Long: A Secret Baby Sports Romance

by B. B. Hamel

  Frank was an interesting person. Maybe he wasn’t a total douchebag. Then again, he was married to my mother, so who could say?

  I checked the time on my laptop and cursed. It was much later than I had expected. I shut the lid and went back into the house.

  I had a date with my stepsister soon.

  I was leaning up against a tree when Alex came walking down the stoop.

  For a second, I felt my heart almost skip a beat. She was wearing this short, tight dress that clung to her hips and heels that made her ass look like fire. She wasn’t showing much skin, but the dress was tight enough to show off her perfect fucking tits and body. Frankly, she looked incredible, and I had the urge to take her right there on the street.

  “Sis,” I said. “You look nice.”

  She frowned at me. “You could at least dress up.”

  I looked down at myself. I was wearing a pair of jeans, boots, a black T-shirt, and an old denim jacket. “What’s wrong with this?”

  “You look like a greaser or something.”

  I grinned. “Maybe I am.”

  “Whatever.” She looked around. “Where’s the car? Your mom said it was waiting out front for us.”

  “About that,” I said. “We’re not taking the car.”

  “I am not walking in these heels.”

  “Don’t worry, princess. We’re taking my bike.”

  She gaped at me for a second and then shook her head. “No. No way. I’m not getting on the back of that thing.”

  I walked over to it and tossed her a helmet. She caught it, but barely. “Come on. I thought you liked motorcycles?”

  She walked over. “That was just for show,” she hissed. “Don’t be a jerk.”

  “Better get on,” I whispered. “Your father is watching us from the window.”

  She moved to look but stopped herself. She took a deep breath and let it out. “Fine,” she said, and she slipped the helmet on without another word.

  I climbed onto the bike and she got on the back.

  “Hold on tight,” I said as I kicked the bike to life. “Now wave to daddy,” I said.

  We waved to her father as I slowly pulled the bike out into traffic.

  She gripped my body like steel. I could tell she had never been on the back of a bike before in her life, which only made it that much better. Unfortunately, the restaurant wasn’t too far away, and so I couldn’t really open it up and get some speed at any point.

  Still, I was surprised that she had gotten on without too much of a fight. Sure, she didn’t instantly jump on the back, but who would in her situation? I was just impressed that she didn’t throw a fit. I had her pegged as a rich little daddy’s girl, but maybe there was more lurking under that exterior.

  That fucking too damn sexy exterior.

  I parked the bike and we walked a half block to the restaurant. It was an expensive place, clearly new, and was some kind of Italian fusion place. I didn’t much care since anything was better than the shit I had eaten in Thailand. We were seated pretty fast and had drinks in front of us almost faster.

  “Not bad,” I said, looking around. “Cindy knows how to pick them.” I sipped my whisky.

  “I can’t believe we even got into this place. It just opened last week, and the wait list is months out.”

  I snorted, shaking my head. “What a waste.”

  “What do you mean?”

  “My mom could probably make anything happen, but she wastes that shit on good reservations.”

  “This is really nice of her, you know.”

  “It is, but don’t get used to it.”

  “What’s that supposed to mean?”

  I considered telling her the whole truth about Cindy. I considered telling her that Cindy had been a controlling psycho my entire childhood, barely letting me out of the house. I was homeschooled and didn’t have any friends my own age for a very long time. She had been oppressive and insane ever since my dad had died of cancer when I was two, probably because she was afraid of losing me, at least on some level.

  I didn’t know if she was insanely controlling because of his death or if she had always been that way. I suspected it had always been there and was just aggravated by his death. That controlling drive served her very well in her business positions, but it made her a monster at home.

  But Alexa didn’t need to know any of that. It was just some shitty, sad story from my past. I got out of that house when I turned eighteen, and I never bothered looking back.

  “Cindy can be tough,” I said simply.

  “She’s the CEO of a huge company. Of course she can.”

  I just shrugged and sipped my whisky, not bothering to argue.

  “Anyway,” I said, “here’s to you and me. Husband and wife, finally back together.”

  She made a face and sighed, clinking her glass to mine. “I actually have a surprise for you,” she said.

  “Great. Is it your panties?”

  “What? No, it’s not my panties.”

  “That’s a shame. If it were, I’d take you back into that fancy bathroom and fuck you until we got kicked out or you came, whichever happened first.”

  She ignored me, digging into her bag. She slowly pulled out a thick, crinkled-looking piece of paper.

  “Here it is,” she said triumphantly.

  “What’s that?”

  “Proof.” She held it out.

  I took it and unfolded it. I looked at it for half a second before bursting out laughing. It was an official marriage license, signed by the two of us plus the priest from Thailand.

  “What’s funny?” she said, annoyed.

  “Alex,” I said, handing her back the paper, “I know we’re married.”

  She stared at me for a second. “What?”

  “I believed you as soon as you showed this to me on your laptop.”

  “You asshole!”

  She was furious, but I couldn’t help but grin at her. I couldn’t tell if she was going to storm out of the restaurant and get a cab back home, throw her drink in my face, or both. I took a deep sip of my whisky, savoring the delicious taste since I suspected it was going to be my last drink before I got tossed out.

