Score: A Stepbrother Sports Romance

by Aubrey Irons

  My hand flies to my mouth as my eyes go wide, suddenly thinking of all the repercussions that could come of this; my campaign, the funding from Archer Holdings; God, the media if they got ahold of this?

  I realize I’m pacing and chewing at my cuticles again, and I force myself to stop as I turn and look at him, still sleeping heavily in bed.

  The covers are pulled most of the way down on his torso as he lies on his stomach, and my eyes trace over the inked and scarred skin there; his back rising and falling slowly with his breathing. A flush creeps into my face as I think about last night with him, and how freaking incredible he felt in that first delicious moment of penetration.

  There’s a feeling of stinging guilt that I’m standing here regretting last night while I stare at the man that’s made me happier in one night than I’ve felt in a long time. But then the panic hits me again.

  Fuck, I mean what if somebody heard us? My face gets hot as I try and think how loud I might have gotten the previous night. Or what if someone puts two-and-two together when they see that Hudson's bedroom door is wide open and his bed still made?

  He stirs in the bed suddenly as he begins to wake up, and for some bizarre reason I’m suddenly keenly aware and awkward about the fact that I’m standing there naked, despite what happened the previous night. I grab the first thing I see - his dress shirt - and throw it on; quickly buttoning it as he opens his eyes and starts to sit up in bed.

  “Morning,” He grins at me, blinking sleep from his eyes.

  God he looks incredible sitting in my bed like that; so peaceful, so naked, and so - I flush - so hard.

  He arches a brow at me and then smirks as he nods to the sizable tent in the sheet in his lap. “You know, as good as you look right now in that shirt, I think you should probably take it off and come back to bed, darlin.” And for a moment, doing just that sounds like the most amazing thing in the world.

  …That is, until there’s a startling knock on my door and Erika’s chipper, annoying voice hollering through about the interview I need to to be ready to leave for in thirty minutes.

  And just like that, the fantasy of curling up with Hudson and letting the world just float away without us is shattered as the very real reality hits me like a ton of bricks.

  “You need to get out of here!” I hiss at him, feeling panicked as I throw his pants at him.

  His grin falters as his brow furrows; “Relax, Reag-“

  “I can’t relax, Hudson; don’t fucking tell me to relax!”

  “Reagan, it’s just one fucking interview for what, some stupid NYU school paper?” He’s sitting up on the edge of the bed while I run around the room like a crazy person trying to hide the signs of the previous night as I yank on my black dress pants and hunt around for a clean blouse. “Look just skip it.”

  I whirl on him, feeling furious that he’s just sitting there while I’m in panic mode. “Because that would be stupid and a big mistake.”

  He rolls his eyes; “Oh, please, a big mista-”

  “Kind of like last night.”

  He freezes, his eyes narrowing at me as a shadow passes over his face. I cringe, instantly feeling like a total crazy bitch for letting it slip out like that; “Shit, Hudson, I didn’t mean it like-”

  “No, forget it, you’re right.” He’s up and yanking his pants on with his back to me, and my heart drops as I realize the fantasy veil of last night has completed dropped and we’re standing in the naked reality of today.

  “Mistakes happen, right?” He shrugs and flashes a thin smile at me, and right there I see his armor go right back up.

  “You should get to that interview, I’ll- I need to-“ He’s at the door, opening it slowly as he peaks out and checks the hallway; “I’ve got some shit to do anyways.” He turns and looks at me coo;ly; “Don’t worry, we’ll pretend this whole little mistake never happened.”

  And just like that, he’s slamming the door behind him and slamming the chapter shut on whatever happened last night.

  Fuck.

  I subtly peep under the table at the phone I’ve ever-so-secretly slipped out of my purse. There are plenty of messages of course, but I frown when I see that his number isn’t among them. Part of me hoped he’d still just show up at my first interview today, but he never did.

  “Oh, stop it, Ray!”

  I glance up, trying to look as innocent as possible as Quinn glares at me from across the diner table, even though I know she’s busted me; “What?” Leave it to family to totally burst your bubble on feeling subtle or sneaky.

  “We said no phones! That’s what!”

