Chance Her Stepbrother
By
Saffron Daughter
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All characters depicted in this book are consenting adults. There are no relations depicted in this book between blood-relatives.
Table of Contents:
Prologue
Chapter One
Chapter Two
Chapter Three
Chapter Four
Chapter Five
Chapter Six
Chapter Seven
Chapter Eight
Chapter Nine
Chapter Ten
Chapter Eleven
Epilogue
From the Author
License
prologue
Once… just that one time… and never again!
I glare at him, and right now, right at this very moment, I hate everything about him. I hate everything about Chance Hudson. That stupid way his lips curl upward with amusement, those piercing hazel eyes that just seem to stare right into my soul, right into me, and that annoying expression he always has on his face, as though he thinks I’m cute, or something.
I’m not cute. I’m bloody pissed off.
“Never again,” I say to him. I’m shaking. I don’t know what’s wrong with me, but I feel… I feel wrong.
“Are you sure about that?” he asks. His voice is deep, and I watch his full lips as he forms the shape of the words. In an instant I’m transported back in time, and his lips are hovering inches away from mine, and his hot breath is washing over my face, and I am moaning into his…
“Never again!”
I push past him, and practically run out of the kitchen. I can’t believe it.
I fucked my stepbrother!
*
chapter one
Two weeks earlier…
I watch as she walks toward the street outside the school. She’s got this ass that makes my throat tighten, and the way she pulls her hair so that it falls down over only one shoulder is sexier than she knows.
But that’s not hard, considering she doesn’t know shit about being sexy. That’s not to say she isn’t sexy, because she is, but she’s obviously not trying to be.
She probably thinks she needs to lose weight, too, but too many girls are dumb like that. Give me ass and thighs over skin and bone any day.
I spark up a cigarette, and some teacher I don’t know approaches me. He’s balding and wears glasses and he looks like he’s got a two-by-four lodged firmly up his anus.
“You can’t smoke on school grounds,” he says.
I just narrow my eyes at him. I watch as he wilts beneath my stare, like a candle in the wind. His whole body just seems to keel over and wither, and poof, his authority has been extinguished.
“What’s your name?” he asks, before he gives up and huffs off.
“That was easy,” I murmur, grinning after him. He’s flustered and he takes tiny steps.
I walk out of the school, still gazing after her. She’s been in my class for a year now, but we basically don’t know each other. Well, that’s not entirely true. I give her shit whenever I can. She’s a teacher’s pet, a goody-two-shoes, and she thinks that grades are the only thing in this world that matter.
I laugh. She’s in for a shock. I don’t claim to be an expert on life – after all, who is? – but I know that straight A’s and a degree-with-honors won’t exactly get you far these days.
Better to have some skills.
“What you looking at, Chance?”
I turn and see a girl. I struggle to remember her name. Her skirt ends just below the curve of her ass, and she’s got the top two buttons of her shirt undone. I can see her lace bra beneath. Dark, eyeliner rings her eyes, and she’s pouting her lips at me, swaying on the spot, hands on her hips.
Then it comes to me. Then I remember her name.
“None of your business, Nicky,” I say. I don’t bother meeting her eyes.
“I’m Louise.”
I grin. She sounds offended.
“That’s what I meant.”
“God, you’re a prick,” she hisses. She’s got her claws out now. She’s got her back arched and her hair is all standing up on end. Her tail has gone all bushy.
I just walk away. I don’t try to remember how I know her, but I’ve got this distant memory. Maybe we fooled around once in my car, couple of years ago now. Truth be told, I can’t really remember. It doesn’t matter, anyway.
“Chance!” she calls, jogging up to my side. She tugs at my arm, but I just level a blank look at her.
“What?”
She starts to say something, but all that comes out of her mouth is a weird sound. So I shrug and keep walking, pulling my cigarette down right to the filter before flicking the butt.
There’s someone else who has my attention. Cassie Shannon, little-miss-smart, little-miss-perfect. I’ve seen her looking at me, but that’s not exactly anything new.
But it's different with her. She doesn't look at me the way other girls do. She looks at me with the kind of hostility I don’t get very often.
In fact, I don’t really get it ever. All the girls want to fuck me… no, they want me to fuck them. The guys all take turns at brown-nosing.
It’s all so… boring.
But her… Cassie. Now there’s something interesting. There's something different.
By chance, she flicks her head over her shoulder, and her eyes meet mine. Maybe people got a sixth sense like that, to tell when someone’s watching them.
Our eyes lock for a second, and then she looks away. Her gait has changed. Her body language has changed.
I do things to her that she doesn’t like.
I can see it from here.
*
“Cassie Shannon, you will watch your mouth!”
“Why should I, Dad? You are going to miss my ceremony!”
I’m breathing hard, and I’ve got my hands on my hips. I mean, this is it? This is just final? Why the hell did I even bother waiting for him to come back before eating dinner?
Why doesn’t he understand that it upsets me?
