Stepbrother Catfish: The Complete Series (11 page)

I’ve truly made my bed and now I’m lying in it. It feels amazing. The sheets must be at least 2000 thread count.

Andrew just left for work.

His shower is awesome. It never ran out of hot water. We ended up having steamy sex in the shower again. Then we did it in his bed until we both finally passed out.

I’ve never felt so sated. I can hardly move. All of my bones feel as if they’re now wiggly, made of rubber. If his freaking alarm wasn’t so loud, I’d probably still be asleep. 

Who sets their alarm as an air raid siren, anyway? Only people that hate themselves.

As it is, I roll over and try my best to drift back to sleep but my brain is having none it. It pesters me for coffee.

Fine, fine, I’m getting up.

I roll myself to the edge of the bed and somehow manage to sit up. I throw my legs over the edge and my feet hit the floor with a loud thump.

I need clothes, I realize, as I stand and find myself naked. The towels we used last night are sitting in a pile by the bed. I pick them up and hang them in the bathroom. I brush my teeth then I search for something to wear in Andrew’s closet. He has an extra toothbrush and girly personal products but nothing for me to wear. There's just rows and rows of all his stuff.

But then again, I’m glad I don’t find any panties or bras in his closet. I would have to wonder if they were his or not.

Andrew left his jacket on the floor. Without even thinking about it, I pick it up. Meaning to hang it, I carry it over to the other jackets. Something falls out of his pocket.

It’s a small black velvet ring box
.

Why is Andrew carrying around a ring box in his jacket pocket?

Without coffee, I’m running on pure muscle memory. My brain is sluggish and resents me for making it work. I blink stupidly at the ring box. Was he wearing this jacket last night or was it the night before?

Bending over, I pick up the ring box. I know, if I had any sense at all, I’d put the box back where I found it and forget it even exists.

But I can’t help myself.

I drop the jacket, it’s no longer important, and flip open the ring box. Inside is a beautiful, glittering princess cut diamond ring. It’s gigantic. It must be worth a fortune.

Does it fit? Only one way to find out. The box falls to the floor, quickly forgotten. The ring slides over my knuckle.

It fits perfect.

I let out the girliest squeal.

Andrew wants to marry me. He’s so going to ask me. That’s why he was asking me about renegotiating the contract. That’s why he was late.

After slipping the ring on and off and admiring it for half an hour or so, I put the ring back where I found it. I even drop his jacket where I found it on the floor. The exact spot.

I’m so flustered I just grab a t-shirt off a hanger and pull it over my head. I’m halfway out of the closet before I think of grabbing a pair of boxers to wear as shorts. My heart is racing, my mind wants to keep up, but I need to fuel it. Into the kitchen I go and after fiddling with his expensive and way too complicated coffee machine, I manage to brew at least one cup of strong java.

Andrew wants to marry me. Andrew wants to marry me.

Over and over it runs through my head.

After last night, my initial reaction was elation. I think I even felt a true moment of joy. Trying the ring on was certainly fun. Andrew and Hailey, sitting in a tree. K-I-S-S-I-N-G

But now that I have a moment to think about it, I’m not sure how I feel. Is this what I really want? If Andrew were to kneel down in front of me right now and ask me to make him the happiest man alive, could I do it?

If Andrew is really AJ. If everything he’s told me over the past few months is real, besides his identity, of course, then hell yes, I want to marry him. I’d jump at the chance to marry that man. That’s the man I fell in love with. My soul aches to be reunited with its other half.

If, from this moment forward he treats me and speaks to me the way that AJ spoke to me, it will be my dream come true.

But I’m not that naïve. Especially not after everything I’ve just gone through.

This is too good to be true.

I’ve been dreading letting go of the fantasy I’ve been holding on to, dreading of walking away when this little arrangement of ours is all over. I know then that I’ll have to move on. I’ll have to come to terms and cope with it, or forever be bitter about how things worked out.

If Andrew/AJ asks me to marry him, I don’t have to walk away. I can have a happily ever after. I can forgive him, completely, and say yes. The future will look so much more awesome. Everything will work out. I won’t have to rip off the band-aid I've placed on my heart.

There has to be a catch.