  I roll my eyes, “Quinn, you do know I’m running for State Sen-”

  “Yeah and when you win, you’ll have even less time for your boring, non-famous sisters.” Chelsea butts in.

  Ten minutes; we’ve been sitting at lunch for ten minutes and they’re already ganging up on me. I sigh dramatically as I slip the phone back in my bag and sling it over my chair; “Fiiiine. So what should we talk about?”

  “How about the fact that you’re a major political figure and you’re still dragging us to shitty brunch diners like this place.” Quinn says, wrinkling her nose at the plain white cup of coffee in front of her.

  “Hey, this place is an institution, you know. Plus it’s freaking delicious; I’d eat here every day if it wouldn’t give Donald and Erika conniptions.”

  “And what would Hudson think?”

  Chelsea’s snarky grin catches me off-guard, and I stumble; “W-What do you mean?”

  “I mean about you eating pancakes and scrambled cheesy eggs every day.”

  I shrug as nonchalantly as I can; “I’m sure I’ve got no idea what he thinks about anything.”

  Like, me, for instance.

  Quinn grins at me, and I steel myself, afraid she’ll sniff out what I’m really thinking about him like some sort of sex-bloodhound; “So how is spending all that time with Hotsun going, anyways?”

  I groan; “Qui-”

  “What?! Have you fucking seen him!” She says with mock indignance; “He’s like-”

  “Packaged sex.” Chelsea butts in, making the two of them devolve into giggles and my face into total guilty embarrassment.

  “Guys, he’s not-”

  “Oh my God, Ray, why are you fighting her on that? She’s totally right and you know it. Hudson is like, James Bond, but with super hot tattoos and a body off the cover of a romance novel.” She arches her eyebrows at me; “Hey, I mean if you don’t want that, I mean I’m single-”

  “Quinn I think you stole quite enough boyfriends from me in high school.”

  They both immediately beam at me as I realize my slip-up and die a little inside.

  “Oh. My. God.” Quinn’s jaw drops.

  “Guys, no, that is not what I-”

  “No fucking way!” Chelsea stares at me with a grin on her face. She and Liz turn towards each other and start giggling again.

  “Wait, no, it is not like- stop that!” People are starting to turn and look our way, and even in this greasy little diner in midtown, I know it’s a matter of time before someone realizes who I am and starts to get really interested in what we’re talking about so animatedly.

  “Guys, seriously!” I hiss; “Keep it down!”

  Chelsea is beaming at me; “Hudson fucking Banks?”

  “I think it’s more ‘Hudson fucking our sister’, actually.” Quinn quips, with the predicted giggle from Chelsea and the deeper shade of red on my face.

  I shake my head much to animatedly; “No way, of course not, he’s horrible.”

  Quinn shrugs; “Well, I mean he’s crude I guess, but horrible?”

  “Ugh! He’s one of Dad’s thugs!” I’m not sure who I’m trying to convince more, me or them.

  “So?” Chelsea shrugs; “Ok, he worked for Dad; big deal. It’s not like he’s our brother or something.”

  I make a face into my coffee; “Eww?”

  Chelsea sighs; “No, I just mean what would
be so weird about hooking up with Hudson?”

  “Um, because besides that, how about the fact that Dad ditched us for him and his other adopt-a-veteran pals all the fucking time?”

  Chelsea looks quickly down and Quinn shakes her head at me; “You need to let that one go sometime, Ray. You know Dad had his reasons for-”

  “Ok, fine, whatever.” Not the conversation I want have in the middle of a political campaign sitting in a diner.

  We sit in silence for another moment before I open my mouth again; “Ok, how about that he’s technically my campaign financier? Hello? Conflict of interest much?”

  Quinn shrugs; “Archer Holdings is your campaign financier, not Hudson. So what’s the harm?”

  I slam the coffee cup down harder than I intend, spilling the lukewarm liquid onto the countertop; “Because I feel like an idiot for sleeping with him after what happened at Dad’s wak-”

  I freeze and clasp my hands to my mouth as the whole table goes silent, my sisters staring at me with open mouths.

  Oh, fuck.

