Read Hard Tackle (A Stepbrother Warriors Novel) Online
Authors: Celia Loren
I stop at the top of the stairs and glance down the hall
toward the stairwell up to the third floor and Jack's room. We've been avoiding
each other for a couple days, and I don't think he's even home now. I walk
slowly down the steps into the foyer so that my heels don't click too loudly on
the marble. My mom hears me coming down anyway, and emerges from the living
room.
"You look great," she says with a grin. "And
heels! Very nice."
"Thanks," I say, glancing outside to see if
Miles's car is there. "Does he have to come in?"
My mom pauses for a moment, considering. "I met him at
the diner, so I guess not. And you are eighteen now," she adds, brushing a
strand of my hair back over my shoulder. "Just take it slow, OK? But still
have fun," she adds. "But not too much fun. But know that there's
nothing wrong with a woman in the twenty-first century—"
"Mom," I groan, laying my hands on her shoulders.
"Don't worry about me."
"That will never happen, but it's a nice idea." We
both look toward the driveway as lights sweep across the portico. I give her a
quick hug and place my hand on the doorknob, but my mom stops me. "Never
hurts to make him wait a minute. Don't want to look too eager," she
suggests with a wink.
"Oh yeah? What other tricks you got?"
"So many…you don't even know," she says with a
mischievous grin.
"You know, I'm not sure I want to," I reply, eyes
widening. She only giggles in reply before glancing at her watch and then out
at Miles.
"OK, that should be enough time," she says,
opening the door. My heartbeat skips as I see Miles in his old Jeep, but I walk
slowly toward the car. He leans over and pushes open the door for me, and I hop
in.
"Hey, I was just going to call you," he says.
"I hope you weren't waiting long," I reply.
"No, no. You sure you're OK with going to this gallery
thing?" he asks as he steers the car around the circular driveway.
"Yeah, sounds fun," I reply. He's taking me to the
opening of his boss's new show at some hip place in South Tampa. I smell cigarette
smoke in the car, but it quickly dissipates through the slightly open windows
as we circle around the bay.
"That's some house you've got," he comments.
"Oh, it's not really mine. It's my mom's boyfriend's.
Or fiancé, rather."
"And he's some football player?"
I smile, appreciating his innocence. It's nice to be around
someone who doesn't know anything about the game. "No, his son is the
football player. But he lives there, too."
"Oh? How's that going?"
A ream of thoughts scrolls through my head. "Um, he
pushed me in a pool once," I finally offer.
"Fuck! What a jerk," he replies, shaking his head.
"No, it was—yeah," I stammer, not wanting to
agree, but also not wanting to explain the strange intricacies of our
relationship. I glance over at Miles and see a dark lock of hair has fallen
across his forehead and is sitting just next to his eye. I resist my impulse to
brush it away.
"So what are Julian's photographs like?" I ask,
shifting my gaze to watch the taillights in front of us.
"I want you to see them first, without knowing anything
about them," he says with a secretive smile.
"OK…"
"What are you writing lately?"
"I'm not sure yet…I mean, I'm working on something, but
I'm not sure quite what to make of it. It's a novel."
"Well, there's a start."
We pull up to a line of cars and I spot a throng of
photographers up ahead. "Is this where we're going?"
"Yeah. Julian's stuff always draws a crowd." I
nervously adjust my white cotton shirt, wishing I were a bit more dressed up.
Julian's just got on a t-shirt, too, but he looks purposefully dressed-down,
like he just couldn't be bothered. He has a level of coolness that I think
people just have to be born with, and I certainly wasn't.
As we reach the front of the line, Miles opens his door
without turning off the car. I follow suit, and a valet hops in. I guess nobody
parks their own car anymore.
To my surprise, some of the photographers turn toward us and
begin snapping photos, perhaps mistaking Miles for an off-duty movie star. He
hangs a relaxed arm around my shoulders and I smile awkwardly. Thankfully, we
don't stand there long, and soon he takes my hand and leads me into the
gallery.