  Instead, she didn’t make a scene. She took another deep breath and put the paper back into her bag.

  “What now?” she asked.

  I blinked, surprised. If I were her, I would have been cursing me out, maybe throwing a punch or two. Instead, she was rolling with it.

  This was the second time she’d impressed me tonight.

  Before I could answer, the waiter returned and took our orders. When he was gone, she looked at me expectantly.

  “I’m not sure what you want,” I said.

  “A divorce, obviously. Let’s fix this stupid mistake.”

  “Mistake?” I grunted. “You’re lucky to be married to me.”

  She held back a smile. “Yeah, right. You’re just an arrogant jerk.”

  “An arrogant jerk that can get you off with his pinky finger.”

  “Arrogant and cocky.”

  “Cocky for good reason.” I leaned forward, grinning at her. “Remember our wedding night?”

  She blushed. “I remember.”

  “You know what I can make your body feel, sis.”

  She shook her head, smiling. “Cut it out, Cole. I’m not interested.”

  “Your loss then.”

  “Are you always like this? Or did the jungle mess your brain up?”

  I laughed. “The jungle just made me hard. Though not as hard as you make me.”

  She rolled her eyes, groaning. “Good one.”

  “Thank you.”

  The waiter returned and refreshed our drinks. I was feeling looser, lighter, and I could tell she was too.

  “Back to that divorce.”

  “Divorce?” I ask innocently. “What divorce?”

  “Cole.”

  “I’m just saying, Alex. You haven’t even given this pairing a chance.”

  “
There’s no pairing here. This whole thing was just one stupid, drunk mistake. It was a misunderstanding. It was . . .”

  “The best orgasm you’ve ever gotten?” I offered while she searched for the word.

  “Yes. I mean, no. It was regrettable.”

  I smirked at her. “So the orgasm was great. You’re finally admitting it.”

  “That’s not what I’m saying. There’s no orgasms here, Cole. Just a divorce.”

  “I don’t know,” I said slowly. “That dress screams sex to me.”

  She blushed. “What about this dress?”

  “Come on. You wore that dress just to tease me. Don’t pretend otherwise.”

  “I didn’t. It’s a nice place. I wanted to dress up.”

  “Sure, you can tell yourself that. Truth is, you want me to take you back home and peel that thing off you slowly, make your toes curl with my mouth.”

  “God, you’re frustrating,” she said, taking a deep sip of her wine.

  “Only because I’m right.”

  “You’re definitely not right.” She looked around the place and leaned in. “You’re an arrogant dick. Now, please, will you sign the divorce papers?”

  I gave her a long look, leaning back in my chair. I sipped my drink and pretended to think about it. She looked at me apprehensively, clearly on the edge of her seat.

  I knew what the right answer was. I should just divorce her and be done with it. I was not interested in having a wife, much less a wife that was also my fucking stepsister. Plus all the drama with our parents. I didn’t need any of that shit.

  But the look on her face was just too damn much for me. She was all sex, pure fire and sin, and I couldn’t help myself when I was around her. It was too much damn fun stringing her along, playing this little game, and I didn’t want to give it up just yet. I wanted to get her to the point where she was begging me for it before I finally gave it to her.

  It was a challenge. I wanted to make her mine, finally and fully mine, while denying her the thing she truly wanted. In the end, she’d get what she wanted, both the divorce and my cock. But for the time being, I wanted to see how it all played out.

  “No,” I said finally. “No. I think we’ll stay married.” I smiled broadly at her. “Wife.”

  The look on her face was more than worth it.

  I knew it was the wrong thing. Part of me wanted to just be done with it all.

  But sometimes the wrong thing was too much damn fun. And I was the type of guy to give in to the wrong thing more often than not.

  Maybe I could teach her a little more about living like the future wasn’t coming. Either way, I knew it was going to be a fun summer.

  5

  Alexa

  I was speechless. After Cole told me that he wasn’t going to give me a divorce, that he believed me but just didn’t care, I was absolutely speechless.

  I wasn’t even angry, at first. It just seemed like a nightmare, some kind of bad joke, and it didn’t register. We finished up our meal and went home without much more happening. I even barely noticed the motorcycle ride.

  Back alone in my room, it began to sink in.

  The asshole believed me. He had just been messing with me the whole time.

  Worse, he wasn’t going to sign the papers. He wasn’t going to make this easy for me, after all the stress and worry I had gone through, after everything.

  My chance to divorce him and be done with the whole embarrassing episode was right there, but he refused to help me.

  Asshole. Arrogant, self-center, unbelievable dickhead.

  What made him think he could say no? We weren’t married, not really. Sure, okay, legally we were married, but what did that even mean? It wasn’t like we were in love or had any sort of connection. The man had disappeared into the jungle as soon as the vacation was over, rendering any sort of relationship impossible.

  Yet somehow he felt that he could call me “wife” and move into my house and boss me around. Who the hell was this guy?

  Aside from my husband and my stepbrother, of course.