I take a big sip of coffee, it’s too thick and burns down my throat. The surge of energy is worth the burn, though. I’m beginning to feel like I can function.

I look to the drawer, remembering the picture and how I left it. I want to believe he has that picture for a reason. After all, he must have taken it himself. I don’t recall Jack or my mother doing it. But then, that little voice, my self-preserving nagging doubt, tells me I’m getting my hopes up. I’m looking too much into it.

But I can’t help it. That picture gets my hopes up. The memory of his kiss, how he touches me with his hands. All the trouble he’s gone through to connect with me. All this deception, the lies, the pain, and the masquerading. It’s because he has feelings for me.

It has to be because I’m pretty damn sure I have feelings for him.

I’m here right now because he needed to get me out of his system. But obviously, he’s figured out he’ll never get enough.  When he looked so intense last night and asked me to consider extending our agreement, it was because he’s been carrying a ring around in his pocket.

And I’m going to say yes.

All day I fretted and paced. I tried to watch TV, but that was a bust. The only thing I found that could distract me long enough and hold my attention was looking up wedding ideas on my phone.

I lost myself in white lace and embroidered veils. Train or no train? Contemporary or traditional? Budget or designer? Before I knew it, I had the majority of my dream wedding planned out and approximately a couple of hundred pictures pinned to my very own wedding board.

AJ
: I’m running late again.

Is he now? Running late one evening, I can give him the benefit of the doubt. But two nights in a row? That’s a stretch. Andrew is notorious for being the first one out of the office.

Me
: That’s okay. Want me to order a pizza?

What is he planning? I get excited just thinking about it but then I have to calm myself down. I have to act natural, like I don’t suspect something is up. I don’t want to ruin anything by letting on that I know.

AJ
: Call it in. I’ll grab it on my way home.

When Andrew walks through the door, I’m stretched out on my belly on his couch. I have my phone in front of me and my legs kicked up in the air. I hope I look as casual as I’m trying to act.

“Honey, I’m home!” he calls out just like he did yesterday as if we’re playing house.

I cast a glance over my shoulder first, then roll over and watch him disappear into the kitchen.

“How was your day?” I call out as I get up from the couch.

See, I can play house too.

I hear the hiss of bottles getting their caps popped off and a moment later Andrew reappears with a beer in each hand. I accept the amber bottle he offers me and watch his throat work as he guzzles his down.

Damn, he even has a sexy throat. I wonder what it looks like when he’s swallowing me.

I shiver and take a small sip of my beer. Already my cheeks feel heated. If I could bottle up and sell whatever it is of his that sets off my hormones, I’d be a very rich girl.

“Work sucks,” Andrew finally says and grabs me by the arm. “But it’s good to be home.”

He pulls me in for a kiss. At first the kiss is innocent, even sweet. We’re just saying hello. The hand not holding his beer strokes my cheek. He brushes back my hair and tucks it behind my ear.

I make a small sound of contentment and that’s when the kiss takes a turn. The kiss deepens and thickens.

A phone rings, it’s his. He ignores it.

His head slants, his tongue pushes its way into my mouth.

Someone starts banging on the door.

“I know you’re in there!” a shrill feminine voice calls out. “And I know you’re not alone!”

Andrew pulls away from me. Now he looks like he just seen a ghost. All the color is gone from his face, his eyes are wide, and his mouth is slack.

Whoever is outside bangs on the door again, “Open up you cheating fuck!”

“Who is that?” I ask, my voice a whispered hiss.

Until he actually says it, I won’t dash my own hopes.

I see it in his eyes, though. He goes from shock to panic. And I know, I just know she’s the one he bought the ring for.

“Is that your girlfriend?” I ask, my whisper cracking with the question.

Andrew’s eyes dart around the apartment as he formulates a plan.

He answers me with a nod. “Yes, it’s Tiffany. And if she sees you….”

He doesn’t have to try to explain it, I know exactly what can happen. The jig will be up. Everyone will know what we’re doing. By the way Andrew is panicking, it’s painfully obvious he doesn’t want to be caught with me. He doesn’t want this Tiffany chick to know I’m here.

I’m his dirty little secret.

I’m such a pathetic fool.

