PAYBACK’S A BITCH

by Johnson, Missy

  “There.” Mack grins at me. “Now, all you need are some corn chips, and you’re set.”

  “Oh, you’re so dead,” I growl.

  Out of the corner of my eye, I catch Darcy dipping her hands into the cream, then she takes aim at the both of us. She ducks behind a chair to shield herself from my shot back at her.

  “I’m pretty sure you missed,” she taunts. “Maybe try throwing it underarm?”

  “Oh, yeah?” I ask.

  I get up, walk around the table, scooping up a handful of dip before grabbing hold of Darcy’s arm and swinging her against me. She screams as I smoosh it right into the middle of her face, covering as much surface as I can.

  “There,” I smirk, her face inches from mine. She pants heavily, her lips slightly open, then she starts to laugh. “I didn’t miss you that time, did I?” I murmur.

  We both look up as Paula walks in. She stops in her tracks and stares at us. In her hands, she cradles a bowl of what looks like strawberry mousse. Mack’s dark eyes gleam as he turns to Darcy.

  “Fifty dollars if you let me watch you and your friend fight in a tub full of that.” He smirks at her. “You know, the hot friend from poker last night.”

  I chuckle, half listening to them argue as I step back. I dig my phone out from my pocket and discreetly open my messages, all while keeping my eyes on Darcy and Mack. I’d mastered the art of discreetly texting after years of doing it through classes, only tonight I stare at Darcy for a little too long. She looks up and catches me watching her. I wink.

  “Guess I’ll go have first shower, huh?”

  “And then you’ll come back and help clean this mess up,” Paula orders me. She shakes her head at Darcy and me. “And you two are supposed to be adults.”

  “Sorry, Paula. I’ll make sure it never happens again,” I say, giving her an apologetic smile.

  I turn around and walk out, checking my messages along the way. My smile vanishes when I click on Darcy’s new text.

  Darcy: I’m pretty sure things don’t get much more interesting than pleasuring myself under the table, while my future little stepbrother starts a food fight.

  My breath catches in my throat. That’s what she was doing?

  Fuck me. I wasn’t far off when I guessed she was having a stroke.

  If I’d known, I would have been paying much closer attention…

  I close the bathroom door and sit down on the edge of the tub.

  Me: What do you say we meet?

  Darcy: Okay. When?

  Me: Friday night, if you’re free? There’s a little bar opposite The Intercontinental Hotel. I can’t remember the name of it, but it’s got a blue sign.

  Darcy: Twisted Monkey Bar?

  I grin. I’m impressed that she knows it, to be honest.

  Me: That’s the one. How about nine?

  Darcy: Sure. I’ll see you then. How will I know who you are?

  Me: Text me when you get there, and I’ll come to the door.

  I ignore the stab of guilt. She’s probably really into the idea of meeting James and it’s making me feel like a bit of an asshole. I shake off the guilt, because we haven’t done anything but exchange a few messages, so there’s no way she could be feeling anything yet.

  So what if she’s looking forward to meeting some guy that she has no idea is really me?

  I’m just having a little bit of fun. At least I’m doing the right thing and telling her before things get out of hand. Then why do I feel so guilty about it?

  * * *

  After cleaning every last smudge of food from the dining room walls, I’m finally back home. I toss my keys on the counter and pour myself a drink and I then wander into to the living room and sprawl out on the couch. The paint smell is still pretty strong, but it’s not as bad as earlier, thanks to the few windows I left cracked open.

  I switch on the TV, just to create some noise, but it doesn’t stop me from thinking about Darcy. I thought being there and watching her react to my messages would be hilarious. And it was at first, just like it was the other day at breakfast, but as the night dragged on, it became less funny. Now I’m beginning to question whether this was really that funny in the first place.

  Not that it really matters. Whether I tell her, or she figures it out when we meet on Friday, she’s going to find out. She’ll be walking into that bar, looking for me, only she’ll have no idea it’s me she’s looking for.

