Turning my head, I lock eyes with Steve MacCarty. He looks like he's seen something that’s taken him by surprise. Something he never expected. Well, fuck him too, if he thinks I'd be just another estrogen life form who he can just strip bare naked, push against the wall, and do with as he pleases. Because that is exactly the kind of woman he's made me into, and I hate it almost as much as the knowledge that he knows it too, so I flip him the finger as discreetly as my anger allows and mouth Fuck you, too! I almost curse out loud when he flashes his perfect smile at me in response, chest rising and eyes shining, heat exploding again in my belly as fantasies corrupt my anger.
"Looks like you'll be best friends," my new friend says, holding a fresh drink in each hand. Screw this. I'm out of here. Smiling, I take out my phone and mumble something about needing to take a call, not expecting or caring to be believed. My legs already moving of their own accord.
Without warning he throws me onto my back on the bed and an excited shriek penetrates the air. Looking up, I see my naked self in the mirror on the ceiling, legs spread wide. Red high heels are the only thing left of what I wore not much earlier. Biting my lower lip, trying not to think about what is happening, I watch him kneel between my legs.
"Urgh," I grunt the moment his lips kiss my throbbing clit; it is all I can do not to reach down and press him against my most intimate part. His tongue slithers over the folds of my private lips and my breathing grows deeper with each passing second. Squirming, tears spill over as his lips take my clit prisoner. Sucking me in deep, I close my eyes, pleasure building to insane levels.
Enjoying my slushie and the afternoon sun, I try to think about Mark. He’s a handsome guy, but not too handsome, like Steve MacCarty. That's his problem, I've concluded. There really is something that’s too perfect for a guy, and that is basic biology. How is a woman supposed to feel when she is with a man like him? Aman who makes any woman feel so ordinary?
"I bet they’re grateful the moment he dumps them," I say, eyes closed and interrupting Cathy. As usual, she is talking about my stepbrother to be, the one who I've been avoiding like the plague ever since that first disastrous meeting.
"Grateful for the divine moments of bliss they had in his presence, you mean?" Cathy says. The way she talks about him, we are dealing with a half-God here, not a mere mortal.
Grateful they don't have to compete with stares and lose, I think, but don't say. "Quite frankly, the man's a bore," I say with practiced nonchalance. "Probably gay, too." Cathy nearly chokes on her long drink. Slapping her on her back—there, there—as she coughs her lungs out, I wonder if it is her or me. Better yet, me or what seems like every other woman on the planet. They all adore the ground he walks on. Can I really be the only one who sees him for the arrogant fuck he really is?
"Best and worst joke ever," Cathy says. Taking a deep breath, she wipes the tears from her amber eyes, which seem liquid in the light of the sun that blazes over the high-rises like they are a mountain range. Finding her eyes, I ask her what makes her think I was joking. I’m dead serious. For a moment I can see her wonder if I'm crazy, or if maybe I'm in on some inside knowledge she isn't, before she decides I'm pulling her leg. We burst out laughing at the same time. It feels good.
Truth be told, I haven't forgotten about the effect he has on me, and I dread the upcoming wedding. That'll be torture. That is what made me think of Mark, not perfect like my stepbrother-to-be, but handsome in a non-threatening way. Best yet, there isn't a cell in my body that capsizes just at the sight of him. I could use a shield like that. Badly.
"Maybe I should test that rumor," Cathy says, stretching her hands high above her thick mess of curls. Breathing in deep, her breasts inflate and look like they are about to win the fight her pink tank top is battling, desperately trying to keep them contained.
"You're about to expose yourself," I say, looking away at the passers-by, from behind a pair of Ray Ban glasses, for a sign of the paparazzi. Being my mother's daughter, it is hard to avoid the limelight. Plenty of people have seen my face, but I've managed to keep a relatively low profile. And if your life is as boring as mine, even the paparazzi lose interest, although never entirely. I expect that will change right before and after the wedding.
