I feel Zane start to take control after a few minutes, guiding my hands in the same motion, only a little faster than I was going.
“Like this?” he whispers in my ear again, the same sexy tone in his voice. “Like this, Kayla?”
It’s almost too much for me to take, the sound of my name from his lips. I feel the same chill creep into my spine again. I open my mouth to say something, but no words come out. What the hell was the matter with me?
His hands keep moving on top of mine, faster and faster. “Am I doing it right?”
I feel like I’m losing control with him so close to me, like he’s in control of my body instead of myself. I hate it, I hate how I feel when I’m around him, and I always have. It was just more real now that he was actually talking to me. And touching you a voice tells me. It’s different now that he’s actually touching you.
But then the image of Zane and his friends pop into my head while they sat around laughing and coming up with poor girls to pry on and make bets about. This isn’t real; it’s just a bet.
I gather up all the strength I can and pull my hands away from his, spinning around to face him. “I think you got it.”
His face is close to mine and I take a step to the side to put distance between us. The further away I got from him at this point, the better. I try to calm my breathing down without drawing attention to myself but I’m not sure if it’s working or not.
“Why are you shivering?” Zane frowns, and I don’t realize I am until he says it, but suddenly I can feel my body growing colder and colder. Like the heat that I was putting off was too much to bear and my body had to shut down and make the opposite consume me.
“I’m… I’m… I’m cold.” I somehow get the words out.
Zane’s eyes travel down to my shirt, maybe realizing for the first time that I’m not wearing a bra, and at the same time reminding me all too well of the fact. His eyes linger there for a minute and I realize he can probably see through my thin t-shirt how hard my nipples are right now.
I could lie to myself and say I’m just freezing and it’s messing with my nipples, but I’m not stupid. I’m turned on and it’s all Zane’s fault. I put my arms across my chest, blocking my rock hard nipples from his gaze.
His head snaps back up to my eyes and I see a twinkle of amusement in his eyes. He’s not stupid either, he knows that he made my nipples hard, and he’s happy about it.
“Here.” He unzips his gray sweatshirt and pulls it off his shoulders, revealing a white t-shirt and his muscular arms underneath. I force my eyes away before he can see me looking, but I’m too late and he smirks again.
“Put this on.” He holds the sweatshirt up so I can slip my arms inside of it and I obey. Once I slip my arms inside I reach down to zip it up over my now throbbing boobs but he beats me to it. His hand is already on the zipper before I even have a chance to think about reaching for it.
He clicks the pieces together with little effort and starts to move the zipper slowly up the front of my body, his eyes on mine the entire time. He pauses as he moves the zipper past my breasts and uses his thumb to brush against my hard nipple through my shirt.
I feel heat start to rise in me again but I do my best to not show any emotion to Zane. Although I’m sure he can see through me. I’m not exactly the hardest person to read, which was a whole other problem.
Once he reaches the top, he sticks his hands inside the top of the fabric and pulls my hair slowly out of the hood. “Better?”
I nod, trying to snap myself back to reality. “Okay, you mix the other two bowls. I’ll be right back.”
He raises his eyebrows at me.
“I’ll be right back, I swear, I’m just grabbing something out of the pantry,”
Zane nods then gets to work mixing the other two batters.
I walk into the pantry slowly. I did have to get something out of here, but the truth is that I was happy to have a few seconds away from Zane to collect myself. I look around the pantry slowly. It looks more like a huge walk in closet than a pantry, my dad had added it onto the house as a way to get rid of all the clutter my mom had around our kitchen. My mom loved to cook and was always ordering the next big thing for the kitchen.
I glance up at the rows and rows of shelves that line the walls. Tons of food and pans were stacked everything. I scan the shelves for what I’m looking for, hoping that it’ll catch my eyes with little effort. No such luck, but finally I find it. It’s on one of the top shelves. Way too high for me to even try and reach. I didn’t even know how my mom had gotten it up that high, unless Zane’s dad had put it up there. The thought instantly annoys me, but I push the thought out of my head.
The door to the pantry swings open and Zane looks in on me. “What’s taking so long? I’ve been done mixing.”
I once again force my eyes away from his toned arms and sigh loudly. “I need that,” I say, pointing to the very top of the shelves.
“What is it?” Zane asks, walking over and squinting toward the top of the shelf.
“A griddle.”
“A griddle? What’s a griddle?”
“A griddle is the key to a perfect pancake,” I inform him.
“I thought the batter was the key to a perfect pancake,” he points out.
“It is, but the griddle is, too.”
Zane looks up at the top of the shelf and frowns, probably realizing that even he wasn’t going to be able to reach the high shelf that the dark griddle sat on. “Can’t we just use a frying pan?”
I shake my head. “No, this makes the perfect pancake. Plus, we can make a bunch of pancakes at once, instead of just one at a time.”
He looks up at the top of the pantry again.
“Bring me a chair?” I try.
Zane looks at me, then looks up and down my body and shakes his head no. “I have a better idea.” He takes a few steps closer to me. “I’ll give you a boost.”
“A boost?” I look at him doubtfully. “You won’t be able to life me.”
