Hard Tackle (A Stepbrother Warriors Novel) (9 page)

Chapter Seventeen

"Well, well, well, if it isn't the elusive Bree
Driscoll." I turn to see Jack leaning in the doorway, sipping a protein
shake. Miles drove off just before Ray got home, and I've just been watching TV
since he left, feeling oddly drained.

"Amazing how little you can see someone that you live
with when you're in a house this big," I observe, turning back to the
screen as he walks in and sits next to me on the couch. "It's just this
BBC detective show," I explain, nodding at the TV.

"Don't worry, I wasn't going to ask you to switch it to
Sportscenter or anything," he says with a grin.

"Do they still talk about my dad?" I ask abruptly.
I keep watching the screen, trying to seem casual, but he's been on my mind
since Miles asked me about him.

Jack pauses for a moment. "Sometimes," he finally
admits.

"As a joke?"

"Sometimes," he repeats. "More often as a
warning. Or maybe a tragedy."

"Mmm," I murmur, feeling a pang in my chest. Jack
doesn't pursue the issue, even though I'm the one who brought it up, for which I'm
grateful. "I wish he had been all bad, so then I could hate him."

"That would make it easier," Jack agrees quietly.

"But before it all happened, he was fun, and he treated
my mom well. He was the life of the party. People were drawn to him. I'd like
to say the fame and the money were what changed him, but I don't think it was
just that. I think he must have had something in him all along."

"Do you think he was an addict?"

"Yes. I mean, right? Don't you think he must have been?
Any rational person would have stopped gambling long before he did. Sometimes I
try to imagine how scared he must have been, to do what he did, and I almost
feel sorry for him. But then I remember that he left us afterward, and I want
to punch him in the face."

I feel Jack's fingers on my hand, and glance down to see
that I've actually balled my hand into a fist. He strokes my fingers until they
release, and I feel shocked at his gentleness. A tear slips down my cheek, and
I hastily wipe it away. I hate feeling vulnerable.

"Sorry," I whisper.

"I was mad at my mom, too, when she died," Jack
murmurs.

"What did she die of?"

He glances quickly at me. "She killed herself. I
thought you knew."

I feel the breath leave my body. "No…no, my mom never
told me. I'm so sorry."

"I know it wasn't her fault, really. She had some
postpartum depression with me, but it was worse with Lex. But sometimes I'm
still angry. Can't help it, really."

"No."

"It drives me at times, the anger. But I'd give
everything back to help her." I stare at his hands as he plays with the
top of his shaker cup.

"We're both just very sad people, aren't we?" I
say with a small smile. To my relief, he leans his head back with a bark of
laughter.

"Seriously, fuck. Let's talk about literally anything
else. How's loverboy?"

"He's good," I reply cagily. "How's
Faye?"

"Who?"

I roll my eyes. "Green dress."

"Oh! Um, good, I guess," he says, and it's clear
he actually has no idea. "So you and Miles exclusive now? Doing the whole
relationship thing?"

I shift slightly in my seat. "No, not yet."

"Good. It's smart to play the field, I mean. So you
don't get overly attached to any one person," he says, placing a long arm
along the back of the couch and letting his fingertips trail along my bare arm.

"Uh-huh." The thought comes to me that his aversion
to attachment has something to do with his mother's death, but I keep it to
myself. I look into his eyes and feel a tug in my groin at the hungry
expression inside them.

"Come upstairs," he whispers, and I take a deep
breath, fighting the urge to comply immediately.

"It's been a while."

"I was worried you were starting to have
feelings," he admits. "But clearly I was wrong. And if you and your
boy aren't exclusive yet…maybe you could use another training session."

"Miles has had no complaints so far," I murmur,
leaning in and placing my lips tantalizingly close to his without actually
making contact.

"Oh really?" he breathes. His arms shoot out and
grab me around the stomach. I feel myself being lifted off the couch and pulled
up and over so that I'm straddling him. My body lights up as I feel his
erection pressing up against the crotch of my jeans.

I can't help myself. I press my lips against his and almost
faint with pleasure as he presses his tongue inside my mouth. I didn't realize
how much I've missed his touch. I grind my hips forward, wanting to feel him
everywhere.

Suddenly I hear a clicking sound that I recognize as someone
walking across the marble floors and I dive back across the couch. I see Jack
quickly readjusting his pants as I focus my gaze back on the TV.

