Score - A Stepbrother Romance (37 page)

T
oday is
not
a good day
.

I’m trying to make my suitcase move, but of course one of the wheels is faulty, and so today was doomed from the start. Hauling it behind me I curse out loud, knowing my father wouldn’t approve, which makes the cussing all the more fun.

The fact that he didn’t even send a driver or a cab to get me – since he’s apparently too busy himself – is making my day even worse, but I’ll be damned if I let anyone see how upset I really am.

It's probably his way of getting back at me for my less-than-perfect score on my finals. Knowing I've disappointed him hurts more than this trip (and that's a big statement, considering the heels I'm wearing).

My father, Tony, re-married a few months ago. It was like taking a knife to my chest when I heard the news, because up until he called, I hadn't even heard of this woman, Valerie Manning. I don't know when or how he met her. I don't know shit, actually, because I'm apparently not important enough to be involved in their lives.

Daddy wants a picture-perfect family with his new wifey and her kid. I don't know where I fit in with my filthy mouth and skimpy clothes. But regardless, Daddy wants us to spend the summer together this year, getting to know each other.

The most painful thing about this is the fact that we're staying at the beach house – a new name, an old home. This house is where I grew up, back when mom and dad were still together. It'll be fucking painful to see another woman trying to take mom’s place. My poor mom, works such long hours, goes on disastrous dates and is seemingly the one who got the short end of the stick when my parents divorced.

So I've already decided – I'm going to make this summer unbearable for little wifey and her kid, who is probably some Spiderman-loving pre-teen with an addiction to his PlayStation 4.
Yuck
.

The cab I take from the airport drops me off at the gates to the beach house. That would have been all fine and dandy, had Daddy dearest not decided to change the security code on the gates.

Of course, nobody is home to answer the doorbell either, so what the hell am I supposed to do? I am most definitely
not
expecting to be climbing the gates to our beach house at 8.30 on a Sunday morning.

But that is exactly what I have to do, giving my leg a nasty cut in the process and nearly tumbling over the gates. Boy, what a fun way to start the summer.

I stop in front of the house, trying to catch my breath, and hoping the key Daddy gave me will work. Thankfully, the door opens right away, and I stumble inside the house with a heavy sigh.

The damn suitcase stays in the hall, already forgotten as I venture inside, a little curious what the house looks like now, after so many years have passed.

And it’s nothing like I’d remembered it, which makes me purse my lips in annoyance. It sure didn’t take long for the new wifey to get a-hold of the place and make it just the way she wanted.

There’s no denying the fact that the house looks nice, though. Where there was once crumbling furniture and musty blankets, there are now modern shapes and all-white cushions. It looks breezy and beautiful, which for some reason makes me even angrier.

Who the hell does she think she is, strolling in here and changing everything? I grit my teeth as I run upstairs to my room, already preparing myself for a nasty surprise.

As soon as I open the door, I can see my old bedroom looks nothing like it used to. There’s a huge bed in the middle with a canopy; everything is in pastel purple and pretty whites and beiges.

Yuck. What a cliché.

It
does
look kind of pretty, though.

I try to deny the fact that I’m looking forward to sleeping in this room, as opposed to the creaky bed I used to have, along with the peeling paint on the walls. This woman has managed to convince my father to upgrade — no idea how — but to be honest, the place looks …
better
.

But I won't be tricked that easily. Valerie snooping around my room, messing with my things, even if it is in the name of renovation, makes me fuming angry. She has no fucking right to move my stuff.

I pull out a box from under the bed defiantly, yanking out an old and dusty teddy bear and placing him on top of my pillow. Standing back, I look at it with satisfaction.

"There you go, Mr. Fuzz," I say to the teddy bear. "We'll fight this bitch together, won't we?"

Then I realize I'm talking to a stuffed animal, blush lightly and focus on more important things. Daddy didn't even wait for me at the house, so why the hell should I stick around? I've got better stuff to do.

Deciding to be a brat, I deliberately make a mess in my room, a smug expression on my face as I crinkle the duvet and perfectly plump pillows, dragging my suitcase upstairs and throwing clothes everywhere. Once I'm satisfied with what I've done, I congratulate myself.

