by Nicole Snow
I stop and lean on the staircase's banister for a moment. Gotta collect myself. This thinking's dangerous, and I know it.
Wish I could figure out what the hell it is about this chick that keeps lighting me on fire. Every time we're in the same room, it's like there's a storm building underneath my skin, thunderheads so fierce and primal I'd be scared if it didn't make me tingle so damned good.
Love at first sight? Fuck no.
I don't believe in that shit. Lust at first sight, on the other hand, just might have some serious truth behind it.
My lungs pulse relief when I get downstairs and see she's not there yet. It's just Dad, sitting on his throne at the head of the table like he always does, and a dark haired lady at his side I can only assume is Amanda Frost.
No, Amanda Sterner. My new step-mom. Shit.
“Tyler!” She stands up when I come in like I'm the damned President or something. I wonder if it's the same way she bolted up at the State of the Union speeches back in DC. “We've been waiting for you kids. It's so good to finally meet you!”
She puts her hand out. Dad's watching me like an eagle about to swoop in on its kill.
I skip the handshake and give her a hug. She clings to me tight, pleasantly surprised by the gesture. I hope like hell my father's just as pleased – maybe he'll lay the fuck off and cut me some slack. It's gonna be hard as hell behaving myself with Little Miss Perfect due any time.
“Pleasure,” I say. “How was Denali?”
“Ty, why don't you sit down and grab a plate?” Dad cuts in, before she can answer my question. “We don't need to stand around gabbing like rednecks when we've got this wonderful spread. Have you seen Claire?”
“I met her yesterday,” I tell him, dropping into my seat. “She was tired. Seems like meeting you was a lot for her to take in.”
His lips twitch. I smile, wondering who the fuck's really bottling shit up the most and practicing their best behavior. Not just me, apparently.
“Oh, I should've gone down myself to check on her,” Amanda says. “Maybe I should anyway, just to make sure...”
She starts to get up, but Dad lays a protective hand over hers. “Nonsense, Mandy. I'll send Joan to give her a wakeup call. I don't blame the poor girl for sleeping in. She's been under a lot of pressure.”
Dad's about to tap the button for the intercom on the wall behind him to call our housekeeper, when Claire comes trotting in. She looks neater today. She's wearing some fresh shit her mom must've picked out and stashed in her room.
It's a nice white summer dress. I'll be fucked if it doesn't make her tits look like heaping scoops of vanilla ice cream. My dick's been reasonably well behaved this morning 'til now.
I'm fucked the minute I take a good long look. It instantly pops up and starts straining in my pants, giving me the mad desire to carry her outta the dining room, find a quiet spot to throw her on the floor, and bury my face between those perfect fucking globes while I piston between her legs.
“Claire!” Amanda jumps up again, beaming. “I'm so glad everybody's finally in the same place. Sit, sit. The food's nice and hot.”
Nothing like a hot breakfast to smooth things over. I stack my plate high with pancakes, sausage, and extra scrambled eggs, watching Claire sitting across from me. She gingerly picks a few pieces of cantaloupe and slaps them onto her plate before she finally meets my eyes.
Brave girl. Sexy girl. Woman I can't resist.
“You always eat like a bird, or is it just the summer heat?” I stuff a bite into my mouth and point my fork at her.
“I'm still getting over my stomach trouble yesterday. Just having something light.”
“Ty.” Dad's evil eye twitches.
“He's right, honey,” Amanda cuts in. “You really should have a little protein. I imagine you know a thing or two about eating healthy, Tyler.”
“Ty. We don't do that Tyler shit around here.” I tell her, soon as she looks at me. “Yeah, I try to keep it lean and healthy when I'm training. Other days, a guy's gotta eat. It's the best season for it, after all. Love my protein.”
“Training?” Claire speaks her first word of the day to me, cautious and questioning. “What do you play?”
“I'm into this underground MMA shit. Nothing like getting up close and personal with some psycho fighter to test your strength. It's good for this body and great for my charity. My club hosts matches sometimes, with most of the proceeds going to a good causes.”
