Chapter 1-1
2274 Words
Chapter 1
Zoey
My fingers massage the back of my neck as I look over my notes from the last semester. It feels like I’m trying to read another language. There’s nothing I understand right now on the page right now. I know it’s a mental block because I’ve been kicking a*s all semester. Nothing but straight A’s in my monthly tests. I didn’t earn my title of teacher’s pet while slacking off, I can tell you that much.
So why is it so hard to focus right now?
Maybe I’m just tired. Doing a double major is no joke. Traveling from California to Miami during the post-Thanksgiving rush left me exhausted enough to want to sleep for days. There’s no dropping the ball, though. Final exams start a week from now.
Mom won’t accept the excuse that I’m tired and I know Aaron, her husband, won’t either. So I need to buckle up. Focus. Get the information to connect in my brain. But all I can do is stare at my notes until the words squirm on the page. I rub my eyes and sit back in the chair around the kitchen the table, which is the only quiet place in the house right now. Mom has been going crazy all day, cleaning up a storm. You would think the Queen of England is on her way to visit the way she’s been going on.
There’s a sudden crashing sound in the living room and turn around to look. Mom’s trying to lift the living room couch and accidentally knocks over the vase on the side table. Thankfully it’s metal, so it doesn’t break. Looking closer, I notice the stress lines on her face and the sweat the plasters strips of dark hair to her forehead. I feel a little guilty since I promised her this morning I’d help out. But I’m still trying to understand why she’s breaking her back when she can afford to hire an entire cleaning team. Aaron’s loaded, after all.
“Zoey, can you give those books a break and give me a hand, please. Your brother will be here any time,” Mom calls.
I groan and ease off the couch, making my way towards her. “Stepbrother, Mom. Don’t get it twisted.”
She shoots me an impatient look but says nothing. I’d like to think it’s because she knows I’m right. It’s an important distinction where Aaron’s son, Asher is concerned. Especially considering what a d**k he’s been to me. I know I’m supposed to get along with him, but he has this condescending way of speaking to me that makes me want to punch his lights out. But I wouldn’t. My dark thoughts will remain right where they are—in my head. Instead, I’ll play the perfect, smiling stepsister role until we part ways. Hopefully, another two years will pass before I see him again.
Sighing, I straighten the throw towel on the couch and take the vacuum my mom hands me.
I wish Asher and I got along. Being an only child living with a single parent, I was so excited when Mom and Aaron got married and we moved to his elaborate mansion. I always wanted a big brother, someone to protect me, and Asher and his bulky shoulders fit the bill to the T. At least, that’s what I thought, until he started treating me like s**t. Tripping me down the stairs, pulling my hair in passing, pushing me around...
It was t*****e. And I never had the guts to tell our parents what was going on. I didn’t want to cause tension between Mom and Aaron, or worse, have them break up because Asher was an asshole to me. Mom had been single for years, ever since Dad walked out on us. She deserved happiness, and Aaron seemed like Mr. Right, too.
So, I bore it. I hoped Asher would change. But he just transformed into an older version of the dickhead he’s always been. There’s no more holding my head under the pool water or locking me in the closet; instead, he spends his time criticizing me. My clothes, my hair, my intellect, nothings off-limits to him. I was so relieved when he took a job in New York after college, and I was even more happy when high school ended, and I left for Stanford at the end of summer. Now I all have to do is survive the holidays with him around, at least until he starts a family of his own. Which probably won’t be anytime soon, consider how whorish he is.
God, I’m really not looking forward to this holiday weekend. I’m hoping by some miracle, there will be some other distraction for him to leave me alone. But I won’t get my hopes up. A weary sigh escapes as I vacuum the already spotless floor.
The night has already fallen when Mom comes down the stairs again, her hair no longer disheveled but in a simple ponytail. She’s wearing a flowy, yellow dress that sweeps her ankles and cute diamond earrings in her ears. I shake my head. She’s in her element, playing the perfect housewife role. That’s her thing and I’m glad for her, but that could never be me. I will never allow a man to be the center of my world like that.
Do I want to get married? Of course, I do. Someday far away from now. But I don’t see myself being domesticated at all. I want to be my husband’s equal in every way. Which is why I’m busting my a*s for a natural sciences career.
Don’t get me wrong. I don’t hold anything against my mom for choosing her path. Before Aaron, she worked two jobs so we could eat and have heat and water. She deserves to do whatever she wants with her life.
I watch her coming down the stairs, her dress floating like a cloud around her ankles. She makes a surprised gasp when she spots me with the vacuum in my hand. “Oh, honey. I thought you had already gotten ready.”
I look down at my leggings and crop top and shrug. “I don’t need to get ready. It’s just Asher.”
“Please, Zoey, make an-” Asher’s truck horn suddenly beeps in the driveway, cutting into our conversation, and she rubs her forehead with a loud sigh. “It’s fine.” She moves towards the front door and I brush my hand over my hair a little. But it’s still disheveled like crazy. I don’t f*****g care.
Aaron, his polo and slacks impeccable, comes from the den and beats Mom to the door. Asher walks in with his wide and cocky smile, his suit perfectly tailored to his body, and his hair neatly combed as usual. I don’t need to look close to know there’s not a single lint attached to his outfit. I suspect he carries a lint remover wherever he goes.