"Just wanted to let you know I'm going to bed,"
Ray says to me as he walks in.

"Oh, great," I reply, hoping my cheeks aren't too
flushed.

"Jack, I didn't know you were in here," he
comments, his eyes flicking briefly over to his son. "Your mom called and
said she'd be late. Going over the books."

"Got it, thanks," I reply. He smiles and walks
upstairs. We wait in silence until we can no longer hear his footsteps, and
then I let out a long, slow breath. "We gotta be more careful."

"Come on," Jack says with a grin, and takes my
hand. I just have time to turn off the TV before he's pulling me into the
foyer.

"Jack!" I whisper, tugging back at him, but he
turns to press a finger over his lips, signaling me to be quiet, before he
starts up the stairs with me in tow. We creep up the nearest staircase, and I
find a smile spreading across my face. His boyish sense of adventure is
catching, and I feel a giggle creeping up from my belly as we tiptoe along the
hallway. When we reach the staircase to the third floor, he speeds up, taking
the steps two by two, then dashing down the hall.

When we reach his bedroom, I'm breathing hard, but he turns
right around and presses me up against the door as he shuts it behind us. I
gasp and arch my back as his lips find my neck. He bites the muscle under my
ear, and my hands fly to the hem of his shirt, tugging it off over his head. As
I drop it on the floor, he grabs my arms and raises them over my head, pinning
them to the door with one hand. His other hand quickly unbuttons my jeans and
tugs them and my panties down, leaving them just below my ass.

I cry out softly as his fingers slip against my wetness. I
want to spread my legs further, but they're trapped by the constraints of my
jeans. He circles my clit with one long finger and my eyes open to see that his
face is just a couple inches from mine, and he's watching me. He presses my
hands more firmly against the door so that I can't move at all, and I groan as
he presses his other hand forward, slipping two fingers inside me.

My eyes close as I get lost in the sensation. His thumb
moves to my clit, and he circles me as his fingers move inside me. Suddenly his
fingers slip out, and I feel him tug my pants down to just above my knees. His
fingers press back at my opening, and I feel a new kind of pressure that forces
me to open my legs a little wider. I realize why – he's using three fingers,
stretching me out. He begins to thrust them in and out, curling them at the
last second so they hit against my g-spot. He's never moved inside of me like
this, and I think it must be the closest thing I've ever felt to sex.

I whimper at the powerful sensation of pleasure that's
pooling in between my hips. Pressed up against the door like this, unable to
express my desire any other way, I feel like my orgasm is more concentrated and
more powerful. My hands strain against his grip, but he is like a steel vice,
not giving a millimeter. Just as I think I need more freedom for an orgasm to
be possible, I feel it slam into me, rippling out from my groin to my tiptoes
and the ends of my hair.

He slows the movement of his fingers inside me until he's
just barely circling them. I feel him pull them out, and open my eyes. He's
looking down at me, licking his lips. He releases my hands, and I lower them,
rolling them around. I silently push my pants all the way to the floor.

"You alright?" he asks.

"Yeah, just thinking," I say, reaching up to trace
my fingers around his abdominal muscles. "I'm not sure how I can possibly
repay you for that, but I'm sure as hell going to try."

Chapter Eighteen

"Miles!" I protest with a laugh, covering my face
with my hands.

"Just a couple more," he says, snapping away on
his camera. "The lighting is perfect here. South-facing windows," he
adds, gesturing behind me. Mercifully, he lets his camera hang around his neck.

"It's wonderful," I agree, looking around. He
moved into his own apartment two days ago, so it's only got a mattress and a
desk so far, but it's peaceful, and has great light. "Who's your
roommate?"

"Former intern of Julian's," he explains.
"But he's out right now." He takes the camera off his neck and lays
it gently on the desk. "I thought maybe you could stay over."

"I'm not sure my mom—"

He shrugs as he walks over toward me and wraps his arms
around my waist. "Tell her you're at a friend's," he urges me.
"I really like you. I thought maybe tonight we could…" He lets the
words go unsaid, and instead bends his neck slightly to kiss me. It's a nice
kiss, really. His technique can't be faulted. But my body doesn't exactly leap
to attention, the way it does with—

"Where's your bathroom?" I ask, pulling away.

"Down the hall on the right," he says pointing to
the door with a slight look of confusion on his face.

