And…did I just bounce my tits a little bit for him?
No, I couldn’t have.
Just like I didn’t just openly lick my lips.
“Right, that’s what he said to me, too,” I say, trying to draw attention away from what my body is doing outside of my control almost. “I wonder what’s going on?”
“I haven’t heard from Daniel in months. I was kind of surprised that he contacted me,” Colt shrugs.
“Months?” I ask Colt, realizing that it’s been a while since we’ve caught up. "I thought you came home regularly”.
Personally, I’ve been avoiding coming back here because the memories are too painful. The last time I was here Mom was walking out the door, saying that we shouldn’t bother looking for her. She said it so casually, like someone says they're going to the grocery store. Like it's the most natural thing in the world. I mean, can you imagine?
The memories always come flooding back to me when I come here—to this house. Mom, with a faded, brown leather purse slung over her thin shoulder, a purse I always envied on her. It was a tooled leather purse she once picked up in Mexico with roses carved into it. I imagined her finding it in an open-air flea market. For some reason, my memories of my mother begin and end with that purse.
I don’t know why, but my brain doesn’t seem to process the dark times. Finding Mom passed out in the bathroom. Listening to a lawyer sit down and explain to me that Daniel along with the State of California was freezing Mom’s access to her trust money because she was violating the terms set up by her parents. Hearing Mom yell and scream as she came off her highs and battled withdrawal when she craved a fix. She would yell at Daniel, telling him that he was stealing her money from her.
I remember hiding in the closet as Mom would go off on a tangent.
And then after every episode, it wasn’t Mom that would come check on me.
Daniel would find me in my closet.
“You okay, Karen?” he’d ask stiffly, not used to being around little girls.
I remember nodding my head. And even at that young age wondering how such a great guy never had any kids of his own.
But when I'm not in this house, I don't think about her much anymore. It’s as if she’s out of sight, out of mind; then the moment I step through the door I relive those painful moments all over again. The way she walked out on me—on us.
The day she left, Mom looked as if she was on the road to nowhere. She had lost so much weight and to make matters worse, she kept asking me for money. She even got in the habit of stealing my allowance money. When confronted, she'd swear up and down that it wasn't her. That she loved me and would never do such a thing, but deep down, I always knew it was her. That’s when Daniel made Colt and I sign a Power of Attorney in our names, just so that she couldn't waste our family’s money on drugs. The State of California enforced it and thus gave Mom no more reason to stay at home.
I turn to face Colt, and he’s staring at me. I can feel him undressing me with his eyes, and there's a hunger in his gaze that makes my heart kick hard inside of my chest. I should move and remind him that I’m his stepsister and he shouldn’t be looking at me like that. But I can’t help but enjoy seeing his eyes on me. I can feel my entire body share in his hunger, and before I realize it, I'm fucking wet … and not from the pool.
“Why do you keep looking at me like that?” I purr as I start to flirt with him. I'm surprised that I'm being so forward with Colt. Maybe it’s because of Zach's rejection or something, but I love Colt’s attention. And now I'm feeling brave.
He turns on his side to face me, “Because you’re looking so fucking hot these days. It seems that Harvard agrees with you.” As he turns, I can't help but look at the tent in his Superman boxers. I swear, he must be packing a 12-inch cock. I wonder what the story is behind his underwear … I figure there must be one, but I don't want to ask.
But his boxers are just the beginning. He has a Southern California tan that extends evenly across his body and shines golden in the sun, which compliments his sandy blonde hair. With his arms outstretched behind his head, I have a perfect view of his chiseled chest—those pecs, and those perfect 8 squares of muscle rippling down to the sharp V of his groin. I can almost imagine my fingers exploring those ridges.