Wicked Stepbrother (Book Three)

by Lila Price

  “Well, let’s go get something to eat, keep your strength up,” Mr. Everett said, and ushered his wife and son toward the restaurant entrance without even looking at me— though to be fair, Jacob was probably blocking the view of me.

  “Wait— Dad, this is Sasha, the girl I was telling Mom about,” Jacob said. He unwound his arm from his mother’s, and placed it gently around my shoulders.

  “Oh! Well, you’re a pretty thing, aren’t you?” Mr. Everett said in a voice that was a half-degree from being inappropriate. Jacob grimaced, but I smiled— inappropriate was fine, so long as they liked me. I’d dealt with inappropriate rich men plenty of times waitressing in Tifton.

  You’ve got this, I told myself for the thousandth time that day.

  “Pleasure to meet you,” I said, and extended a hand to shake. Mr. Everett took it lightly, like he worried he might break my delicate-lady-hand, then gave Jacob a conspiratorial glance that made me wrinkle my nose.

  “Sorry about him. Them. Us,” Jacob muttered down to me as we proceeded toward the restaurant.

  “It’s fine,” I said.

  “Make it up to you later,” he answered, and slapped me lightly on the ass. I jumped and laughed, quelling it when Ms. Everett glanced over her shoulder to see what the noise was about.

  I considered myself a pretty decent conversationalist— I struck up discussions of local golf courses, the latest Lululemon line, and the neighborhoods most likely to be sound real estate investment decisions in Atlanta, all topics I’d carefully brushed up on before the meal (except the investment decisions bit— I was already carefully watching various neighborhoods and constantly comparing the cost of my student housing to the cost of a mortgage). Try as I might, though, I couldn’t steer the conversation too far away from one subject: Football.

  “See, son, you should’ve considered doing the draft last year. I’m telling you,” Mr. Everett said, shaking his head.

  “Not as a quarterback, Dad,” Jacob said in a way that made me certain they’d had this discussion a million times before.

  “Why not as a quarterback?” I asked. Keeping myself in their conversation was exhausting.

  Jacob turned to me, looking relieved that I’d stepped in. “The quarterbacks that are successful in the NFL aren’t the ones who are fast or have the footwork or whatever. They’re the ones who are smart.”

  “They’re the ones who are there,” Mr. Everett said.

  “Walter,” Ms. Everett said testily, and rested her fingers on her husband’s arm.

  Jacob went on. “I want as much experience at the college level as I can get, so I’m not one of those punk kids who gets into the NFL and gets crushed by some four hundred pound defensive lineman.”

  “But plenty of people get that experience playing in the NFL. The year passes either way,” Mr. Everett said.

  “And once you’re in the NFL, every year that passes where you’re not stellar is a strike against you in a way it isn’t in college.”

  “But if you are stellar—“

  “Enough, boys, enough,” Ms. Everett said, sipping her cocktail and rolling her eyes. “Jacob, we just worry you missed an opportunity, especially now with this injury, is all. If this had happened while you were already in the pros, you’d be able to collect the rest of your contract. Now…”

  “Well, he will have a college degree though,” I pointed out. It was clearly the wrong thing to say; Jacob’s parents gave me a wary look.

  “Oh, honey. He will, and that’s fine, but you have to understand— Jacob just has so much potential. We hate to see it go to waste,” Ms. Everett said, pursing her lips a bit.

  “What’s your PT regimen like?” Mr. Everett said.

  “It’s intense,” Jacob admitted. This was absolutely true— I had seen him come back from PT looking like he’d been tortured for the hour-long appointments. Three times a week, with light training that couldn’t further injure his shoulder on off days. Jacob’s legs had gone from enormous to flatly insane, given the amount of legwork he was doing in the gym.

  Mr. Everett seemed pleased to hear the training was intense. “That boy Adams is hot on your tail, son. Get back out there, or this’ll all have been for nothing. Sitting on the sidelines is every bit as bad for you as an injury is.” He smiled a bit at me. “Forgive us, Sasha. He doesn’t ever tell us anything, you know. We have to hear it all from the news.”

  “That’s not true— he’s told us plenty about her,” Ms. Everett told her husband, motioning with her drink toward me.