  I stop channeling my inner Lionel Richie when my phone buzzes.

  I stare at the message and feel even worse.

  Darcy: I’m really forward to meeting you. Maybe it’s just me, but I feel like we’ve clicked.

  The longer I stare at the text, the worse I feel, so I eventually type back a generic reply and switch my phone off and head to bed. If she’s angry at me to begin with, it won’t last. She’ll see the funny side of it eventually.

  She has to.

  Chapter Eight

  Darcy

  Why am I so nervous?

  Because I like him. I know it’s only been a few days, but I feel like we’ve clicked. Maybe we won’t have that same connection in person, but it’s worth a try, right? At the very worst, maybe I’ve made a new friend. But if there’s the potential for more…then why the hell not?

  I have a shower, then I get changed, lifting my dress over my head and shivering as it falls down over my body. The thin material hugs my curves, falling midway down my thighs. I smooth my hands down over the soft black chiffon as I examine my reflection in the mirror. I’m showing much more skin than I was expecting, but God, I look good. I chuckle, because if Mom saw this, she wouldn’t let me out of the house.

  I brush my hair, then twist it into a loose bun, fastening it with clips on top of my head. Loose strands fall around my face. I put on some mascara and a little lip gloss finish off the look, then I grab my purse—and a jacket, in case I run into Mom downstairs, and I walk out.

  * * *

  I take a deep breath and walk through the front doors of the bar. I do a lot of crazy shit, but right now, this feels like the craziest thing I’ve ever done. Hell, I don’t even get nervous when I go on a real date, so how is some random guy I’ve never even met making me feel like this?

  Another wave of nausea hits me as I look around for any sign of him. I’m pretty sure he’s not here yet, not that I really know who I’m looking for.

  Unless that’s the idea.

  He could be that old guy in the corner, who’s smiling at me. Maybe he thought I wouldn’t notice that he’s more than twice my age? Or maybe that other guy slumped in the booth, with ten empty beer glasses in front of him. I study every guy in the place, dismissing each of them when I meet their eyes and see no flash of recognition or embarrassment that they’ve been caught out lying. I shift my gaze over to the last guy, who’s sitting at a table, over near the bar. He’s facing away from me, but even from behind and at a distance away, there’s something familiar about him. I frown, because I can’t put my finger on what it is.

  I know him from somewhere.

  He turns his head, just enough for me to recognize him.

  Fuck.

  Of all the places to run into Cameron, it has to be here?

  I can’t meet James with my Cameron a few tables away. I’ll never hear the end of it. I take a deep breath, glance around. Maybe if I call James, we can meet somewhere else. I nod, because that sounds like a good plan. As I dig my phone out of my purse and dial his number, it hits me that we’ve never spoken on the phone. I don’t even know what his voice sounds like. I freeze, my heart stopping when Cameron reaches for his phone too.

  Please no.

  Cameron is James. James is Cameron.

  They’re the same fucking person. He set me up. I narrow my eyes, a mix of anger and embarrassment surging through me. Every text I sent James flies through my mind.

  Oh, God.

  I masturbated in front of Cameron and then told him about it?

  My eyes dart to the mirror behind
the bar. He’s watching me. He purposely chose that spot, because he thought he could watch everything unfold and I’d never know. I shake my head. He’s probably been sitting there for ages, laughing at how stupid I am, just waiting for the chance to humiliate me in person.

  Well, I’m not going to let him.

  He stands up, just as I turn on my heel and stalk out, but not before our eyes briefly meet. My heart pumps rapidly in my chest as I walk a few blocks away from the bar. I need to get out of here. I try to hail a cab, but nobody will stop. When I glance back and see Cameron catching up to me, I turn around and just keep walking.

  I’m so angry at him, but I don’t want to give him the satisfaction of knowing that he’s upset me this much. This is just the kind of reaction he wants from me.

  “Darcy. Wait.”

  I spin around and stare daggers at Cameron when he grabs my arm.