“Oh, for heaven’s sake, Cassie, it’s just high school. I didn’t even graduate, and look where I am now.”
I roll my eyes. “Yeah, just high school. I’m Valedictorian! I’m giving a speech. I finished top of my year. And I’m one of the only students in the state to be accepted into any of the top universities in England.”
He sighs, and clasps his fingers together. “I’m sorry, darling. It’s all fully booked already. I have to go. I can’t very well back out now.”
“It’s a holiday, Dad. Can’t you postpone it?”
“It’s not really a holiday,” he deflects.
“Yes it is. Just because your company set it up doesn’t mean you aren’t going to enjoy yourself. You’re going to fucking Vegas!”
“Hey!” he barks, jabbing a finger at me. “Don’t swear! It’s unladylike.”
I scowl at him. “I would really like for my father to be present at my graduation ceremony. Is that too much to ask?”
“Sorry, sweetheart. But I can’t.”
“Just because you didn’t finish school doesn’t mean you shouldn’t be there when I do. Just because it didn’t matter to you doesn’t mean it doesn’t matter to me.”
I can’t believe it. He just sits there and shrugs. “You’ll do fine,” he adds lamely. “It’s not all you think it is.”
I can’t believe I’m hearing this. What a fucking asshole.
“Mom would come,” I say, knowing it’s going to sting him.<
br />
As I expect, his face tenses up for a moment. His whole body stiffens. I don’t care. I’m out for blood now, even if I don’t like this about myself. But he should be there when I graduate. He should be there for me. He’s the only parent I’ve got.
“Don’t do that, Cassie.”
“Don’t do what?”
“The company holiday is already set in stone. I’m just a junior partner. How can I possibly not go? You know I was just promoted last month. If I don’t’ go, how do you think that looks?”
“How do you think it looks to your daughter that you’re not attending her graduation?”
“My hands are tied, Cassie.” He pushes his two wrists together in front of me. His eyes go all puppy-dog. What a dick.
“Don’t act like you’re going because you’re pressured to. You want to go. You already told me it’s all comped by the firm.”
He folds his arms. “Now, Cassie, you’ve been so independent your whole life, always pushing me away, always wanting to go out on your own. And suddenly, now—”
“But, Dad, I want you there because this is important to me. Because I worked so hard for this.”
He puts his hands up, palms facing the ceiling. “I just can’t.”
“Argh!”
I storm off, leaving him at the kitchen counter, and stomp up the stairs to my room.
Fine, I won’t need him there anyway. I’ll own this speech without his support. It’s not like he was ever there for me before.
I tear a piece of paper from my pad, and begin scribbling.
*
chapter two
“Great speech.”
I look up and I see Chance Hudson. His hazel eyes bore straight into mine, and I find it hard to maintain eye-contact. He’s been teasing and tormenting me for a whole year. Somehow, he was in nearly all of my classes.
He wipes his chestnut-brown hair to the side, and his golden-tan seems to shine in the afternoon sunlight. It’s warm, and I’m tired, and I shook like a wet puppy on the stage. There were hundreds of parents there, and the red lights of camera-phones recording me had done nothing to quell my nerves. My voice had hitched, my lips had trembled, and really, it just wasn’t a very good speech.
I think to my parting line: And so this new generation sets off into the world, wary of the conventions set down by the old. We hope to improve, but betterment so often comes in the form of subversion. We hope that you don’t judge us for our life decisions. The world is forever in flux, and so let us be different. Let us change. Support our change.
Because when you were our age, that’s what you would have wanted.
I groan. It sounds so trite in my head, so vague and so boring.
“No, it wasn’t a good speech,” I say to Chance, now looking away from him. I focus my eyes on a bright red car in the distance, but soon it turns a corner and disappears out of sight.
I’m sitting on a bench waiting for the bus to take me home – Dad left for Las Vegas yesterday – and in my gown the sun is making me feel more than a little warm.
Chance is standing right in front of me, though, so it’s practically impossible for me not to look at him eventually, and when I do, he’s got his hands on his hips, his head cocked to the side, and an amused grin pulling at his lips.
So I look at his body because I don’t want to meet his eyes. He’s wearing a tight-fitting t-shirt, and it fits him too damn well. It’s unfair really. I hate that I’m attracted to him. The shape of his body is easily seen through it, from his muscular chest to the way the sleeves wrap around his veiny, defined arms. He’s lean, like an athlete… well, he is an athlete. Well, he was an athlete.
He barely graduated, from what I heard on the grapevine.
“What do you want, Chance?” I ask, impatience in my voice. I don’t bother playing nice or blunting my attitude. We’re not friends. We never have been.
“Nothing,” he says. “Why are you so sensitive all the time?” He smirks at me while he stands in front of me. I can’t understand why he behaves this way. He’s so repulsive.
“I’m not sensitive. I just don’t like you.”
“Why? Because you want me?”