  “How nice to hear,” I said, but I could tell from the firm line of Jacob’s mouth that wherever this conversation was headed wasn’t a desirable destination. This meant it was a huge relief when dinner arrived— Southern food gone high concept, like pimento cheese wontons and chicken fried in rendered duck fat. Jacob managed to steer the conversation to some surgery his grandmother was having, then to a talk about holiday plans.

  “Would Jenna like to join us in Vail this year?” Ms. Everett asked Jacob.

  Jacob answered in a calm, dangerous voice. “I can’t imagine why she would, Mom.”

  “Well, she’s such a good skier, is all,” Ms. Everett said, carefully placing her cutlery at an angle across the top of her plate. “How is she, these days?”

  “And how does pro soccer even work for women?” Mr. Everett cut in. “Is there a draft for them too? Or is it more like a sign up?”

  “You’d have to ask Jenna,” Jacob said.

  “Well, you never bring her around anymore,” Ms. Everett said, like Jacob was being ridiculous.

  “Probably because she isn’t my girlfriend. Sasha is,” Jacob said. I smiled— I didn’t mean to, exactly, but this was the first time Jacob had called me that. To have him say it to his parents was—

  “I’m just saying that you and Jenna had so much in common— we wish you’d given her more of a chance. No offense, of course, Sasha,” Ms. Everett said, nodding my way then waving her hand, like the action literally wafted away her offending words. “I’m so very pleased you’re making our Jacob happy. What can I say, though? Walter and I are creatures of habit. We miss Jenna!” she laughed cheerily, and elbowed Walter, who joined in.

  Jacob sat stone-faced; I, however, affixed a thin smile to my lips and refused to look away from Ms. Everett. I’d dealt with enough rich people to know that nothing, nothing threw a rich person off their game like refusing to laugh off their shitty jokes.

  Ms. Everett’s laughter faded when she saw my expression. She cleared her throat, then unfolded and refolded her napkin. Jacob glanced at me, looked like he was about to say something.

  “So, Sasha, you’ve really never played a sport? What do you and Jacob even talk about?” Mr. Everett joked.

  “The cultural ramifications of the Brexit vote in various Commonwealth countries,” I said sweetly, then smiled. “Would you excuse me for a moment? I need to dash to the restroom.”

  Mr. Everett’s lips were parted a bit, and I felt mildly certain if I kept going, his mouth would be quite literally hanging open. Instead, I collected my purse and made my way to the restroom.

  I walked quickly to the bathroom and locked myself inside— sorry, other patrons. I leaned against the carved wood door for a moment, inhaled the essential oils being diffused from a fancy antique table, and tried my hardest not to wish eternal pain and suffering on my boyfriend’s parents.

  Jacob told me they’d be difficult. He told me they were like this, I reminded myself. And besides, he clearly doesn’t agree with the stuff they’re saying. His opinion is the one that matters, right?

  I exhaled, opened my eyes, and stared at my reflection for a moment. It was dim in here, a forgiving sort of light perfect for first dates or finals calls. I studied my reflection, the dress— Jacob had offered to buy it for me, the hair— a blowout that Jacob had paid for, makeup— I’d used Piper’s expensive stuff while she was out, my body—wobbly in places where Jenna’s was fit and toned.

  Jacob’s pa
rents weren’t wrong— Jenna and Jacob had a lot in common. More in common. He and I were practically from different planets— our paths would never have even crossed had I not been assigned to be Piper and Kiersten’s roommate.

  I stared myself down in the mirror. I lifted my chin. But Jacob wants you, not her.

  So fuck them and their stupid opinions.

  “Sasha?” a voice called, and rapped gently on the door. “Honey? Are you in there?”

  “I am, Ms. Everett,” I called through the door. I pushed my shoulders back, gathered together my nerves and my confidence, and opened the door.

  Ms. Everett smiled. “Honey. Jacob worries we might have upset you. Are you alright?”

  “Perfectly,” I said coolly.

  “Oh, good, good— I suspected he was overthinking it. There’s nothing at all wrong with you darling, you know that, right?” Ms. Everett said, edging into the bathroom. The door swung shut behind her, and the mix of Ms. Everett’s perfume with those essential oils smelled deadly.

