by Amy Faye
Chapter Thirty-Nine
She'd gotten over him. She wasn't supposed to be upset any more because she'd already gotten over it. The whole thing was just a memory. Not even a bad memory. A good memory, but any time that a good memory is just a memory, it's going to be a little upsetting.
So she'd gotten completely over it. All it had taken was a month, and all it had taken was getting back into her routine. The days passed quickly, one day only a little bit different than the last. Which was good, in its own way. It gave her a way to stop getting so God damn worked up over everything.
Her phone buzzed in her pocket. Was that Katrina? Why? It was late, and she should be asleep by now if she wanted to be rested for morning practice. Hell, so should Cathy, but she wasn't.
She let out a long breath and sat upright in bed. What was the point of lying to herself? She wasn't going to go to sleep. She wasn't even tired. She'd been up past midnight for most of the past six months. Sure, she was supposed to work on it.
She hadn't. So that was just reality. She hadn't worked on it, and she was just getting used to operating on five hours of sleep, so it was fine. Really there was no big deal. She was completely used to it, and there was no need to change.
So whatever Katrina's reason for texting her, she could just deal with it and go to sleep when she felt tired.
Cathy pressed the button at the bottom of the screen, and her lock screen popped up, dark but still bright enough to hurt her eyes a little bit, now that they were used to the darkness of the bedroom.
Katrina hadn't sent the message. If Cathy had realized who had, then she might not have picked the phone up. It would have been easier to think that he hadn't sent anything. It was easier when he didn't. He was mad at her—she didn't doubt that, and she didn't blame him.
But to have him sending her messages meant—she didn't really dare to think about it too hard. It meant whatever it meant, and she was just going to ignore the text. She didn't even see it, just barely.
He didn't sound angry, but that could have just been the beginning of the text. Maybe it was a big passive-aggressive thing, and she was going to see soon. Then again, maybe it wasn't.
She slammed the phone face-down into the mattress anyways. The more forceful the better. That way he'd know that he wasn't supposed to be contacting her. They'd ended it for his benefit, whether he liked it or not. Whether he knew it or not. It was hard for her to do in the first place.
So what right did he have anyways to text her? None. So.
She pushed herself deeper into the bed, laid back down and closed her eyes. She was going to sleep. She couldn't afford to keep trying to push herself on such little sleep. Nobody could keep going like that forever, and it hurt her ability to recover from practice.
So sleeping was the right choice. She wasn't even avoiding his message, not really. She was just doing what she knew she was supposed to be doing, instead of getting herself distracted by a boy.
That had been her mistake to begin with, thinking about boys. Maybe she ought to try batting for the other team, that way at least she's got plenty of girls she could meet to pick from. Right?
Boys, though. No more boys. Too addicting, too distracting, and they texted you when you were supposed to be going to sleep.
Cathy rolled over onto her side. Her shoulder felt stiff. She tried to ignore it, but the position just wouldn't get comfortable, no matter how hard she tried.
Onto her back. She usually slept on her side, but she could do it this time. It was supposed to be way better for you to sleep on your back anyways. So she needed to learn how to do it. Besides, there wasn't going to be much advantage to sleeping on her side.
It wasn't like someone was going to come up and hold her close from behind, his strong arms wrapped around her waist. That was done, now. That was a past life. So there were all the reasons in the world to sleep on her back.
Well, except that her hips felt wrong. She couldn't really put her finger on it. She wanted to turn them, just a little, but they were flat. It was absolutely the correct way to lay, and yet even still she couldn't help feeling uncomfortable.
She rolled over again, settling in. Her arms wrapped around a pillow and moved it to lay comfortably under her head. A loud clatter that might have woken the whole house if there were anyone around to wake. It might have jarred her awake, too, except that she was still nowhere near sleeping.
Jesus. She'd knocked her phone to the ground. Like an idiot. Cathy reached down to pick it up.
She wasn't tired. She just had to accept it. She wasn't tired, and her phone was right there. It would be a good way to pass the time, at least, until another wave of fatigue hit and she could sleep.
And if she was passing her time with the phone… maybe it wouldn't hurt, just a little bit…
Her thumb hesitated over Jeff's message. She clicked it, and swiped, and the messaging app filled the screen. Texts that they'd sent each other weeks ago. One from ten minutes ago.
'How have you been,' he asked. As if he cared. He didn't. Couldn't. Probably wasn't capable of it. Cathy's teeth found her lower lip and bit down gently.
'Fine,' she said. Should she say something more? Or was that enough? 'How's Florida?'
He didn't respond for a few seconds. Heart-pounding seconds, where she thought for a minute that she'd waited a too long to respond. And then her phone buzzed in her hand.
'Sunny. I missed you.'
She missed him too. You know what, though? Fuck him. She doesn't want to sympathize. What did he do to earn her sympathy? Nothing. She'd done all this for him, to help him. To help his career, because he didn't seem to want to think one damn bit about it.
'Sorry,' she sent back.
'I wish you had stayed.'
She couldn't tell him that she wished she had, too.