He doesn’t move. His hands don’t move. He doesn’t fidget. He’s just so damn comfortable all the time. I find my eyes going to his lips… and I hate that I like the shape of his lips. They are full, kissable, set within a strong jaw.
I just can’t see why the most attractive boy in school is also the most assholish. It bothers me.
“I don’t want you.”
“Sure you don’t,” he says, sitting down next to me on the bench. He spreads his arms out on the backrest behind me, and pokes my shoulder with a finger. “So, why are you waiting for the bus, then?”
“My dad is away. He left the car at the long-stay parking at the airport, and we only have one car.”
“He didn’t come to your graduation?”
“No.”
“My mother didn’t, either.”
“Really?” I ask, looking at him. For the first time, I feel there might be a thread of similarity between us, but he ruins the moment.
“But it’s not like I give two shits. I couldn’t care less.”
I balk. “You don’t care that your own mother didn’t attend your graduation? Figures. You must be dumb.”
“Oh, I’m certainly not as smart as you.”
“Hey, I worked hard for this. We’re in a weighted-GPA school. Do you know what that means?”
He shrugs. “Jack shit, truthfully.”
“It means that you are awarded more for harder courses, and less for easier courses.”
“So?”
“So?” I echo, exasperated. “It means that I’m not just any little-miss-smart or whatever. I worked for this. I took the toughest courses and I aced them. I did extra credit.”
“So? So what?” He looks at me and grins. “What’s it going to get you?”
“Well, it got me into LSE. That’s the London School of Economics, in case you weren’t aware. It’s one of the best universities in the world.” I peer at him. “You probably weren’t.”
He grins, like he’s enjoying this, and it just pisses me off.
“You’re a bit of a snob, aren’t you?” he says.
“I’m not a snob. I’m just telling it how it is.”
“What’s that super-prestigious degree going to get you, then? Run through your plan with me.”
“Why should I?”
“Well, the bus isn’t here yet, and you’re enjoying talking to me.”
I make a face. “You don’t know anything, do you?”
“So, what’s it going to get you?” he pushes.
“I’ll graduate with honors in political science.”
“And then what?”
“I’ll do my master’s.”
“And then?”
“I’ll teach.”
He scoffs. “You’ll teach? That’s it? That’s your sole ambition? That’s the final step in your plan?”
“Hey,” I say. “The world needs more teachers. Good ones. Smart ones.”
“You’ve got this little plan all worked out. You think that it’s all going to depend on how well you do in your classes, what grades you get. Let me ask you, we go to a good private school, right?”
“Yes,” I say, nodding.
“What do you think of Dunham?”
“He’s my history teacher. He’s—”
“A fucking idiot.”
“No he’s not.”
“Yes, he is.”
“He’s got a doctorate, he’s written books on the first and second dynasties of Chin—”
“And this is where he is! Why do you suppose that is, if he’s so accomplished?”
“No shame in teaching in a good school.”
“Why don’t you ask him if he wanted to teach a bunch of stuck-up teenagers all day.”
“You’re in this school too, you know.”
“Not by choice.”
<
br /> I narrow my eyes at him. “Do you even know the point you’re trying to make, Chance?”
“He doesn’t know anything about anything useful. Is that what you want to be? In some stupid little corner, some narrow field of study, that nobody else gives a shit about? You want to go into academics? You want to live and die by what you publish? Have your work peer-reviewed by a bunch of cliquey circle-jerkers? You know they all just suck off their friends, don’t you? You know it’s all one big boys club.”
“Can you not be so vulgar? And, anyway, political science is not a narrow field.”
“Oh, you’ll be encouraged to specialize over and over again.”
“Like you would know anything about academics, Chance. You barely graduated.”
He laughs. “Surprised me, too. I hardly went to class.”
“I thought you got caught for cutting last year.”
“I did,” he says. “But this year most of my teachers were women, so of course I made attendance minimums.”
I roll my eyes. “You’re so gross and up yourself.”
“Hey, I ain’t lying. Apparently I’ve attended the minimum number of classes required this year. That’s how I could graduate, but I know for a fact that I didn’t.”
“That’s so much bullshit.” I frown and I’m sure my expression darkens. It isn’t fair.
“Don’t be so upset, Cass. Why does it matter to you what happens to me?”
“Don’t call me Cass.”
“Don’t tell me you never saw a girl hitch her skirt up just a little, pull those puppy-dog eyes to get out of trouble? Don’t tell me you once never saw Nicole Stansfeld or Alice Ortiz get away with not doing their homework? Or get caught smoking in the changing rooms only to be let off the hook because it was a male teacher? Those two got away with far more than I ever did.”
“That’s wrong, too.”
“So what if you don’t get accepted into a master’s program?”
I fold my arms. “I haven’t thought that far ahead.”
“Cass, Cass, Cass,” he says, shaking his head. He adjusts his belt, and I can’t help but watch as he does it. For a fleeting moment, his t-shirt comes above his jeans, and I see the beginnings of his trimmed buzz of pubic hair.
Chance Her Stepbrother Page 1