  “Oh, I know I have as many faults as anyone,” I said cheerfully. “Half the battle, though, is being aware that you’ve got them, isn’t it?”

  Ms. Everett lifted her eyebrows. “Of course! Right. And we aren’t saying we wish he were with Jenna instead of you, sweetheart. We just know Jenna better, that’s all. She’s someone who understands how focused Jacob needs to be, in order to really achieve his full potential.”

  I didn’t respond, but didn’t look down— didn’t even blink. It threw Ms. Everett off a bit; she rubbed her lips together, then seemed to have a sudden urge to freshen up her lipstick. She turned to the mirror and withdrew a gold tube, twisting it open as she went on. “We’re happy he’s enjoying his time in college, really, we are. We just want to make sure that nothing distracts him from his long term goals.”

  “Are you worried I might be distracting him, Ms. Everett?” I asked.

  She looked appalled at the suggestion. “Why, I wouldn’t know, honestly. But his reputation, and his skill, and his future…they’re quite a bit to handle, aren’t they? I can understand why it might be tempting to pull him away from all that, especially when an injury is keeping him from being his authentic self.”

  “You think I don’t know the real Jacob?” I asked.

  Ms. Everett applied the lipstick, then smiled at me in the mirror. “Well, honey, who can say? I suppose my point is just this: At some point, he’ll return to playing. When that happens, I hope you’ll let him return to the life he built for himself long before you entered the picture.”

  “Oh,” I said. “I understand.”

  “Good,” Ms. Everett said, smiling harder. “I think you really are a lovely girl, Sasha. But I become something of a mama bear with my boy!” She laughed.

  “Of course,” I said. I reached for the door. “But don’t worry about Jacob. He can protect himself from all sorts of bad influences.”

  Ms. Everett smiled again, but there was something cold in it. “Well. Good.”

  16

  “You know, Jacob, I’m beginning to think you’re brainwashing me,” I said that evening, staring out the window of Jacob’s apartment. The thud of bass from one of the other player’s rooms rattled everything on his bathroom counter, and I could see the spotlights of the various nightclubs swooping through the sky. It was dark in here though— Jacob felt the overhead lights caused him to sleep poorly, and they were rarely turned on, even if it meant leaving the room shrouded in shadow.

  “Why’s that?” Jacob asked from behind me He was leaning against the little kitchenette’s counter, watching me.

  “Because when I got to Harton, I didn’t give a damn about football, but now I’m looking at the stadium and it’s sort of…beautiful,” I said, motioning out the window. A handful of the stadium’s lights were on tonight so the flawlessly manicured grass could be tended to. The grounds crew walked back and forth across the field, each person a tiny speck in the stadium. Seeing so few people on the field made the space look overwhelmingly large, the huge walls of bleachers like green and gold mountainsides, the few lights turned on like suns on concrete horizons.

  Jacob walked toward the window and stood beside me, watching the grounds crew work. He was silent for a moment, then said, “Playing on it feels like that. I mean, there’s that huge crowd and everyone’s screaming and there’s all those fucking vuvuzelas that people bring, but you don’t really hear any of it when you’re on the field. It’s weirdly silent in-between plays, right before the snap, and then it’s just crashing. Helmets and people and pads and then a whistle blows and it goes quiet again.”

  “You really can’t hear any of the fans?” I asked.

  “Nah. They’re more like white noise,” Jacob said, still staring at the grounds crew. They were marking off the design that would be painted in the center of the field for the homecoming game that weekend; the Ram was slowly coming to life as they sprayed its outline in white.

  “What’s the point then?” I asked. I turned to Jacob, an eyebrow lifted. “All the screaming and face painting and whatnot? What’s the point?”

  Jacob laughed. “Have you never been to a football game?”

  I blinked.

  “Oh my god. You’ve never been to a football game. Ever?”

  “Our high school team lost all the time. No one went to their games,” I said.

  Jacob shook his head in disbelief. “Thank god you didn’t tell my parents that.”

  “Ha. Your parents had plenty against me anyhow,” I said quietly.