  I was practically fuming as I sat at my desk, scrolling through Twitter.

  some people need to understand BOUNDARIES I tweeted. I was so annoyed that I had succumbed to random acts of vague social media complaining. I hated when people said really generic things that were obviously aimed at specific people, but I couldn’t help myself.

  sometimes what you want isn’t as important as you think it is I tweeted next. It made me feel a little bit better, even if nobody understood what I was talking about. Actually, that was part of it. I liked that I could complain about my secret in public without anyone knowing anything.

  quit being so arrogant. You’re not that cool and motorcycles are stupid. #mmaisforlosers. I grinned at that one before finally hitting send.

  It didn’t change anything. I was still in the same situation as I was before, except now I had just sent out some passive-aggressive and vaguely bratty messages to a bunch of strangers. Still, it made me feel a little better to vent. Maybe I needed to give Lacey a call. She knew all about my situation and definitely loved a good bitch-session. If anyone was going to appreciate me being mean about Cole, she definitely would. Plus, I was looking forward to hearing her surprise at my insanely impossible situation.

  A few minutes later, I checked my feed again and stared at what I saw. Somebody had liked my last tweet, but it wasn’t someone I recognized.

  His username was FighterColeMMA.

  I clenched my fists. There was no way it was him. He couldn’t be stalking me online, too, could he?

  I stood up, deciding not to waste any time. I pushed open my bedroom door and then banged on his door. “Cole!” I said.

  “Come in.”

  The door pushed open and I was ready to shout at him, to tell him what an asshole he was being, how he couldn’t just refuse to divorce me, but it all just died on my lips. I stared in at him as he continued to do his sit-ups.

  He was shirtless and had a thin sheen of sweat. I remembered that body very, very well from all those months ago. Tattoos snaked up his skin, and his muscles were ripped and tough. I wanted to tell him what a dick he was being, except it was hard when I also wanted to lick every inch of his exposed torso.

  He finished his set and looked over at me. “What can I do for you, wife? Come to spend some time in our marriage bed?”

  That snapped me out of it. “Are you stalking me?”

  He gave me an innocent look. “What do you mean?”

  “Twitter. I know you saw my tweets.”

  “Not my fault your profile is public.”

  My jaw dropped. It really was him. I couldn’t believe he had the gall to like a tweet that was so clearly making fun of him.

  “How did you find me?”

  “You used your real name.”

  I let out a thin breath. Of course. All he needed to do was search for my name.

  “So you refuse to let me divorce you and now you’re cyber stalking me.”

  “Not exactly. You’re the one insulting me publically.”

  “I wouldn’t have to do that if you would just divorce me.”

  He stood up and stretched, grinning. “Why would I do that? I want to try and make our marriage work.”

  “We don’t have a marriage.”

  “Call me old fashioned, but I think the state would disagree with you.”

  “Legally, fine. But, Cole, we’re not married and you know it.”

  “I don’t know. Maybe we could give it a try.”

  He moved across the room, and I could practically feel my pussy go from normal to dripping in six seconds. He was ripped and smooth and slightly sweaty in an incredible way. It wasn’t fair at all. How was I supposed to win this argument when he looked like that?

  How was I supposed to divorce him when he made me feel that way?

  “Why are you doing this?” I whispered.

  “Because I can.” He grabbed my waist suddenly and pulled me agains
t him.

  I didn’t fight.

  “Because I want to,” he continued, talking into my ear. I felt a shiver run down my spine. “Because I want to take you again, Alex, make you feel things you thought you forgot about. I want to take it further.”

  “And I just want to move on with my life, maybe not be married to my stepbrother.”

  He paused and then laughed and moved away from me. I took a sharp breath, wishing he’d come back.

  “Yeah, that is inconvenient.”

  “Seriously, we can’t do this. If somebody found out, our parents would be screwed.”

  He walked over to the bed and pulled his shirt back over his chest. I wished he hadn’t done that, but it did make it easier to talk to him.

  “Maybe I don’t much care about Cindy’s career anymore.”

  I rolled my eyes. “Typical. Rebelling against mommy.”

  “That’s not what this is about.”

  “Isn’t it? You’re staying married to me to get back at your mom.”

  “You don’t know anything about me.”

  “Exactly. That’s why we shouldn’t be married.”

  He laughed, shaking his head. “You’re a clever one, Alex, but you’re my wife.”

  “What am I going to have to do to get a divorce?” I said, desperate and angry.

  He looked at me for a second. “How about this. For starters, you have to come see an MMA fight with me.”

  I raised my eyebrow. “Are you joking? I have no interest in that.”

  “Take it or leave it.”

  “Fine,” I said quickly. “Fine. But I’m bringing a friend.”

  He shrugged. “Do whatever you want.”

  “If this is your way of trying to prove that MMA isn’t lame, you’re going to be disappointed.”

  He gave me a wicked grin and turned away. “I doubt that.”

  The next night, we stood outside of the venue and I did not want to go in at all.

  It was crowded, way more crowded than I would have guessed was possible for an MMA fight. I knew it was popular with some people, but figured it was still pretty small.

  But the place looked packed. Like, hundreds of people packed. I had expected a lot of old fat men and bros, but it was a strange mix of people. There were even a few young kids in the crowd, which freaked me out. Who would bring a kid to a violent fight?