He grabs two champagne flutes from a tray as we walk in and
hands me one. I nervously sip it as I look around. The photographs are huge,
each one taking up several square feet on the white walls. There's a burst of
excitement from the photographers behind us, and Miles starts toward a
photograph on the wall nearest to us.
"I helped with some of these prints," he explains,
gesturing toward the colorful work in front of us.
"Is it just one photograph?" I ask, leaning
forward to look for seams.
"It's a photograph of many photographs," he says
proudly. "And each of those photographs is of a piece of art."
"Julian's art?"
"No, no, other people's."
"Oh," I say, feeling stupid. I hear the crowd
around us bring to murmur, and look around to see what's causing the fervor.
"No fucking way," I grumble as I spot the one and only Jack Stratton
walking in with a model on his arm. No wonder the photographers went crazy.
"What is it?" Miles asks, following my gaze until
he lands on Jack. "He looks familiar."
"He's my future stepbrother, the football star," I
explain. "You saw him once at the diner."
"Right," he says, nodding.
"I think you're the only person in Florida who doesn't
know who he is."
"I don't really follow sports," he replies with a
shrug.
"I'm glad to hear it," I say with a smile. "I
try not to, but they seem to follow me." I look back at Jack and wince as
he catches my eye. He turns toward his model friend and guides her by the elbow
over to us as she reaches in vain for a passing tray of champagne.
"What are you doing here?" he asks as he nears.
"I could ask you the same question," I reply.
"I'm on a date. This is Miles Felden," I say.
"Hey, man," Miles says, extending his hand. They
shake and I raise my eyebrows at Jack.
"Did they lift your house arrest?"
"It's an art gallery," he says, his jaw twitching.
"I don't think I'm in any danger of overdoing it."
Shit. I really shouldn't be teasing him after giving him
such a hard time the other night. "Miles works for the artist," I
offer, by way of changing the subject.
"Is this his stuff?" the girl next to Jack asks
pointlessly, nodding toward the photograph.
"Yes," Miles confirms, and goes onto explain how
Julian put it together.
"So it's not an original," Jack says after a long
pause.
"The photograph is original," Miles explains. Jack
leans toward the small card next to the photograph with the price of the work
on it.
"I don't see the credit for the pieces in the
photograph," he notes. "And they appear to be by lesser known artists
who probably would have appreciated the exposure."
"Julian thought that would take away from his
commentary on aggregation. Also the way he chose to put the photographs
together forms a lot of what's important—"
"Where's the bathroom?" Jack's date asks him in a
stage whisper.
"Back there, to the right," Miles says, nodding
toward the rear corner of the space. The model teeters off and Miles looks
across the room. "Excuse me, I just want to let Julian know I'm
here."
"So, you're not an art fan," I say to Jack as
Miles walks away. He moves to the next photograph, studying it quietly.
"Actually, I am. My penthouse is decorated with works
by Florida artists, much of it modern. I just think sometimes people are too
scared of looking stupid that they're afraid to admit they don't like
something. I mean, how this isn't plagiarism, I don't know," he adds,
lowering his voice.
I watch him out of the corner of my eye as he scans the next
photograph. "Sorry," I say, taking a deep breath. "For
misjudging you, and also for the other night. I lashed out at you, when I was
really mad at your dad. But I
wasn't
jealous," I clarify.
"Oh no?" he says lightly, turning to me with an
inscrutable look in his eyes.
"No. I mean, I'm on a date right now, Jack."
"True."
"Did you know I'd be here?" I ask, the idea
suddenly occurring to me.
"No," he says with a grin, raising his hand Boy
Scout-style. "I'm not in the stalking business, I swear."
"You never introduced your date, by the way."
He clears his throat. "I, ah, I actually can't remember
her name."
"Are you serious?" I chide him. "Well, at
least you have the grace to look embarrassed."