  “Don't you dare even talk to me right now.”

  I spit the words at him, my anger levels rising with every word. So much for not showing him what I’m feeling. There’s no hope of me holding back now.

  “I knew you were a cockhead, but this is low, even for you.”

  “I’m sorry,” he says. The remorseful look in his eyes almost gets me, but then I remind myself of what a manipulator he is. “I honestly didn't mean to hurt you. I just thought it would be funny—”

  “Funny?” I repeat. “Am I fucking laughing, Cameron?” I shake my head. “Is everything a joke to you, or is it just specific things relating to me?”

  I break the hold he has on my wrist and step back, just as a cab pulls up. My hands shake as I yank open the door and climb inside and slam it shut. I don’t even look back at him as the cab pulls away, because I’m doing everything I can not to cry.

  How did I not see that coming?

  He played me hard and I fell for it.

  I shake my head. Yesterday, I felt guilty for being so hard on him, but I obviously wasn’t being hard enough. At least this proves one thing.

  I was right about Cameron Hunter all along.

  When the cab driver pulls up outside the house, I hand him some money and then I climb out. I’m so relieved when I walk inside the dark, empty house. I was dreading facing Mom and dealing with all her questions. At least this way, I can pull myself together before she gets back.

  I run up to my room and close the door, sitting down on the bed. The shock has begun to lessen, which means the anger is really beginning to take over.

  I can’t believe he’d be such an asshole.

  I’m not stupid. I knew there was a chance James wasn’t going to be who he said he was and I was fine with that. I wasn’t head over heels in love with the guy. But I did like him. All those conversations, everything I learned about him, we had developed a relationship. I feel empty knowing he isn’t real, and that it was all just a joke.

  What if I had fallen for him?

  What if Cameron had caught me at a very vulnerable time in my life?

  Playing with someone’s emotions like that could’ve ended very badly.

  I crawl into my bed and pull the covers up to my neck. It’s barely ten o’clock, but all I want to do is go to sleep and forget tonight happened. The problem is, every time I close my eyes, I see Cameron laughing at me and the anger makes it impossible to sleep.

  What he needs is to be taught a lesson that toying with people’s emotions is not okay.

  And maybe I’m the one who needs to teach it to him.

  * * *

  My alarm wakes me up early for work, on Saturday morning. I still feel like shit, but at least doing something will distract me. I pull back the sheets and groan, because I’m still dressed in last night’s clothes. I quickly shower and dress, before I head downstairs in search of caffeine.

  “Hey,” I mumble to Mom.

  She looks up from her breakfast and studies me.

  “How was your night out?” she asks. “We got home at just after ten, and you were in bed already?”

  “Yeah, I was tired, so I postponed it,” I lie. “A late night when I had to work the next day wasn’t a good idea, anyway.”

  I force a smile, hoping my mood passes as my usual morning grumpiness, but Mom isn’t buying it. I ignore the feel of her eyes on me and make myself the world’s strongest coffee.

  “Are you sure there’s nothing wrong?” she asks.

  “I’m fine,” I say, snapping at her.

  Mack walks into the kitchen, whistling to himself. He stops in his tracks when he sees we’re in the middle of something. He grins, looking from Mom, to me.

  “What have I missed?”

  “Don’t worry,” Mom assures him. “You haven’t missed much. My daughter is in a foul, mood and I’m trying to figure out why.”

  “Ah,” Mack nods knowingly. “That time of the month?”

  I turn around and glare at him.

  “What?” He shrugs innocently. “My friend Zach has four sisters and he says they’ve synced.” His eyes widen as he speaks. “He reckons that time of the month is an absolute warzone and not just because of the fighting either. He says its pure carnage. The blood is everywhere.”

  I opened my mouth to reply but decided to shut it, because what’s the point? He’s Mack. He plays by his own set of rules, much like everyone else in his family. I used to wonder how Jim could produce such an asshole in Cameron, but two sons? Maybe the problem runs deeper. Maybe the problem is Jim.