I’m not trying to be smart. I genuinely mean it. Every girl I’ve ever heard Zane talking about hooking up with, or every girl I’ve listened to him hooking up with has been way smaller than me. A size zero, maybe a two or four tops. I was at least a six or eight depending on what kind of jeans I was wearing. Zane looks at me like I must be joking, but I’m not.
“Just bring me a chair,” I say, not wanting to meet his gaze.
Zane ignores me, and instead closes the remaining distance between the two of us in one swift stride. “Turn around,” he commands. I just stare at him and he laughs. “Come on, turn around.”
I have no idea why I’m listening to what he says, but I find myself turning around anyway. Zane lifts me up over his shoulders in one quick motion like I’m as light as a feather. My ass is pretty much resting on his shoulder and I feel his hands slide up my legs and grip me around my waist. I can feel how strong and defined his arm muscles are. It’s enough to make me feel warm between my legs and I squeeze them together tighter, scared that somehow he’ll be able to know how I’m feeling.
I reach up slowly, sure to lift the weight of the griddle carefully. The last thing I need is for it to come crashing down and hit Zane in his perfect face. Pretty sure most of the females in my school would never forgive me for that one.
I pull the thick metal down to the front of my chest and hug it tightly. “Okay, I got it.”
Zane pulls me back down slowly, my ass grinding against his hard body the entire time. He’s driving me crazy and I hate it, but it’s like an addiction you don’t want, I can’t stop him. I know it’s not real, so why am I still so consumed by it? Why am I still so into it? Something is seriously wrong with me.
My feet hit the ground and he keeps his hands on my hips for a few seconds, letting my butt stay pushed into his crotch. The warmness between my legs grows hotter and I force myself to pull away from him and start to head back out toward the kitchen. “Okay, let’s get started.”
He pauses for a second and then follows me. I plug the griddle in and set it on the stove, hitting the on switch and springing it to life. I feel him next to me instantly, making me wonder how he’s able to move so fast.
“What kind should we make first?” he says, looking at the three bowls of batter that are sitting on the counter.
“That,” I say, grabbing a few bowls off the counter and starting to mix them a little, “is the beauty of a griddle, you can make all different kinds at once.”
He raises his eyebrows at me and I start spreading different kinds of batter onto the griddle as if to prove my point. “Now, the last part of making the perfect pancake is the most important part. You don’t want to over cook it, but you don’t want to undercook it, either. So, you pretty much have to watch them every second.”
Zane moves closer to where I’m standing by the stove and watches me closely, like he’s actually interested in my pancake making skills. He just studies me for a few minutes, not saying anything. You would think the quiet would be uncomfortable, since up until a few hours ago we had little if any contact, but it’s surprisingly not. In fact, it feels kind of normal and comfortable, which makes no sense.
“So, how do you know so much about pancakes? It’s kind of a weird thing to research.” He grabs a few spatulas out of the cabinet below us and hands me one.
I flip the pancakes at just the right time, making the color and fruit come out just perfect. They look wonderful, and I can tell by Zane’s gaze that he agrees.
I go back and forth on weather or not I should lie for a few seconds, but it feels almost wrong to lie about anything having to do with my dad. He was my best friend and now he was gone. Why would I ever want to pretend about anything that had to do with him?
“My dad taught me.” I grab a few plates out of the dishwasher and start to stack the pancakes on top of them. Then I start to put more batter on the griddle. “It was kind of our Sunday morning routine. We’d get up at the crack of dawn and make pancakes together. We’d experiment with all different flavors and kinds, it sounds lame, but it was really fun when I was kid.”
He raises his eyebrows. “Just when you were a kid?”
I half smile guiltily. “Okay, maybe when I was older, too.”
He grins. “That’s what I thought.” Then a sense of realization crosses over his face. “Wait, so, that’s why you were so upset the morning after the wedding about the pancakes? Because you were thinking about your dad?”
I look away from his gaze, embarrassed that he remembers what a brat I was that day. “It’s silly, I know.”
Zane shrugs. “No, not really. It makes perfect sense, actually.”
I look at him, trying to figure out if it’s part of his game or not, but he looks sincere, like he genuinely believes in what he’s saying.
“This one is for sure ready to be flipped.” He’s pointing to one of the banana pancakes I had literally just dropped on the griddle. I motion for him to stop but it’s too late, he’s already flipped the undone pancake, and uncooked batter goes flying all over the stove and counter. Zane looks at me, shocked at the outcome, and we both burst out laughing at the same time.
“Okay, okay,” I say in-between giggles, “maybe that’s enough pancakes for now.”
“Definitely,” he says, getting his laughing under control. He grabs some syrup out of the fridge then walks over to our dishwasher and pulls some clean forks out. I set the plates of huge pancakes down on the island and start to sit down, but Zane stops me.
He grabs my arm softly, giving it a little rub before he releases it. The same hotness shoots through me. He glances at the clock on the microwave. “Perfect timing,” he says, grabbing the plates of pancakes and heading out of the kitchen. “Follow me.”
“Hey!” I grab the syrup and a few napkins, walking fast to keep up with him. “Come back here with my pancakes!”