I shove my bottle into his hand and turn from him. Already, I can feel the silent tears beginning to trickle down my cheeks. If I had any spine at all, I’d open the door for Tiffany myself. But right now I desperately want to hide. I want to find a deep, dark hole to throw myself into. Or a rock to crawl under. Whichever I come across first.

Somehow I hiss out, “I’ll be in the bedroom.”

I don’t want him to see me crying so I take off before he can stop me. I’m not sure he even tries to stop me.

“Open the fucking door or I swear I’ll key your fucking car!”

Quietly, I shut Andrew’s door and lean against it. I can taste my own tears on my lips now and it takes all of my self-control to keep from breaking out in the sobs that feel so heavy in my chest.

I’m so fucking stupid. So fucking stupid.

“What the fuck, Tiffany?” I hear Andrew say and then I hear the distinct tapping of heels.

He let her in.

“Where is she?”

“Where is who?”

“Don’t you fucking play me, Andrew!”

“Ow, fuck. I don’t know what you’re talking about.”

My nose starts to drip. My ears strain, listening. There’s a long minute of silence. I want to sniffle so bad.

“She’s in your bedroom, isn’t she?”

Oh, shit.

“There’s no one in my bedroom.”

The heels start tapping. Icy panic floods my veins. I may hate Andrew, and I may hate myself, but I so don’t want to get caught. I make a run for it and barely manage to make it to his closet before the bedroom door flies open and bangs against the wall.

“Hey, don’t be messing up my place.”

The woman snorts, “Not like you can’t afford to fix it.”

“That’s beside the point.”

“It smells like sex in here.”

I crouch down and squeeze myself between Andrew’s shoe boxes. How low I have fallen.

“Does it, now?”

“Yes, it fucking reeks of it.”

Andrew laughs.

I bite my lip. This is so messed up.

“You find that funny, huh?” the woman asks, her question full of challenge.

“A little.”

There’s another stretch of silence. I bet she, whoever she is, is staring him down.

“Shall I check your closet?”

“Go for it.”

Frantically, I look for a better place to hide but besides the shoe boxes, there’s little to work with. Andrew’s closet is frustratingly neat and organized, that’s why the jacket on the floor drew my attention.

I’m so screwed. I’m tempted to just gather up what little dignity I have left and come out of hiding.

“But there’s no one in there. Why don’t you tell me why you’re really upset?”

“Why I’m really upset? You keep blowing me off.”

Andrew sighs.

“It’s been two weeks.”

“I told you, I’ve been busy…”

“Do you want to break up with me?”

I hold my breath. Andrew takes forever to answer. I even hear the woman make a little sound of impatience.

“Well?”

“Why would you think that?”

Why is he dodging the question? Do it! Break up with her and let me out of this closet, dammit! Maybe I could even forgive him for this if he just gets rid of her already.

“Why would I think that? Are you fucking serious?”

“Yeah, I’m serious.”

“You keep blowing me off, Mister can’t-go-twenty-four-hours-without-sticking-his-dick-in-something. So where are you getting off at? Where is she, hmm?”

“Maybe I’m not getting off.”

“Did your dick stop working?”

“Fuck, Tiffany, what do you want? You want to find another woman here? Well, it ain’t going to happen.”

“I didn’t check your closet.”

“Are we in fucking high school again?”

“No…”

“Then why are you acting like an immature bitch?”

Yes! I cheer Andrew on in my head. Call her a bitch and kick her the hell out so I can get out of here.

“I’m the immature one?!”

“Is this what happens when you don’t get dick for a couple of weeks? Are you cock-deprived?”

I hear the woman gasp.

“Or is it that time of the month?”

“You’re a fucking asshole!”

“Oh, it is, isn’t it?”

“Fuck you!”

I hear the sound of a slap. Did she hit him?

Andrew growls, “Get out.”

“I don’t know what I ever saw in you,” the woman cries out.

“I don’t know either.”

I hear Tiffany’s heels clicking rapidly against the floor. Her voice sounds farther away. “Don’t think I’ll be calling you later. This time it’s really over!”

“Sure it is,” Andrew says as if he doesn’t believe it.

The front door slams shut and the apartment falls into silence.

What the fuck did he mean by that?