make something up, so I say the first thing that comes to mind. "Why didn't they tell me they were going on vacation?"

He's still holding me. Reassuring me? This is weird. But kind of nice. I lean back in his arms and he puts his chin on my shoulder, hands moving towards my stomach. It's weird. Too intimate. It's exactly the sort of thing Ethan would do to rile me up. I can't let him know it bothers me.

It doesn't help that it doesn't bother me. It doesn't help that no one has ever held me this way. Maybe my mom did when I was younger, but that's entirely different. Jake never did, and none of the other boys I dated would have ever thought about it. Especially not after...

I don't want to think about it. I can't believe he broke up with me like that.

"Was a last minute thing," Ethan says close to my ear. "They left a note, told me to tell you. It's just you and me for a week. Hope you can handle it. Don't worry, I'm a good babysitter."

Babysitter? I laugh, harsh, and slap his hands away from my stomach. He was almost hugging me just then, almost holding me in some intimate, tight embrace, but that's just to screw with me. He doesn't care. He's an asshole.

"I don't need a babysitter," I tell him. "Especially not you, Ethan. Besides the fact that I'm an adult now, you wouldn't even know where to begin with a baby."

"Nah, you're wrong, Princess. It's like this. When a man loves a woman, well..." He makes some obscene gesture, touching the index finger of his left hand to his thumb to make an O-shape, then poking his middle and index finger from his left hand through that, simulating sex. Or fingerfucking someone. I wouldn't be surprised if it's both. Why two fingers? That's just gross. He's gross. My God, he's my brother.

Stepbrother, I remind myself. I don't know whether this makes it better or worse.

"Yeah, you do look grown up now, though," he says out of the blue. "Looks nice. I remember you from second grade, with those ugly glasses and those atrocious outfits you used to wear. You've matured well, Princess."

"Stop calling me that," I say. "I'm not your princess, Ethan. And what do you know about how I looked in second grade?"

"Hey, I know a lot about how you looked," he says. "You're the only girl who kept wearing skirts even though I made it my mission during recess to go around flipping up as many girl's skirts as I could."

I slap him. Hard. It's supposed to hurt. It's supposed to be mean and intrusive and punitive, but he just stands there and grins at me with the red print of my palm on his cheek. I go to slap him again, but this time he catches my hand.

"What's wrong?" he asks, giving me this intense look that I don't know what to do with.

"What do you mean what's wrong?" I say, shocked. "Can't you tell? You're being a dick!"

"Whoa, harsh words there, Smarty Pants. I remember when you were too shy to even try to swear. You'd stammer and blush and--"

"Jake broke up with me," I say suddenly and almost without thinking. No, I did think about this, though. It's what I wanted to talk with my mom about. And maybe Ethan's dad. My stepdad. I just... I don't understand. I'm not sure what I'm supposed to do.

"Wait, what? Seriously?" Ethan says. He sounds a lot more sympathetic than I would have given him credit for. "What happened?"

It all comes out. All of it. I haven't been able to talk with anyone about this since I left, not even my friends. I don't have a lot of friends at college anyways. I'm too smart. I know that sounds like it should be a good thing, but I got into a really good school with a ton of scholarships and...

My friends didn't. My old friends, I mean. I never had a lot of them, either. I thought it would be fine, that I could start over, but so far it hasn't worked. I've dated, and I thought everything was going well with Jake, but...

"He just said he can't do it," I say. "He told me he can't go the entire summer without sex, so we needed to break up, but if I wanted to we can get back together at the beginning of next year."

"No fucking way," Ethan says. "He actually said that?"

A crash of tears rushes down my cheeks. I didn't even realize I was crying. I can't say anymore, so I just gulp and nod.