  “Wait, what? You did sleep with him?!” Chelsea is wide-eyed and grinning at me.

  “You hussy!” Quinn clucks her teeth like a mother hen; “And oh my God; what did you do get up to at a wake?!”

  And it’s right there, with room-temperature coffee all over my hands, sitting in a crappy little midtown diner in the middle of the afternoon that I start to cry.

  Quinn immediately changes her whole tune as she jumps out the booth and crams in on my side, her arms going around me as the tears and the sniffles come pouring out of me.

  “Hey, hey now Ray.”

  “I’m horrible!” I moan into my hands, feeling Quinn’s arms tighten around me.

  “No, hon, you’re not.”

  “But at Dad’s fucking funer-”

  “You were emotional and lost, and you needed something to grab onto; and he was there.” She nuzzles my hair like she used to do when we were kids; “That’s not being horrible, Ray, that’s just being human.” She says softly.

  Chelsea reaches across the table and takes one of my hands, patting it dry of coffee as I look up at her miserably; “And Hudson isn’t so terrible you know.”

  “I know,” I sniff.

  Quinn leans down to peer into my face with that wicked grin back on her face; “So, you slept with him, huh?”

  I feel a horrible mixture of relief and embarrassment and sadness wash over me at the way things got left this morning with him, especially with the previous night being so incredible, and I nod quietly.

  Quinn chuckles; “So was it good?”

  “Of course it was good, or she wouldn’t be so upset right now!” Chelsea says as she squeezes my hands, and I giggle in spite of myself.

  “Oh, ok, details, now.”

  I laugh again and roll my eyes; “Quinn!” Chelsea throws a balled-up napkin at our older sister, and then we’re all laughing, and I can already feel the weight lifting from my shoulders.

  Suddenly though, Quinn turns and looks at me skeptically; “Hang on.” She bites her lip; “No, forget it.”

  “Gah! Quinn! What?” I say, wiping my eyes on her arm.

  She gives me a look a the mascara marks I leave on her sweater before she shakes her head; “No, it’s just- I don’t know, you’ve just never really struck me as the casual hook-up type, that’s all.”

  I frown; “What do you mean?”

  She frowns; “I mean with Hudson,” She shrugs; “Hey I guess the campaign really is good at getting you out of your comfort zo- Oh fuck, honey-”

  My face starts to crumble again, and Chelsea reaches across the table to smack Quinn’s hand.

  “Soooo…not necessarily a casual thing.”

  I dump my head in my hands; “I don’t know! No? Maybe?” Ugh; I fucking hate crying like this over some guy like some sort of movie cliche. But damnit if Hudson hasn’t wormed right under my skin.

  “It’s complicated, I guess.”

  Chelsea smirks at me; “Ray, your whole life is complicated; maybe you need a little simplicity.”

  I exhale loudly; “I should let the whole thing go, shouldn’t I?”

  My younger, somehow far wiser sister grins at me as she squeezes my hand; “No, I’m saying you clearly have a lot more feelings about Hudson than I think you’re even admitting to yourself, and like always, you’re overthinking it.”

  “So-”

  “So you like him, and I’m betting he likes you. So just tell him, Reagan.” Quinn says.

  Across the table, Chelsea nods and shrugs; “Try simple for change, Ray.”

  19

  Hudson

  P R E S E N T

  I end up getting a grand total of two jabs into my warm-up before I throw off my gloves with a snarl and head for the shower.

  There’s a brief hesitation right before I step under the spray; as if a tiny part of me is reluctant to wash the smell and the feel and the memory of her off of my skin.

  ‘A big mistake…kind of like last night.’

  I step under the water and slam the shower-door shut.

  I don’t know why or even how I find myself at the cable network building where her second interview of the day is being filmed, but fuck it, I’m there. That’s what’s so twisted about this whole Reagan situation; I don’t want to be around her, but apparently I can’t seem to stay away either.

  The interview has already started as I stand just outside the light behind the cameras off-stage, watching her and trying not to let the fact that she’s laughing and smiling and just plain gorgeous get under my skin so much.

  “Hey babe.” Samantha’s voice slithers into my ear as she comes up behind me and wraps her arms around me, as if we’ve even met more than three times.