"I feel like a dick, honestly," he says with a
chagrined smile. The corners of his eyes crinkle and he looks around to make
sure no one can hear us. "I had her in my phone as 'green dress'." He
turns back toward the photograph as his anonymous date reappears.
"I'm so sorry, I forgot your name," I lie to her,
shaking my head at my alleged mistake.
"Oh, that's OK. I'm Faye," she says.
"Faye, that's right. Now I won't forget." I allow
my eyes to dart over to Jack's, and he smiles at me. But as he wraps an arm
around Faye's waist and pulls her a little closer to him, I feel my stomach
clench. I might have just done a good deed, but I probably helped Jack take one
more step toward this beautiful girl's bed. Not that he needs much help.
The night passes in a whirl of introductions and more
champagne than is probably wise. I find myself clinging to Miles's arm feeling
lightheaded, and torn between my excitement at finally being on a date with
him, and trying to keep Jack and his date in view.
Just at the height of the festivities, I see Jack escort her
to the door with a broad hand at the small of her back. And just like that, the
rest of the partygoers seem to get the signal that the affair is wrapping up.
They begin to trickle out, and Miles and I head out, too.
On the drive home, I rest my left hand on the console next
to my seat, and I'm surprised to feel Miles's fingers wrap themselves around
mine. I try to contain my smile as I look out the window, pretending nothing's
happening. Who cares what Jack Stratton's doing? Miles and I have much more in
common, anyway.
I lean over at the security gate to our private community
and give the guard a wave. As we pull into the long driveway of the house, I
feel butterflies form in my stomach and will my palm not to sweat. I take a
deep breath and turn to him with a smile.
"Thanks, Miles. I had a great time," I say.
"Me, too," he replies, and leans forward. I think
briefly about how I'm grateful that I've had lots of experience with kissing
lately, and then our lips touch. He leaned forward a little faster than I had
anticipated, and our teeth tap gently against each other's. But his lips are
soft and gentle, and I feel a shiver as his tongue slips into my mouth for a
second.
I remember what my mom said about keeping him wanting, so I
lean back, ending the kiss. He looks at me searchingly for a second, and I tuck
my hair coyly behind my ear.
"Goodnight, Miles," I say, reaching for the door
handle.
"Go out with me again next week," he says as I
step onto the driveway.
"OK. Give me a call," I reply, shutting the door.
I saunter up the front walk without looking back. I feel like a man-eater.
Maybe the kiss wasn't quite fireworks, but I this feeling of confidence is
different for me.
I close the front door behind me and start toward the
stairs. It's late, but I hear my mom emerge from the den, definitely waiting up
for me.
"So?" she asks.
"He asked me out on another date for next week," I
reveal with a grin.
"Nice."
"Jack home?" I ask as I turn back toward the
stairs.
"No, why?"
"I saw him at the same gallery opening. Just
wondering."
"Oh, that's funny. Well, you know Jack," she says
as she heads back into the den.
"Yeah," I reply, walking up the stairs. That's
sort of the problem. I know him too well to have any illusions about what he's
up to right now.
Whatever. I've got Miles. What do I need with Jack Stratton
anyway?
"And here's my bedroom," I say, gesturing Miles
inside. He has a bit of a dumbstruck expression on his face, just as I did when
I first saw the house. "I know, it's a bit much."
"No..." he replies politely, then grins. "OK,
it's a lot. I mean how many mines worth of marble are in this place? What does
your stepdad do again?"
"Well, he's not my stepdad yet. Not until next June.
But he's in overseas shipping."
"Man, maybe we should be rethinking our careers,"
he says, walking toward the window to look out at the view.
"A career in shipping? I think I'd be miserable."
"How's your novel coming?" he asks, nodding toward
my laptop.
"It's not, really," I admit, shutting the door.