The dress I'm wearing is off in one swift motion, landing on the bed. I’m already wearing my bikini and I don’t plan on wasting any time – the beach it is.

If I can’t spend time with my real friends in the city, I can at least hope to have some fun here, at the beach. I’m sure there are some of my old friends around … We used to spend every summer here when I was younger.

I wonder if they even remember me. There was a bunch of girls I was friends with, but it's safe to say I'm quite a different person these days than little ten year old Rubi. To be perfectly honest, I used to be a huge bookworm, and I've been fighting hard to hide my addiction to books. If you ask anyone in my new home in Cali about my habits, they wouldn't have a clue about the stacks of novels I keep in my room.

I'm considered one of the mean girls now, and that reputation sits just fine with me. It's easier to attack than be bullied, anyhow. And I'd rather be the tormentor than the victim.

Grabbing a towel and a pair of sunglasses, I head straight downstairs, through the French doors in the living room (also very fancy, very beige) and out into the beach.

At least this place hasn’t changed. Beautiful, silky sand under my feet, a cloudless sky, and the ocean … Azure blue and pure perfection, just how I remember it.

My hopes of finding my old friends are extinguished as I realize no one I know has hit the beach yet. There’s a group of people a little way off, so I set my towel on the sand and rush straight into the sea, giddy like a little kid.

The cool water envelops me, the waves soothing and cool against my skin. I’ve always been a summer kid, always had wet, salty hair and feet covered in sand.

It takes a while for me to get tired, but when I feel like I can’t do another stroke, I get out of the water, heading straight for my towel.

The sun feels good on my skin, and for the first time, I think I may actually enjoy my time at the beach this summer. As my eyes travel to the left, and I check out the group of people there, I even let myself think I may finally-

Whack!

I nearly topple over, and it takes me a moment to realize that what just hit me in the head was a beach ball. All I can do is stare at it, lying a few feet away from me, and then let the rage take over.

I'm already turning around, my hands forming fists at my sides, ready to kick whoever did this in the balls. And sure enough, a guy is rushing towards me at this very moment, his hands raised apologetically in the air.

I’m ready for my speech – that is, until I get a better look at him.

In the name of all that is holy- and all that is
not
. Fuck.

“Hey, your big head was in the way of my ball,” he says as soon as he comes closer, giving me the most perfect smile. Crooked smirk, pearly white teeth and full lips. And tattoos. So much ink, I'm having trouble seeing some actual skin through the art.
Good lord.

But then my mind actually processes what he said to me, and I have to fight the instant urge to scratch this guy's face off. Even though I haven't been around in years, I still think of the beach as my territory, and some tattooed bad boy will not be throwing me off my game.

"Your big ball?" I ask innocently. "As opposed to other, tiny balls?" I look pointedly at his crotch.

I take a long moment to take him in. I’m tall, but he stands taller at what is surely over 6'5’'. His hair is wet and jet black, a little too long and falling into his eyes. And his body is covered with tattoos, from top to toe.

I have a thing for tattoos.

What I do not have a thing for are douche bags. A prime example of one is smirking at me this very moment.

He comes closer to me, and I'm now realizing he's a little menacing. Tall, ripped as hell and covered in that black ink – he might as well be in a motorcycle gang. I gulp.

"Why don't you check for yourself?" he asks me in a quiet, rough voice, grabbing my hand and pulling it towards his body.

Realizing what he's trying to do, I pull away just in time, making him laugh, his voice raspy. I'm blinking rapidly, my breath sounding strangled. What is going on here?

"You don't wanna play?" he asks me, and his tongue darts out of his mouth, giving his bottom lip a lick.

I would very much like to play
, I think absent-mindedly, then shake my head to get the thought out. Bad boys are okay in theory, but this guy is foul.

"Oh, I wanna play," I say in a purr, stepping over to him, deciding a little teasing will do me some good, especially the part when I get to see his face when I shoot him down. "Think you can take me?"