  “What are you doing here, Sam?” I hiss at her quietly, though not quietly enough to avoid getting an evil look from one of the stage managers. Is this girl following me or something?

  She slaps my chest playfully and rolls her eyes, as if I’ve just said a joke of some kind; “Uh, because I intern for the Archer campaign? Duh?”

  Oh fuck. Reagan’s immediately furious reaction to my having Samantha on my arm before suddenly makes way more sense; because she’s a campaign intern, kind of like the type of campaign intern that she broke up with that idiot Chet for fucking.

  The pieces slide a bit more together and I cringe as I think about it.

  She answers a question with a line I don’t hear but that makes the older news anchor chuckle. But then as she looks up with a smile on her face, she suddenly sees me standing there behind the cameras with Samantha hanging off my arm, and her smile fades instantly. She’s glaring at me, so much so that I even see the stage manager signal for another camera angle.

  There’s a bit of smug satisfaction with seeing her jealous like that, but it’s an empty victory considering the way shit went down this morning and the two pieces I’ve just put together, and I can’t even find a crumb of victory in it.

  The interview ends, and I finally get Samantha to get off my arm by promising to call her later even though I’ve certainly never saved her number anywhere. I almost want to smile at the predictability of Reagan marching right up to me after she yanks off her microphone, but I keep it under wraps at the look in her face.

  “I thought you weren’t coming.” Her eyes flash past me at Sam walking away behind me and her eyes narrow a little’ “So how’s Sam?”

  I reach out and put my hand on her arm; “Calm down, it’s not what it looks-”

  “Don’t tell me to-” She stops and takes a deep breath; “Hudson I don’t care,” She shrugs my hand off and takes one small and yet infinitely giant step back; “We’re both adults here, you can do whatever you want.”

  I take a step towards her, my voice low and growling; “You know what I want.”

  She opens her mouth but then shuts it abruptly as she nods towards the sound of Samantha giggling obnoxiously at something across the room; “Yeah, I guess I do. Have
fun, Hudson.”

  I feel like a fucking idiot when I knock on her door, about to escort her to fucking Chet Kennedy’s “gala” event; whatever the fuck that is. I’m literally driving the girl I can’t get out of my fucking head into the arms of her shitty ex-boyfriend.

  The old Hudson would have punched this Hudson in the nuts and told him to sack up.

  She opens the door though, and any and all rational thought just flushes right out of my mind as I stare at her. She looks stunning. I mean, she always looks amazing, but the short, slinky, form-fitting little black dress she’s wearing is like a punch right to my gut, and I find myself just opening and closing my mouth as I let my eyes roam over her.

  And then of course the thought hits me that she isn’t wearing this for me, and I frown.

  “Well?”

  Her voice startles me out of my freeze and I jerk my head up; “Jesus, why are you wearing that?” I immediately cringe; Nice man, nice.

  Her lip curls into a snarl. “Well fuck you too, Hudson.”

  “No, I mean - isn’t this a formal-”

  “It’s black tie, black cocktail dress; isn’t that your circle of things?”

  Yeah, hardly.

  “I’m just saying you look nice.”

  “Gee, thanks. Funny way of showing it.”

  I roll my eyes; “Listen, Ray-”

  “Can we go please?” She looks at me sharply; “I’ve got a date waiting for me.”

  I freeze. “Excuse me?”

  She taps her heeled foot on the ground; “I said can we go.”

  “You know what I mean, that second fucking part.” I growl.

  She smiles at me, as if she know’s she’s just scored a hit on me; “My date, Hudson. Chet’s waiting for me.”

  I can feel my blood pressure jump through my skull as I grind my teeth and clench my fists. I know exactly what she’s doing, but the shittiest part is, it’s working.

  “You’re dating Chet again?”

  She shrugs, like it’s the most obvious thing in the world; like last night never happened.

  I can still imagine the way her lips felt wrapping around my cock, or the way her hair smelled and the way her skin felt so warm and alive when she slid down onto me. I’m instantly thinking how it incredible she felt rocking up and down on top of me, and the sounds of her cries as she came.