  “I’m going to work.” I sigh.

  * * *

  I really don’t want to be here.

  The morning is dragging to the point where an hour feels like three. More than once, I’ve caught myself looking at my phone for messages from James, and then I’d remember that it was Cameron all along.

  When my lunch break finally rolls around, I head outside to eat, like I do nearly every day. It’s much nicer out here, especially under my huge tree, and it also means I don’t have to deal with the politics in that staffroom. More than once I’ve heard my name mentioned, along with Jim’s. I know everyone thinks I’m only here because of my connections, and I guess I am. Only now I don’t want to be here at all.

  I toss my sandwich back in my bag, not hungry. Then I shiver when a gust of cool air hits my arms. I lean back against the tree and close my eyes. I sigh, wishing I was anywhere but here.

  “We keep running into each other like this.”

  I look up and smile at Linton.

  “You know they give you a staffroom you can eat in,” he adds.

  “Is that the same staffroom that makes me feel like I’m back in high school?” I joke.

  “One in the same. You can’t tell me you weren’t one of the popular girls,” he teases as he plonks down next to me. “Oh wait, you weren’t out here to be alone or anything, were you?” he asks as an afterthought.

  I shake my head. “Of course not.” I’m secretly thrilled for the company.

  “Good, hope you aren’t just saying that?” he asks. He frowns at me. “Because you kind of look like you want to murder somebody today. I’m just making sure it’s not me.”

  “Murdering someone sounds pretty good, but no, it’s not you,” I say, smiling at him. I like Linton. He has an infectious personality that you can’t help but enjoy.

  “Good.” He nods. “So, is it a specific person we want to murder or is this the random thrill killing you’re into? Because just so you know, I’m up for either.”

  I giggle. “It’s definitely specific to one person.”

  He nods. “If it’s guy related then that’s my area of expertise,” he boasts. “Especially assholes.”

  An unbiased opinion isn’t a bad idea…

  “It’s kind of a long story,” I warn him.

  “They’re my favorite kind.” He grins, getting himself more comfortable.

  “Okay, my friends play a practical joke on me every year, because my birthday falls on April Fools' Day,” I begin.

  Linton winces. “That must be rough.” />
  “Most of the time, it’s fine. It’s just a bit of fun,” I assure him. “Except this year, they decided to go all out and place an ad on my behalf on a hookup site.”

  “Uh-oh. Which site?” he asks.

  “Anything Goes?” I say.

  Since I’d never heard of it, I’m not expecting him to have.

  He starts laughing. “They were really out to get you, then. I don’t even need to see the ad to know it’s not going to be good.” He shakes his head and laughs. “That site is crawling with people wanting cheap sex and casual hook-ups. It’s creep central. Especially if you’re into any kind of fetish.” He grins at me. “Is that why my sister thought you were a Furry?”

  I nod. “I’m apparently into everything,” I say dryly.

  He shudders. “Oh. My. God. I want to kill your friends for you.”

  “Anyway, one reply out of hundreds stood out. Probably because it wasn’t offensive or rude. We were texting for about a week before we arranged to meet. He seemed really nice, so I was excited to see if it was the same when we met in person,” I explain. “I walked into the bar where we arranged to meet, and…” I breathe out. “He’s about to become my stepbrother.”

  “Wow.” Linton shakes his head, amazed. “What a coincidence.”

  I shake my head. “No. Nothing about it was a coincidence. He knew it was me when he answered that ad. He thought he was being funny.”

  “So, you fell in love with the guy after a week of texting, and he turned out to be your stepbrother?” He raises eyebrows at me.

  “I wasn’t in love with him,” I retort, my face flushing. “I’m not out here, crying over my broken heart. But I did like him. I guess somewhere in my mind I thought maybe it might lead somewhere…”

  “So…you’re angry because there was a chance there might be some real chemistry when you met?” he clarifies.

  “Yes,” I say with a frown. “I guess.”