"I'm feeling kind of stuck." He nods and turns back toward the
window. I shift my weight awkwardly. I've never had a boy in my room before.
Well, except Jack, that one time.
Miles and I have been seeing each other for a few weeks now,
and I think it's going well. We've had dinner, gone to the movies, walked along
the water. And now I've asked him over when my mom just happens to be at work.
"Would you ever think about doing something else
besides photography?" I ask, joining him at the window.
"Yeah, if I don't start making money in a couple years,
I'll do something else."
"You'd just stop?" I ask, unable to keep the
surprise out of my voice.
"I'm not into the whole starving artist thing," he
explains with a shrug. "That's why I really admire Julian. He's always has
a sense of what's going to be commercially successful."
"Right." Privately, I think I agree more with
Jack's view of Julian, but I don't want to tarnish Miles's view of his mentor.
"Is there anyone else home?" Miles asks. I shoot
my gaze over to him and see a sly smile on his face.
"Don't think so," I reply as his hands wrap around
my waist. He kisses me, his tongue quickly opening my lips and probing into my
mouth. As usual, he tastes slightly of cigarette smoke, but I'm getting used to
it. His hands slide down over my ass and he pulls me against him, pressing his
erection into my thigh. I let my fingers work their way through his long hair,
feeling a shiver run down my spine.
A boat sounds on the ocean and he jumps, pulling away.
"Shit, I forgot how close we are," he says. The moment broken, he
walks over to my bureau and studies the photographs on top of it. "This
your brother? Carter, right?"
"Yeah. That was the day he graduated from his Seal
Training," I say, explaining his dress blues.
"Is that your dad?" he asks, pointing to the one
photo I have of him. I'm about three in it, and sitting on his lap. He has one
arm around me, and is looking slightly off to the side, laughing at something.
"Mm-hm."
"You don't really talk about him. He was a football
player too, right?"
"What do your parents do?" I ask, hoping he won't
notice the incredibly abrupt change of topic.
"My dad's a dentist, and my mom's a dental hygienist at
his practice."
"Wow. That's so…wholesome."
"Is it?" he asks with a laugh. "I don't
really think about it."
"How long have they been married?"
"Twenty-six years. Sometimes I wish they'd, like, fight
or something, you know? Or that my childhood had been crazier. I feel like I
don't have anything interesting to put into my art. You're lucky."
"Maybe…"
"Why don't you like to talk about your father?" he
presses me. I guess my change of topic didn't go unnoticed.
"It's embarrassing. He had to leave the league, the
NFL, in a scandal."
"Oh, shit."
"Yeah. We were going to leave Florida, my mom, my
brother, and I, but my grandmother lived here at the time, and my mom was
scared of leaving her whole support system. Plus, it might not have been much
better anywhere else. It was all over the news. My mom changed our name to her
maiden name, at least."
"What was his name?"
"I don't really want to talk about this anymore,"
I say, feeling uncomfortable.
"I was just wondering if I'd recognize it," he
explains.
"No, I know, but I've always liked that you didn't know
about football, and weren't interested."
"Maybe that's what it is about you," he says,
leaning back against the mattress and crossing his arms.
"What?" I ask, confused.
"You have this way about you, like you have a secret or
something. Maybe it's the stuff with your dad."
"Oh."
"I didn't notice it so much in high school…I like it,
though. You're so mysterious."
"Really? Sometimes I feel like I wear my heart on my
sleeve too much. I can have a bit of a temper, too," I confess.
"I've never seen it."
"You don't make me mad!" I say with a laugh, even
though I'm turning his words over in my head. I'm not sure if the stuff with my
dad is the secret he's picking up on…
"Well, I like it," he says, standing up and
leaning over to whisper in my ear. "I's very sexy."
He kisses my neck, and I close my eyes, trying to enjoy it,
but my mind is working in overdrive. If what he's drawn to about me is the fact
that I have a secret, then does he really like me for me? Or is he just drawn
to an idea?