Because his career was at stake, and one of them had to be the one making tough choices. Even if they hurt, if they were good for both of them, then they needed to take it. Like medicine.
'I couldn't.'
'I know.'
'I have to sleep.'
'I know. Sleep well.'
'You too. Don't stay up too late.'
'I love you.'
She stared at the words. He shouldn't have said that. He shouldn't have.
Cathy put the phone down, face down on the mattress. To stop herself from telling him that she loved him, too.
Chapter Forty
There was plenty of talk around the locker room. He didn't doubt that there was some stress, as well. Some new kid, it takes time to learn how he acted. A month of spending hours a day together was going to go a long way, but compared to knowing each other for years, knowing each other's wives, knowing each other's families…
Well, he was the new kid, and that was how it was. There was always one or two, and this time it was him. The one thing that he was sure of was, it was nice to have a home game for opening day. Being able to wake up in his own bed, see his family, and then watch the game, that was more than half the players in the league could do.
The plane ride itself wasn't bad. It was the worrying about the days to come that really got to him. He wasn't expected to pitch today. That much they'd told him. Dress, but don't expect to play. He probably wouldn't for a few games. But eventually, they'd have him head out to the bullpen and that would be when they saw how he'd really stack up, when the game was on the line.
Jeff kept his eyes unfocused. Music pounded in his ears as he walked down the airport-long corridor. It seemed as if they couldn't have gotten it any longer if they'd tried. It must have been a mile or more from one end to the other, though thank God he didn't have to go all that way.
He'd go to get his bag, and then get his car. Back to Michigan just in time for a cold snap. Perfect. A cold snap without a coat, no less. How perfect could it be?
His lips turned down at the corners, but it didn't really matter. He had his cap on, had his glasses on, and he wasn't big enough to be recognized, really. Ju
st get off the plane, get home, go to bed.
He'd be ready by morning, or at least he'd be as ready as anyone ever was. If only he had a coat, he'd have nothing to complain about. He was home, even if Detroit still felt like a strange—and awful cold, he added, rubbing his arms unconsciously—fit.
Well, if Atlanta had wanted him bad enough, they could have had him, and then he'd be warmer. But that wasn't how it went. Part of the job. He'd just move quickly to the car.
It was better to keep his mind on work. Too many other things to think about, too many things that would distract him if he wasn't careful. He could afford a distraction, for a day or two, but what he couldn't afford was to get his head all shaken up, and have to dig himself back out of the hole. Again. All over, from scratch.
Which is why he wasn't particularly listening when someone called his name. Over the noise of fuzzy guitars, he almost heard them, but he wasn't hearing that it was his name. Plenty of people were talking, and none of them were talking to him.
He kept his head down. Too tired. Maybe they'd ignore him. He missed it when she called him a little louder. And a third time, when her voice started to crack a little as the panic started to rise that he was ignoring her.
He turned, though, when he felt her hand on his shoulder, pulled his headphone out. If they were going to be this pushy for an autograph, he'd just—
"Cathy," he said, dimly. "What are you doing here?"
"I'm sorry," she says. Her lips tremble. "I didn't mean to—"
"I didn't hear you," he says. A line furrows between his eyebrows. "I didn't mean to ignore you. What are you doing here?"
"I came to get you," she says, chewing her lip.
"I can see that. How'd you know when I was coming in?"
"Uh. Your dad told me." Her voice had a strong edge of nervousness.
"Good." Jeff smiled. "That old bastard finally did something right."
"I shouldn't have come. I'm sorry. I uh. Brought you a jacket." She pushed it into his hands. "I ought to go."
She turned. Before she could take a step his hand wrapped around her wrist.
"No, you oughtn't."
She turned back slow. Her eyebrow was cocked. "Oughtn't."
"It's a word." He cracks a smile.
"I didn't say it wasn't."
"No, but you were implying—"
"Implying what?"
"Why are you here, Cathy?"
"I told you, I was going to pick you up."
"Why are you really here?"
"I don't—"
"Tell me."
"I guess I wanted to see you."
"I wanted to see you too."
"But I shouldn't have come."
"You did the right thing." There were plenty of other people in the airport, moving around and past them. Nobody seemed to pay any special mind to either of them.
"You're always doing this," she growled. "Why do I have to be the one who worries about your career for you?"
"Is that what this has been all about? You were worried about me?"
"Isn't that obvious?"
Jeff's eyes shut. His nose threatens to twitch, and he feels his teeth grinding together a little. "Cathy, you are absolutely an idiot."
"Fuck you," she says, almost reflexively.
"No, I'm serious. You let me worry about me. Isn't that why you let me take charge in the first place?"
"If you're going to be dumb—"
"But I'm not being dumb. I know what I'm doing."
"That would be great if I could believe it."
"Then believe it. You think I'm not prepared to deal with whatever happens? I've always been ready for whatever comes next."
"But your career."
"I'll still have a career."
"But you've worked so hard—"
"I'll still have a career, Cathy. What I won't have is you."