He smirks, and one of his hands sneaks up my arm, closing in around my neck. Fuck
me
. I'm breathing hard already, and it's the first time he's touched me. His fingertips are rough from being in the water, but they leave goose bumps in their wake as he trails over my skin.

"Do you have a name, darlin'?" he asks roughly.

"Why do you ask?" I purr against his ear, enjoying his scent more than I should. It's just like the ocean I remember – salty, mixed with suntan lotion and so, so hot. Pure summer.

"Oh, no reason," he replies with a slow smile, his fingers tightening around my neck. Honestly, I should feel scared – his grip is strong and unrelenting. But for some reason, this conversation with a complete stranger is turning me on way more than it should.

"Just want to know whose tits I'm about to see," he says next, and I give him the most confused look just as his fingers pull deftly on the strings of my bikini top.

"Fuck!" I yell just as he moves away and my bikini dangles around my neck. My hands fly up to my exposed chest and an avalanche of curse words rolls off my tongue.

The douche bag moves away, laughing his head off. "Nice to meet you, too," he shouts after me as I run away from the beach, leaving my towel forgotten on the hot sand.

As soon as I’m closer to the house, my mind swimming with ideas on how I should avenge my dignity, I hear voices.

I make sure to re-tie my bikini so I'm not too exposed, rushing inside and grabbing a kitchen towel as I storm inside the house. I cover myself up as well as I can, then storm inside the living room, where the voices are coming from.

“DADDY!” I scream at the top of my voice, walking into the room and nastily hoping my feet leave sandy prints on these perfect floors. “Daddy, I’m here!”

“And charming as ever,” he remarks, coming around the corner with a wide smile plastered on his face. He’s already got his arms out, and I run into his hug, gripping him closer to my body.

I haven't seen my dad in months, and as angry as I am, I have to admit it feels good to be back in his arms. Before my parents divorced, I'd always been a daddy's girl. It hurts to know this is no longer the case.

“Missed you, little one,” he teases me as I step away from his embrace. His eyes scan my face, and I guess he can see the distress as he furrows his brow. “Something wrong?”

“Only everything!” I exclaim with a dramatic sigh. As soon as I realize it's just dad and me, I drop the kitchen towel carelessly on the floor, kicking at it with my sandy feet. When I see the mess I've made, I secretly feel better, deciding it's just the start of my rebellion against stepmother dearest.

“You should tidy up,” Dad says with a kind smile. “Don’t just leave stuff on the floor, honey.”

I look at him with surprise, not appreciating the scolding. “I’m sure step momma will take care of that,” I reply nastily, immediately regretting my words as I see the hurt register on my Dad’s face.

“Sure, and I guess you’ll be cooking your own dinner, then?” a sweet voice interrupts, and I turn around to see a woman standing in the doorway.

She’s petite, with perfectly coiffed blonde hair and blue eyes. She’s pretty, that’s for sure, but I decide on the spot I don’t like her. She’s trying to change everything, and I don’t like her thinking she can take mom’s space. I don’t much appreciate her attitude, either.

I'm about to give her a nasty reply when Dad cuts on the conversation.

“Honey, this is Valerie,” he says in an attempt to be placating, taking me by the elbow and practically dragging me to the woman in question. We shake hands, my grip limp and stiff at the same time.

“My Rubi,” Daddy says proudly, and at least that makes me feel a little bit better. He may try to replace mom, but he never will find a good substitute for me.

“Nice to meet you,” Valerie says, and it annoys me to see the genuine smile on her face, because I’ve already decided I’m going to be a pain in her butt, and if she’s nice to me, that might make things more difficult.

A reply is out of the question, so I just stare at her sulkily.

An awkward silence follows, and finally – my Dad clasps his hands together. “We’ll be sitting down for breakfast in a bit, Rubi; do you want to get changed before that?”

A look down my front tells me I should do as he says — my body is already a bit sunburned, my bikini leaving me exposed. “I’ll be right down,” I say.

Back in my room, I take off my salty bikini and discard it on the floor, then head to the bathroom to clean up. As soon as I walk in there, I realize someone left the shower on.