“Good causes,” Dad growls, stabbing at his food. “I think a better cause would be focusing on expanding your business, son. Do you realize how much more you'd be able to raise for folks in need if you made Club Zing a franchise?”
We lock eyes. It's the same goddamned shit we've been through before. On the surface, Dad wants me to make something of myself, become my own self-made millionaire so I'm not forever in his shadow.
But I know at the root it's the same bullshit. He wanted the perfect son. He thought he could raise one part-time, fill the gap left by ma's death with endless maids and tutors.
Obviously, it didn't fucking work.
He got me instead.
Drinker. Playboy. Fighter.
Not his little prince, hanging on his every word and jonesing at the chance to take over his multi-billion dollar empire.
I don't hide what I am. I get down and dirty in the ring when I'm not fucking some slut's brains out in the nearest room. Got no apologies about it neither – I've busted a few teeth and blooded noses in my time. I've left bruises on my opponents so hard they'll be feeling them for weeks. And I've taken my share of pain too.
Yeah, it's fucked up, but I'm not gonna stop. The bastard across the table can't make me with his guilt trip and fatherly glare, and neither will these two freaks joining the family. No, make that one tight wound freak and her very fuckable daughter.
“I know I'd raise a lot, and probably turn into a flabby old fucker too. Not interested, Dad. I'm planning to live a good long life and stay fit. Work hard, play hard. Don't tell me you wanna have this argument again?”
I watch his fingers writhe as he grabs his coffee and brings it to his lips. If we were alone, the cup would be half-depleted by now, losing half its shit on the table when he slams it down like a stone. I'd be grabbing my plate and running off to my room, leaving his sorry ass screaming after me, pouring out all the impotent rage I set off in his skull.
“I don't want any arguments today, Ty,” he says, stuffing his emotions. “I wouldn't dream of ruining our first family breakfast together. We'll just have to agree to disagree.”
Amanda plasters a big grin on her face. Yeah, she's a tough old bird, but she's got some of her girl's looks too. She must've been quite a number back when she was Claire's age.
“So, how about the Denali wedding? You got any pictures, or was it all just done on the fly?” I'm really pushing my old man's self-control.
He shoots us the biggest, fakest smile I've ever seen. “Only a few. You'll all see them later. Truth be told, we couldn't contain ourselves. There wasn't much time for a proper photographer. When Mandy said yes, it was right off to the park. We had to get it done.”
“And it was perfect.” Mandy slides her hand into my dad's.
Claire looks at me, an eyebrow raised, while they kiss. Little Miss Perfect and me are on the same side here – grossed out and seriously suspicious.
I can't figure out what the fuck's going on. Nothing about the insta-wedding computes. I want to believe the Congress queen's tapped some unseen, softer side of my dad that's been dead since I was a kid, but I'm not gonna fall for it yet.
“So, Amanda, tell us what it's like being in the belly of the beast,” I say, changing the subject. “Is Congress really the clusterfuck we see all the time on TV?”
She blinks. Claire stifles a laugh. Dad looks at me like I've just moved up on his shit list.
“Ty, don't be rude.”
“What? Don't say you're gonna blame me for taking a sudden inter
est in politics.” I look around the table with the same bullshit look that used to drive my teachers crazy in high school.
Amanda shakes her head vigorously – another thing she's got in common with daughter dearest. “Trust me, I get it all the time. It's inevitable when you've served three long terms and survived the campaign trail. If I didn't have a thick skin by now, I'd be nothing but bones.”
Her eyes flash bright and she flicks her hair back. “Honestly, Ty, the game we're playing isn't so different. I'm sure you understand after growing up with a powerful businessman for a father. Heck, you're managing a club yourself. You understand compromise, work, and good old fashioned 'getting things done.'”
I snort. “Wasn't that one of your campaign slogans?”
“Very good, young man. Looks like you're as smart and attentive as your father.” She watches me shrug.
The weird compliment rolls off my back. Fuck, how hard is it to watch the news? It's not like there aren't a billion bullshit ads every two years while assholes are out politicking.
“You're on your way like my Claire. I'm so glad neither of the kids in this family are drunk on the youthful idealism that trips up so many young people.”