I roll my eyes as he sweeps Mom into a hug, lifting and spinning her. She squeals, and the blush on her face tells me she likes the attention. He sets her down and hugs his dad, patting him on the back.
“Hey Dad. I brought a friend,” he says, glancing behind him at the empty doorway. A part of me hopes he’s actually going insane. The perfect karma for how he treated me. Frowning, he walks to the front door and looks outside, then he makes a gesture to his imaginary friend. I chuckle to myself, imagining the look on Mom and Aaron’s face if no one follows him inside.
But the joke is on me. The smile dies on my lips when a guy enters behind him.
Holy, moly, sweet heavens.
My eyes widen a little, and I instinctively wet my lips. I finger the hem of my top, wishing it was long enough to hide the hole in my leggings. There’s a s*x God standing in our foyer, the bad boy of every movie my best friend Tiffany made me watch. His messy, short, dark hair sweeps his face, but not enough to hide the piercing green eyes that assesses the entire room. He looks bored, like he could give two f***s about being here.
His presence unsettles me a little, but not enough to erase my curiosity. Physically, he’s the total opposite of Asher. It’s like night and day staring at them side by side. He doesn’t look like the white collar nerds that Asher hangs out with and posts on his i********: page. Who is he, and why is he here?
His hand grazes the tattoo on his neck before his palms the back of his head. I flinch a little when his eyes spear mine before scanning my body. I feel dirty, unattractive. I definitely should have changed.
Asher pats his back again. “Guys, this is my best buddy Sawyer Thompson.”
Best buddy? So, on top of being a complete jerk, Asher’s a liar, too. There’s no way they are friends. It amps up my curiosity even more.
“Sawyer, these are my folks. Mom, Dad, and...” He hesitates before gesturing to me. “My sister, Zoey.”
My brows shoot up at Asher. Oh, now we’re related? Since when am I his sister? He never addressed me like that before.
Again, Sawyer’ eyes skim over me and he licks across his bottom lip before addressing the older folks. “Thanks for having me, Mr. and Mrs. Riley. You have a nice home.”
Even his voice is hot. And he so sounds so polite. Totally unexpected.
“It’s lovely to meet you, Sawyer. And call me Elise, please. Zoey, come say hi.” Mom puts her hands on my shoulders and pushes me forward a little. I just want to sink into the floor.
Mom nudges me and I notice Sawyer’s hand extended towards me. I hesitate for a little too long, it seems, because he withdraws before I lift my own. A slight displeasure crosses his face before he forces a smile at my mom.
“Zoey you look.... dressed. Well, barely,” Asher says, looking me over. but instead of the expected smirk he seems a little uncomfortable.
And you are still a f*****g douchebag. I shrug. “We can’t all look like we just stepped from the cover of a magazine, can we?”
“You’re not even on the last page, Zoey. Which shouldn’t surprise me. Considering—”
“Okay, Asher. Don’t start. Please,” Aaron says, and I look at him in surprise. Well, this is new. I can’t recall him ever defending me like this.
“Zo-Zo knows I’m just messing around. Right, little sis?” he gives me a bright smile and I suppress to urge to flip my middle finger at him. Instead, I summon the fakest smile I can muster.
“Right.”
“So, how was the trip, boys?” Mom asks. “I imagine you must be tired and hungry. Driving all the way from New York is the craziest thing you could have done.”
“It was hell,” Asher replies. “Traffic was a bi— crazy.”
Sawyer just nods once. “Well, I could eat.”
“We’ll have dinner soon,” my mom promises, then she whispers to me. “Go get cleaned up, honey.”
I rush upstairs as at once to take a shower, only to find there’s no hot water in my attached bathroom. I make a mental note to let Aaron know, then I gather my things to use the bathroom down the hall. I don’t know why I’m thinking about our visitor as I wash myself. I blush a little when my fingers graze the flesh between my thighs, and I imagine his fingers instead. He’s doing more than touching me, though. His fingers are inside me, gently stroking—
No.
Hell no. I’m not doing this. I don’t even know the guy, for God’s sake. And it feels so wrong trying to masturbate when my family’s downstairs waiting for me to join them.
I rinse off the soap, then dry with a towel. It’s not unusual to experience sudden bursts of arousal that makes me want to finger myself. m**********n has been an addiction since my early teens when I discovered the pleasure button between my thighs. But this feeling... it’s a little more intense this time. Like I want more than my fingers inside me.
Crazy.
I hear footsteps on the stairs as I head to my room. I make a mad dash towards the door, but Sawyer appears on the landing before I get to it. He makes an abrupt stop when he sees me, and a look crosses his face that I can’t read, then it disappears as quickly as it came. I hold on tighter to my towel and it feels like I’m rooted to the spot as he approaches. He looks down at me, then hands me the notebook I didn’t notice until now.
“You left this on the couch. I... volunteered to take it to you.”
Something in his tone tells me he didn’t really volunteer, that no one knows he’s up here. It gives me a thrill, especially when his eyes lock onto my cleavage.
“How did you even know it was mine, anyway? I could have been anyone’s.”
He gives me a patient stare, then slowly points to my name at the top of the cover.
- Writer