She chews on the corner of her lips. Jeff looked at them hungrily.
Fuck it.
He pulls her in tight, his lips crushing against hers. If she's going to be an idiot, he's going to have to be obvious. Because the one thing he's not doing is letting her go again.
She's worried about his career, after all, and he's not sure it'll stand up to another breakup. She'll see that, when she thinks about it.
So they'll just have to stay together.
Bastard Stepbrother
Bad Boy Stepbrother Romance
Amy Faye
Published by Heartthrob Publishing
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Here’s a preview of the sexy love story you’re about to read…
"What do you want me to do," he says. His voice is rough.
"Whatever you want," I tell him, my breath still ragged in my chest.
Fingers wrap around my wrist, strong and insistent but not demanding. Firm, but not rough. And he guides my hand to his hardness. It makes an outline against the fine fabric of his trousers, but nothing prepares me for the feeling of my fingers as they wrap a little way around it, as much as I can through the clothing.
It's big. I don't have a long list of dicks I've seen, but this one is big by any comparison point I can make. Part of me wonders how it's going to fit inside me. I already know the answer, though. Deliciously.
"Take it out," he says softly. My hands go to work undoing his belt, unzipping the fly on his trousers. The clothing is well-made and comes undone easily. His hardness springs out at me automatically, as soon as it's freed from the clothing.
My hands find the hem of his boxers next, and pull them down until he's loose of them as well, his manhood standing straight and proud. It looks bigger than it felt, and it felt large. A shiver runs down my spine. I've always liked a challenge, but this is entirely different from anything I've ever had to combat before.
My hand wraps around it. The flesh is soft, and yet it's only a thin layer of softness over something that feels impossibly hard. My mind is racing at a million miles an hour, and I can't stop myself from giving it an experimental tug.
The soft flesh along his length moves with my hand, and his breathing gets a little louder, a little more ragged, just for an instant before Eric can get control of himself again. I move more smoothly this time, a little slower.
His eyes drift shut as my hand falls into a rhythm, massaging his shaft and watching the expressions on his face. How his mood shifts when I do it faster, or when I focus more on the head.
His hand reaches down and stills mine. "Your mouth, too," he says.
As simple as that, and then he lets me continue. My pace, with instruction.
I sit up. I don't know how much I'll be able to fit in my mouth, but I don't feel as if he wants to hear my excuses, or my rationale, or my worrying. Something deep down inside me suspects that has nothing to do with what he wants.
My tongue comes out for an experimental lick along the shaft, one that meets with his vocal approval. A little shiver runs through me. I did alright so far.
He fills my mouth when I take him between my lips. I'm a little bit disappointed in myself when I can only take the first couple of inches. I move my head though, doing what I can. I can already feel my jaw loosening up, can already feel the gag reflex slowly dissipating.
He can feel it, too. The way that his fingers dig into my hair, the way that he can't quite still his hips from moving to meet my mouth.
I move faster, my fingers wrapping around him where my mouth can't reach. I don't know what kind of a slut I must look like. Probably a big one. Even still, I'm not going to stop. Can't stop.
His hips are moving, now, a thrust meeting me every time I bob my head forward. I can't suppress the choking sound it pulls out. And I can tell that he's getting close. I don't know how close until he growls out 'fuck' and misses a thrust.
His fingers tighten in my hair and his cock thrusts deep into my throat, as deep as it can go, and he holds me there, his cock spasming as he
shoots cum straight down my throat and into my belly.
Part of me wants to be annoyed that I didn't get a warning. Another part, a much bigger part, wants him between my legs yesterday.
Chapter One
Sometimes, people ask what my earliest childhood memory is. I lie.
I should have earlier memories. I should have memories of when I was really little, of my time in elementary school. Of what my life was like when I was really little, of getting to know my family.
My most powerful memory, the first one that comes to mind when I think, wasn't until I was fourteen years old. I don't know what is wrong with me. I know most people remember plenty before they were fourteen. Not me.
I just remember two things about that day. I remember watching Eric step through the door, his broad shoulders framed in the outside light, the house still dark. I'd gotten up to get a drink of water before I went back to sleep.
I remember watching him, not being able to say anything because I'd wake everyone up, and I remember being terrified that I would get yelled at if I did. He didn't look back, and he didn't see me standing there.
Which was a good metaphor for our entire relationship, because the other thing that I remember is that I was hopelessly in love with him at the time.
I don't know how old I was when his Dad married my Mom. Mom has told me so many different ages that I don't know which to believe. Some time between ninety-five and ninety-seven. Probably closer to ninety-five. They had a short relationship before they were married.
I think Eric's Dad thought he needed a mother. Mom… well, I don't have to guess, but I shouldn't think such awful things about her, either. I'm sure that she doesn't realize what she's doing until it's too late, but she's never been in any relationship that wasn't "serious."
I was fourteen years old, and at the same time I knew that I wasn't supposed to be thinking about my brother like that. Blood-related or not, he was completely off-limits. Like. Not even part of the conversation. You don't tell your friends "well, there's this one guy, he's my brother."