I can hear him giggling as I chase him. I feel like a little kid again, and I’m playing with a boy for the first time, trying to not let him know that I think he’s super cute and it’s making me act super giddy and giggly.
When I enter the living room, he’s nowhere to be found, but the door to the screened in porch is wide open, letting me know that I should follow him out there. Our screened in porch was one of my favorite parts of the house aside from my secret room. My dad had added it onto our house when I was seven. It had a big leather sofa and a coffee table with hardwood floors that were stained a dark red. The best part, though, was the view. It looked right out over the back of our house. You could see the whole town from up here, and all the mountains in the distance, it was perfect.
I hadn’t spent much time out here recently, though. It was kind of emotional for me, like most things that involved my father. I feel a chill come over me as I make my way over to the sofa, the cold morning creeping in through the thin screens that surround the room.
Zane’s already sitting with a blanket spread over his lap, he motions for me to sit down next to him and I do, taking the other half of the blanket for myself. He hands me a plate of pancakes and we take turns drenching each of our plates in syrup.
“I come out here a lot if I can’t sleep,” Zane says, starting to cut his pancakes up. “And we happened to be done just in time.”
“Just in time for what?” I ask, cutting off a piece of pancake and popping it into my mouth. I let the warmness wash into my taste buds and I sigh happily, just as good as I remember. My dad would be proud.
“To watch the sun come up.” He nods out the window and I see the bright light starting to creep over the horizon in the distance.
“It’s amazing.”
“It gets better, just wait.” He takes a huge bite of his pancake and sighs just as loudly as I did. “No, these are amazing.”
“I told you.”
“Pancake queen,” he says, smiling at me.
I find myself returning the favor before I look back out at the rising sun. It really is enough to take my breath away. “My dad built this room, you know?” I tell him without thinking.
He doesn’t say anything for a few seconds. “I know,” he tells me. I want to ask him how he knows but he keeps going before I have a chance. “You really miss him, huh?”
“Yeah,” I say swallowing the bite of strawberry pancake that’s in my mouth. “Some days are harder than others.”
“That must suck,” he says sounding like he means it. And it’s really nice to hear. Someone just saying that it must really suck, not trying to make me feel better or telling me how sorry they are. Instead, just knowing that there’s nothing they can really say to make it okay, and acknowledging that it really just sucks from lack of better words.
“It does,” I say honestly. “Do you ever miss your mom?”
“Nope,” he says, not meeting my eyes. “But it’s a little different, she didn’t die, she just left us. I don’t really think someone who left me is worth missing.”
“Yeah, but I didn’t ask if she was worth missing, I asked if you ever do miss her,” I point out.
He sighs and lets his eyes drift over to mine. It’s hard to read but there’s something there I’ve never seen before, something almost sad. Pain. There’s pain in his eyes and I feel a pain shoot through my soul in response.
“Finish your pancakes before they get cold,” he tells me instead of answering me. He sets his empty plate down on the table in front of us and I obey his request, choosing to drop the mom topic for the time being. It was clearly a sensitive subject.
We make small talk for a few more minutes, not talking about anything really important or specific. The last thing I remember is looking at the sun halfway revealed over the horizon before I drift off into a peaceful sleep.
Chapter 5
I wake to find the sun shining full force through the screen porch. I crack one of my eyes open a little bit, squinting. I immediately snap my eye shut again, not ready to face the light of the early morning hours.
After a seco
nd I feel a chill drift over my body, I tell myself it’s because of the morning chill, but I know it has more to do with the fact that Zane’s arms are wrapped around me and my head’s resting on his muscular chest. I can feel his chest rise up and down slowly as he sleeps. I want to move, but I don’t. Deciding instead to enjoy the feeling of safeness, even if it was for only a short period of time.
After a minute or two I feel Zane start to stir and I pinch my eyelids closer together, determined to not show any sign of me being awake. I feel him sit up a little bit and look around. He removes his arms from around me slowly and pushes my body down on the sofa before I feel him get up off the sofa. I hear the gentle tapping of his tiptoes and then the sound of the back door opening and closing.
I stay put for a few seconds, not wanting to risk running in to him, and have him realize I was awake before he was. I try to drift back off to sleep for a few minutes, but it’s useless, I keep tossing and turning. I try to convince myself that it’s the presence of the bright morning glow and not the absence of Zane’s arms around my body. Somewhere deep down I know better.
After a while I sort of sit up and stretch my arms out, taking in the scene that surrounds me. It’s cold and I’m glad that I have Zane’s sweatshirt wrapped around me, but the sun looks beautiful. Shining full and bright over the horizon. It reminds me instantly of my dad and me sitting out here on so many mornings.
The back door swings open and I jump a little bit from my spot on the sofa. I’m expecting to see Zane; but it’s my mom. She’s already dressed in a black suite with a white blouse. Her hair is perfectly straightened and her makeup flawless. She looks at me with a confused expression on her face.
“Kayla! There you are! I’ve been calling you! Everyone has left already, you’re going to be late for school and…” she looks me up and down, taking in my appearance. “What are you doing out here?”
Stepbrother Games Page 4