“Mom...” Claire waits 'til she's got her mother's attention. “You're being a little cynical, don't you think?”
“I think she's a realist. That's fine and fucking dandy by me.”
Little Miss Perfect flips her face toward me and gives me a glare that says I didn't ask you, asshole. I don't even look at Dad because I know he's on his last warning stare right now.
“Come on. Don't let my language shock you, sis,” I tease. “Surely, your ma's heard some serious shit talk on the campaign trail and up on the Hill. How many reps does New York send to Congress? Those fuckers alone talk like animals.”
“God damn it, Ty!” Dad's fist hits the table, and everybody jumps. “One morning. That's all I asked for.”
He wipes his brow and turns to his new wife. “I'm very sorry, Mandy. I warned you about my son. My biggest regret is never being able to get his potty-mouth under control. I'm sure the dirt goes straight to his head too. It's a shame I neglected to shove some soap in his mouth when he was little.”
Amanda sniffs and smiles politely, like she's at a loss for words. Dad lingers a moment longer, then rips himself up off his seat, and goes stomping toward the stairs. He learned a long time ago that sending me to my room doesn't do shit – and it's not even an option since I hit my twenties.
“I'm afraid Claire isn't the only one who's been under some stress lately. This marriage is such a huge shift for everyone. I'd better go check on him.” Amanda's chair scrapes the floor, and she stands up on her heels.
Well, at least she's not looking at me like I just took a dump on the table. Neither is Claire, surprisingly. The chick looks totally stunned, almost sympathetic.
I should be happy someone else finally sees my father for the jackass he is, but it doesn't matter. Her tight, twitchy little lips wrapped around my cock are all I can see when she looks at me like that.
“Hey, I'm so sorry to cut this short. It's wonderful to meet you, Ty. I'm sure we'll all get to know each other better once everything calms down. We've got the whole summer.” Amanda nods apologetically, and then she's off like a bullet.
The woman catches herself before she crashes into Joan, who's come to clear the plates. The old maid gives me a sassy look. I'm lucky she finds my shit amusing and doesn't think I'm a total devil. She's the closest thing I've had to a mother since my real one died.
“I'm so sorry!” Amanda barks, steadying herself on the wall so she doesn't topple over on those tall black heels. “Kind of in a rush.”
“No need to apologize, madam,” Joan says, clearing a path for her.
“Oh, that reminds me – you kids both have the day off, don't you? Why don't you take some time to get to know each other? It's beautiful out there!”
I follow her smile to the window behind Dad's empty spot. She's right – it's really a gorgeous summer day. Blue skies, not a cloud in sight, the ocean rolling, stabbing a thousand middle fingers at the heavens.
Amanda trots off and heads upstairs. Claire and I are alone and quiet for about a minute, just listening to Joan hum gospel to herself while she clears the plates, loading them onto the nearby cart.
Damn do I love that woman and her music, even if I've never been the religious type. I let Joan's soft hymns float over me and don't dare look at Claire again 'til she's done. Even I have limits for how fucking awkward it would be to have my cock at full mast while I'm listening to the soft, sweet stuff that used to lull me to sleep.
“Well? What do you say, Sis?” I emphasize the word, loving the way her eyes spark with anger when she hears it. “How 'bout a little family bonding time?”
“No way.” Claire's cheeks go red.
She's pissed off, embarrassed, confused. I can't blame her, but I sure hate having my ass turned down. I'm not used to no, and it sits about as well with me as a punch to the jaw.
Her chair screeches on the floor just like her mom's, and then she's up, taking her glass of orange juice with her.
“You're crazy if you think this breakfast changes anything. After seeing your dad blow up, I can kind of see where your crap comes from, Ty. I feel bad for you.” She lowers her voice. “But let's just get this clear – there's no fucking way I want to spend any time with you. Certainly not alone. I saw what you're like at the club. You're a drunken, crazy, womanizing creep.”
Fucking shit. It stings more than I expect, lights a spark I haven't felt since I was a goddamned gawky teenager asking out a senior chick to prom my sophomore year. The older girl said no, and she was the last one ever 'til today.