  Jacob gave a sympathetic smile. “Well, you’ll come to the Clemson game, right? When I’m back on the field? Or are you going to sell the tickets again?”

  I smiled. “I might. Playing hard to get worked out well for me last time.”

  “You weren’t playing anything. You just were hard to get,” Jacob said, and reached down, putting his arms around my waist. I felt small between his arms, small like the people in the stadium looked, and it felt equally as beautiful to be so.

  “Not anymore,” I said wryly. Jacob looked down at me, then reached for the hem of my dress. I lifted my arms over my head so he could lift it off me. He did so, then tossed it aside, holding my eyes hostage in his all the while. The stadium lights licked at my skin, illuminating my right side and leaving my left in shadow. There was something incredibly pleasing about being lit by the same lights that almost sixty thousand people would be cheering under soon.

  Jacob lowered his arms to his sides, stepped back to study me in my lingerie— I’d never valued matching sets so much before I met him.

  “You’re not hard to get anymore, no,” Jacob answered my earlier words. “But I still can’t get enough of you.”

  I licked my lips eagerly, then reached behind my back to unclasp my bra. I rolled my shoulders to shimmy it off, then tossed it aside. Jacob’s eyes glittered; he reached forward and took one of my breasts in his hands, squeezing it gently, running his thumb over my nipple. I shuddered at the feeling, my eyes drifting shut.

  Jacob let his hand wander down my waist, and he nudged me to turn around. He took hold of one ass cheek, gripping it so that his fingertips slid under the edge of my panties.

  “You’re making me hard, Sasha,” Jacob said accusingly. He stepped forward and put an arm in front of me for support, then spanked my bottom lightly in admonishment. I moaned at the tingling feeling where his hand had struck, at the way it felt like little lightning bolts flickering through my skin.

  Jacob made a pleased sound. He drew his hand back and for a moment, I thought— eagerly— he was going to spank me again. To my surprise, though, he swept me up and over his good shoulder, my legs dangling down across his chest, my head bouncing against the small of his broad back.

  “Jacob—“ I started breathlessly, but then his hand came down again on my ass, harder than before, but still careful, building up, testing— he was so strong, but he knew how to reign his strength in. I groaned.

  “Sasha, Sasha
, Sasha,” Jacob admonished. He reached up and tugged my panties down till my bare ass was revealed, then spanked me again, rubbing the spot where he’d struck this time.

  “I need you—” I started, unable to catch my breath. He moved his hand down a little, let his fingertips graze my pussy lips. I twisted, trying to push his fingers in deeper, but there was so little I could do turned over his shoulder like this.

  “Calm down, calm down,” Jacob said. He walked to the bed and, just before sitting me down on the bed, slapped my ass again. Once he was on the mattress, he rolled me off his shoulder. I felt winded already, while Jacob looked confident— as per usual. I went still, eager to hear a command, eager for him to tell me how he’d take me this evening. He always had a plan, and his certainty was every bit as alluring as his body.

  “You’ll let me fuck you however I want to, won’t you?” Jacob asked, corners of his mouth curving up a bit.

  “Yes. Absolutely,” I said. Each time I said this, it made me more nervously excited— because he’d already done so much to me, with me, for me, in me— which meant there had to be so much more that I simply didn’t even know to fantasize about.

  Jacob rose and took his clothes off, letting his erect cock spring from his pants; I licked my lips and leaned forward. Jacob obligingly guided it toward my mouth as he finished removing my shirt.

  “You’re getting good at this,” Jacob said, voice guttural. He took a step forward, pushing more of his cock into my mouth. “Massage me with your tongue. Press hard, right along my shaft,” he instructed.

  I did so, and felt his cock twitch with pleasure between my lips. Jacob looked down at me and smiled; he enjoyed me for a few more moments, then pulled away from me and sat down on the edge of the bed.

  “Come over here,” he said, and I crawled toward him. He tilted my chin up toward him. “You’re going to sit on my cock, Sasha. Would you like that?”

  “Very much,” I said anxiously.

  Jacob gave me a daring look. “You’re going to wrap your legs around me, and this position— I’ll go deep in you. Deeper than I have before. But I think you can take it, now.”