I mean, for all the boredom I represent to those who thrive on sensation, I did inherit my mother's looks and it's a safe bet they'll speculate what might be happening between me and Steve MacCarty. Exactly what has been on my own mind ever since we first met.But only when I'm alone in bed and with a sense of security that comes with the dark. Still, even the darkness of night feels bright enough to fear the world might see what I'm thinking, and doing. Just harmless fun, I tell myself, but still I end up feeling guilty and weak and dirty.
"Wouldn't mind exposing myself to him," Cathy says, her voice hoarse. NeitherwouldI, the heat that controls my belly tells me. Leaning over, I look hard at a total stranger, only to distract Cathy.
"Is that…?" I say, willing my biology to cut the crap.
"Too proud to admit it, eh?" Cathy says, crossing her slender well-tanned legs, one Gucci shoe dangling from her foot as she casually swings it back and forth, too smart to fall for my tactics. Even as I snap my head to face her, I know that's a mistake. Play it cool. Pretend. No one must no. No one.
"What?" I choke and my heart sinks. I might as well fess up right now. Instead of it sounding like a challenge, I sound like a guilty person. Like a trafficker caught red handed and trying to bluff her way out of it. Cathy curls the corners of her lips to reveals her white teeth. Shit. My jaw drops when she asks me what my game plan is. "You are utterly shameless," is the best I can come up with, blushing a deep red.
Notice how I didn't say, "You are delusional," or simply gave her a look of startled surprise? I gave her deflection instead, so I don't have to face the pathetic truth that tells me I'm not the exception when it comes to my stepbrother to be. Oh no, I'm the damn rule, and I've confirmed it plenty of times late at night in my own bed with my favorite toy, thinking of him and trying to pretend that I wasn't. "Seriously, I have no idea what all those women see in him," I lie, more blood finding its way to my cheeks.
"Would you like something else to drink?" a slim waitress I didn’t notice approaching asks.
"We're good," I say, but Cathy is quick to correct me. Two of the same.
"I have to go soon," I protest, but the waitress has already decided she'll take the win and ignore me. Great.
"Club him over the head and drag him to your room?" Cathy asks, unperturbe
d. I wish, my body tells me. "Or some old-fashioned seduction? How about—"
"How about you keep your wet fantasies to yourself?" I say, sharper than intended, guilt hitting me in the chest. Why can't life be easy for once, like a mellow afternoon breeze on what was supposed to be a perfect day? "Sorry."
"Me too, girlfriend," Cathy says after studying me with narrowed eyes for what feels like forever. "Didn't know you had it this bad."
"Fine," I say exasperated, "he is not without charm."There. I said it. Are you happy now?" The couple at the table next to Cathy turn and look at the woman next to them, roaring with peals of laughter. "I don't see what is so funny about any of this," I say, all Grumpy Cat, arms folded across my chest.
"He is not without charm," Cathy mimics, with a funny face, in what I guess must be my voice, only it sounds like a line a woman would throw out to hide the truth—like I am. My epic eye-roll behind my shades totally passes Cathy by.
"You’re so funny, you should join the circus." That only has her laughing some more. "Glad I can be such a great source of amusement," I say sourly. Clearly the world is against me today.
"Hey, lighten up, will you?" Cathy says between laughter. "I don't understand what the big deal is here." I could point out that that besides the guy being an obvious total douche who uses women—uses what is between their legs, to be more exact—like disposable goods, and that he's going to be my stepbrother. I don't. Like a modern day sphinx, I stare straight ahead at strangers and traffic.
"Well, if you don't want him, I will."
"Good luck."
"With your help, of course."
"Naturally."
"You invite him over, but instead of you, I'll be waiting in your bed in my birthday suit," Cathy sighs, and it is all I can do not to sigh too at the thought of doing just that myself.
"Sure."
"You can join in, if you want?" Cathy grins, and I'm eye-rolling, amused despite my intent to stay loyal to my Grumpy Cat mode.