"Be right back," I promise, hustling away. I find
the bathroom and shut the door behind me, then close the lid on the toilet and
sit, resting my head in my hands.

I can't ignore it anymore: I don't get the same feeling with
Miles as I do with Jack. My body's response to Jack last night compared to
Miles just now can't compare, especially now that I've experienced them one
after the other in such close succession. In my fantasies about Miles
throughout high school, I always pictured myself tingling at his slightest
touch, the way I do with…Jack. And I know that Miles wants to have sex tonight,
but I honestly don't think that I'd enjoy it, since our kisses don't leave me
wanting more. If anything, I've gotten less turned on the more we've hung out.

He's just not quite the person I thought he was. I pictured
him as more of a rebel, wanting to truly find himself as an artist, and now it
turns out that he's only interested in commercialism and fame. I can't believe
this…am I really thinking about breaking up with him? It's going to seem so out
of the blue. But I suddenly feel so sure that's what I want to do. And it
really wouldn't be fair to him to string him along anyway.

I stand up, take a deep breath, and flush the toilet, for
appearance's sake. I square my shoulders and walk back down the hallway to
Miles's room. He's got his camera in his hands again, snapping away at
something on the street. As he turns to me and I get a glimpse of the sun
bouncing off his cheekbones, I feel like I'm in high school again and nerves
begin to bubble in my stomach.

"Miles, I don't know quite how to say this…I've never
done anything like this before…" I stumble. He smiles, and actually looks
intrigued. I rush on. "I'm sorry, but I don't think this is working."

"What?" he asks, a frown snapping across his brow.

"I don't think we should see each other anymore. You're
great, but—"

"Is this because I asked you to spend the night? If
you're not ready to have sex then—"

"No, that's not it. I am ready, just not—" I stop
myself from completing that sentence. I don't feel ready to have sex with
Miles, but I don't want to bring up the fact that there's someone else I do
feel ready to have sex with. I clear my throat and take a different tack.
"It's not about sex. I just think we're not the right…fit for each
other," I finally say.

"Fuck, I can't believe
you're
breaking up with
me,
"
Miles whines, shaking his head.

"What does that mean?"

"I mean, you're hot and everything, but you were no one
in high school," he replies, spreading his hands in an apologetic gesture.

I feel momentarily stung, but to my surprise I begin to
laugh. "Yeah, and we're not in high school anymore," I say, then grab
my purse from the edge of the bed. I march out of the building and straight
down to my car.

On the drive back to the house, I'm surprised by how calm I
feel. I just broke up with my first boyfriend! Shouldn't I feel more…angsty?
Well, I suppose my lack of feelings only validates from me that I did the right
thing. And besides, if I were upset, I'd probably be wishing that I weren't.

As I head around the driveway with my windows open, I can
just hear grunting coming from the side of the house. I park in the garage and
leave through the side door that spits me out on to the back yard. Jack is
weaving through a series of dummies, a football tucked in the crook of his arm
as he practices plays.

"Looking good!" I call out. He stops and looks up.

"Stop objectifying me, Bree," he replies.

"I meant the play!" I answer, rolling my eyes. I
raise my hands just in time to catch the football that he lobs at me.

"You hanging out with Miles tonight?" he asks as I
look down at the ball. My hands are small, so I have to position my fingers at
the back of it, but I make sure to get a good hold on the laces.

"No," I reply as I heave the ball back. I'm
pleased to see it follows a perfect spiral as it flies toward Jack's chest.

"Nice," he says appreciatively, and throws it
back. "I was thinking, maybe it's time for some more advanced
training."

"Oh?" I fumble the ball slightly but manage to
keep hold of it with the tips of my fingers.

"Well, I imagine things are
progressing
with
Miles, so…" I toss the ball back. "But if you want your first to be
with him, I get it."

The gears in my brain begin to grind overtime as I think
about how to respond. "No, it might be a good idea for us to…just so that
when Miles and I do, I'm really good at it."

"Good," he says with a grin. "As long as
you're sure." I nod, and he throws the ball back, making me turn and run a
few steps to catch it over my shoulder. "It's good that you're dating him,
so that our thing can just be for fun. Certainly makes my mind rest
easier."

"That's…great," I reply with a forced smile. The
ball slips at the last second as I throw it back, and lands at his feet.

"So tonight, then," he says, picking it up.

"Tonight."