I've always wanted him. He's always hated me.
I shouldn't want him.
I shouldn't.
But every time I look at him logic dies and my body yearns for his touch.
Will he ever think of me the same way? I doubt it. His indifferent gaze says as much.
I'll be spending my summer vacation trip with him.
I'm sure I can ignore these feelings.
Because I shouldn't want him.
I shouldn't.
After all, he's my stepbrother.
He's forbidden.
1: Alyssa
"Fuck, he's hot."
I looked at Cassie and then followed the direction of her gaze.
My stepbrother was perched on his station again. In his days off from work, he liked to be the volunteer lifeguard. He was shirtless and drinking from a water bottle. Cassie stared at him, entranced.
I rolled my eyes. "I can't believe you."
"Duh, Lyss. She's the horniest slut we know," said Melanie as she texted on her cellphone. Judging from the angry way her fingers hit the screen, she was in a heated argument with her boyfriend, Jared, as usual. Melanie relished drama in all her relationships and had stated more than once that a relationship without fights bored her. "But Cassie's right. Logan's become totally fuckable. Not to mention, rich."
"Right?" agreed Cassie, still watching Logan. "I just wanna sit on his face. Or his cock."
"Ew, you guys," I said in the best disgusted tone I could muster, shifting uncomfortably in my seat. "He's my stepbrother. Quit it."
I had to lay it on strong because if they knew that I agreed with them, God knew what they'd think of me. After all, only freaks lusted after their own family. So what if we weren't blood related? The fact is, he was the boy I'd grown up with. His dad married my mom when I was ten and him thirteen. We'd shared the same house for over five years before he'd finally moved out when he started college. And though we'd never got along for a good portion of those years, he was still family.
Regardless, rationalizations never seemed to quell the quiet yearning whenever I was near him. Somewhere along my adolescent years, Logan had grown from scrawny nerd to muscular stud. And though he had retained the uncanny ability to annoy me the moment he opened his stupid mouth, that did not stop me from privately imagining him doing things to me that no brother ought to do to his sister.
Stepbrother. Stepsister.
But in the eyes of everyone else, that differentiation wouldn't matter. He was my stepbrother. He was forbidden.
Cassie got up from her folding chair and adjusted the top of her bright yellow bikini so more of her cleavage was on display.
"I can't stand it anymore," she said. "I'm going in." Then she turned to me with a pleading look. "You don't mind, right, babe?"
I gave her an exasperated look in return. "Cassie, think. Don't you remember how much of a douche Logan's been to you? To all of us?"
She squirmed. "I can't help it that I like the bad ones!"
"Oh, jeez," said Melanie, shaking her head even as she continued to text.
"Besides, maybe he's changed," Cassie continued in hopeful tones.
"No, he hasn't," I said. "He may look different but he's still the same dick that told Jimmy Falhorn you had herpes."
Cassie flapped her hand, clearly brushing my words of advice away.
"Whatever," she said, pushing her boobs together one more time, "That's, like, forever ago. We're all adults now. So can I please have your blessing to fuck your hot, loaded stepbrother?"
Envy and irritation filled me, but I masked it with a sigh.
"Fine, do what you want."
At home, I folded my arms across my chest and glared at the microwave reheating a pizza slice as I remembered the chummy back and forth between Cassie and Logan earlier this afternoon. All my warnings had been for naught. The moment Cassie had strutted her shapely, tanned body over to meet Logan, he'd climbed down off of his perch and they'd struck up friendly conversation like they were chums all the days of their lives. Though I'd struggled to appear as if it didn't affect me, I'd occasionally glance in their way, and my mood darkened further when I heard Cassie's high, flirty laughter and noticed Logan's smile directed at her ample chest.
How could Cassie be interested in a mean jerk like Logan? And how could Logan want a superficial slut like Cassie? Guilt that I judged my friend so harshly, jealousy that she could openly show her interest in Logan, and frustration that I could not do the same churned like hot acid in my stomach. When I finally sat down to eat my pizza slice, I barely nibbled on the crust.
"Well, if you're not gonna eat that, don't mind if I do," came Logan's voice from behind me as he leant over my chair to filch my pizza slice from my plate.
"Hey!" I cried in outrage. "That's mine!"
But he'd already taken a fat bite out of the pizza slice and propelled away from my angry slaps against his forearms.
"Aw, too slow, kid," he said as he stuffed the rest of it into his mouth.
I was on my feet, glaring at him. "You pig!"
"Oh, ouch." He rolled his eyes as he headed for the fridge to grab a carton of orange juice. After pouring himself a glass, he turned to survey me.
"You could have got your own," I continued, unnerved by his direct gaze. Despite his unpleasantness, Logan was too smart for his own good. It was how he'd acquired his wealth at the incredibly young age of twenty-three two years ago when he'd sold the car-safety improvement software he'd created. A part of me feared that if he stared at me long enough he'd discover the dirty feelings I harboured for him.
"It is my own," he said. "Need I remind you that this," the orange juice sloshed around in the glass as he expanded his arm outward to encompass the kitchen with all of its modern appliances and shiny surfaces, "is my house?"
I scowled. "Fuck you, Logan. I don't have to stay here, you know."
He snorted then gulped down the juice. Settling the glass in the sink, he said, "Truth be told, I'd rather you not. Especially with that filthy mouth." He headed past me to leave the kitchen. "Later."
2: Logan
I don't know why I behaved like an ass whenever I was around her.
Actually, I did know, but I wasn't going to say it out loud. Better to deny, deny, deny until you believed the lie because the truth was way worse to accept.
I mean, who the hell lusts after their sister? Only sick bastards, that's for sure. And, yeah, even if I wanted to get down to the particulars that she was actually my stepsister—like emphasizing 'step' made a difference—that still didn't chang
e the fact that what I felt for her was more than brotherly love wasn't the most disgusting shit anybody had ever heard.
Not like anyone would hear it, anyway. Like I said earlier, no admissions meant whatever feelings or thoughts I harboured for Alyssa did not and could not and should not exist.
I stared at my laptop screen grumpily, my eyes scanning the lines of code but not actually registering their meaning. I was working on a security patch for my prized piece of software that had garnered my riches, but my mind was caught up in the whys and the unfairness of the world. My world, really.
Why did she have to stay with me? Why didn't she stay with one of her friends for their summer vacation trip? Why the hell was she so beautiful? Whenever she was near and I was sure I'd succumb to weakness and pull her against me, I had to force myself to remember the 10-year-old Alyssa to put me back on track. The skinny, flat-chested little girl with a chestnut coloured bird's nest for hair. I had to remind myself of the instant dislike I had for her the first moment her big hazel eyes met mine. I had to return to that initial period of misdirected resentment towards her when my father had made it clear that he'd finally gotten over my mom by dating hers.
I just don't know how it got to this. One moment I hated Alyssa's guts and found her quiet but obvious need for my approval irritating, and the next moment she had breasts and fantastic legs and her hair looked 'curly' and not as though electricity had zapped her multiple times. My friends commented on her transformation from semi-pretty duckling to hot swan and I pretended I hadn't noticed because she was my fucking stepsister. Then college came along and I ran for it without looking back. Out of sight, out of mind, I thought.
Yeah, well, that didn't work out at all.