“Okay, Sis. You wanna treat me like a goddamned stalker criminal, then I'll fucking act like one!” I get up in her face for a second, flatten her against the wall as she gasps. “I read you loud and clear. This creep's gonna fuck right off. I thought it'd be nice to sort this shit out, maybe try to find some common ground. But you're absolutely right – we don't fucking need to, and I sure as hell don't need your shitty sympathy. You can shove it up your perfect ass and spend the day alone. I can do the evil eye too, Sis, and that's all you're gonna get from me all summer.”
I let go. She blinks, and doesn't move a muscle. Turning sharply, I head into the hall.
I don't even feel bad about scaring the shit outta her for like the third time since we met.
The only thing that makes me burn is my own stupidity. I've been a fucking idiot to think I'll ever feel anything for this woman except a blinding urge to fuck her, or else rip her goddamned head off.
There's no common ground between us. There's nothing. The bitch is right – if it doesn't involve my dick pushing in her pussy, then we don't need to explore. We just need to stay the fuck outta each other's way.
3
Calm and Stormy Seas (Claire)
I didn't know whether to scream or slap him. He gets in my face, sad and scorned and angry all at once, and then he's gone in an instant, leaving me hating him more than ever. I also feel like the biggest bitch in history.
Guilt blossoms in my stomach like a heavy, bitter lump. But then I remind myself that Ty's used to getting his women on demand, however he likes. I won't oblige him. I'm not going to play nice when he hasn't given me one good fucking reason to.
I can't pretend. I'm not going to suck up to him and bring myself agonizingly closer to sucking what's probably a magnificent cock between his legs.
Just thinking about how close we've been the last few times makes me blush.
I head downstairs and sit at my laptop, trying to read some stuff my new boss has sent over. It's a nice escape for awhile, but I can't stop looking out the window.
The beautiful day lends a terrible distraction. Right now, I don't want to be reading about how fat cats are wrangling to bring down every inch of Cascadia's pristine wilderness. I want to be out in it, running along the sho
re, feeling the warm sand flush between my toes. Here in Washington, these are the rare days you're supposed to pluck from the tree, gorge on every golden second that breaks the eternal rainy gloom.
Damn it. I last about an hour, and then I can't take it. I'm going stir crazy.
Slamming my laptop shut, I grab a water bottle and head out to the huge twelve car garage. My rusty shitbox of a car looks as out of place as I feel in this house. It's a decaying tumor wedged between three shiny new Tesla cars. I wonder if they all belong to the billionaire, or if one of them is Ty's.
“Hey, what the fuck?” A gruff voice behind me makes me spin.
Ty's standing there in shorts and a wickedly tight t-shirt, an umbrella tucked underneath one arm, plus a bottle of sun screen. In the other, there's an open bottle of rum. I smell it on him, spicy and infuriating, the rum's natural hues blending with his rough, masculine scent.
“What're you doing out here? You're drunk.”
He laughs like it's a joke. “I'm going to the fucking beach. Just like you, sis. Forget the bullshit I said earlier. I'll walk. Maybe we'll meet somewhere up ahead.”
My mouth drops. With the way he's slurring his words, he's in no state to do anything, let alone navigate rugged patches of Pacific coast. He's putting me in an impossible position, doing a complete about-face from the venom he hit me with earlier.
So, you're not just an asshole, I think to myself, but an asshole who likes mind games?
For the millionth time since meeting Ty Sterner, I have to decide whether to shake my head or whack him across the cheek. Doing both sounds really good right about now.
“You can't go anywhere like this. Put the rum down and go back inside,” I snap.
Instead, I just stand there, watching as the arrogant smirk on his lips melts and he turns around.
“Eh, what-the-fuck-ever. I tried, babe. See you on the flip side.”
My eyeballs almost pop out as I watch him stagger over to one of the fancy electric cars. He pulls open the door to the shiny white Tesla car and crumples in the driver's seat. The asshole's drunk, but thankfully he's so wasted he can't even find the keys in his pocket. He swears when he realizes he doesn't even have them, and I start to laugh.