Stepbrother Catfish: The Complete Series (21 page)

The air raid siren wails. I jerk awake, terrified. My heart is racing, a cold sweat breaks out on my skin. Oh my fucking god, I’m going to kill it. I jump out of bed and stalk over to Andrew’s nightstand. I grab the alarm. I yank hard, ripping its plug out of the socket. I chuck the alarm at the wall and smile in satisfaction as I watch it crack and break. Then I climb back in bed.

I drift back to sleep. I don’t know how long I doze for before Andrew wakes me up again.

“Good morning, gorgeous.”

I groan and bury my head under my pillow.

“What happened to my alarm clock?”

I grumble under the pillow. Suddenly the pillow disappears and Andrew is staring down at me.

“Say that again?”

“I killed it,” I rasp. My mouth is dry, it feels like I’ve been sucking on cotton.

Andrew’s brow furrows, “Why?”

I clear my throat. That’s a little better. “It was either it or me.”

“What did it ever do to you?” Andrew asks as if he didn’t know.

I sit up, clutching the sheet. “Look, if I’m going to be staying here, I can’t be getting woken up by that thing every day. It will kill me. I know I may have gone a little overboard, throwing it at the wall and all, and I’m sorry. I’ll clean it up and pay for the damages.” I look over at the remains of the alarm clock. “But it so had it coming.”

“You’re staying?” Andrew asks softly.

I look back at Andrew and blink, “Would you rather stay at my place?”

A few months later…

“Well, it’s official,” Andrew calls out as he strides into the kitchen, waving a white paper in the air like it’s a flag. “It’s not my baby.”

“Well, duh,” I say unimpressed and take a bite out of my cookie.

We both totally knew this day was coming. It’s been over nine months since Tiffany claimed she was pregnant, and I know for a fact that for the past ten months, he’s spent every night in bed with me. There’s no way the baby she popped out could be Andrew’s. Yet, she still tried to hit him up for money.

“It’s just a relief, finally having proof,” he sighs as he comes up behind me.

I hand him a cookie, “Proof rarely stops crazy.”

“And that’s why we have restraining orders.” He takes a bite out of my cookie and makes a face.

“What, you don’t like goat cheese?”

Andrew swallows though it looks like he’s in pain. He walks over to the sink and turns the faucet on. He sticks his head down and drinks right out of the tap.

When he’s done drinking, he turns back around, wipes his mouth on his rolled-up shirtsleeve and says, “It’s not your best recipe, babe.”

I roll my eyes at him, “You just don’t have any taste.”

“Oh, I have taste,” Andrew says huskily and stalks back toward me.

I wave my cookie at him menacingly, “Uh, uh, you stay away. I’m working.”

Andrew grins, dodges my goat cheese cookie and grabs me by the hips, “Work can wait.”

“What’s gotten into you?” I gasp as Andrew stiffens against me. He’s usually not so persistent when I’m in the kitchen.

“All this paternity business has got me thinking.”

Uh oh.

“Thinking about what?” I ask hesitantly.

“What you would look like swelling with my baby,” he growls and tries to kiss me.

“No way,” I push at him. “No buns in this oven until after the wedding.”

Andrew proposed to me within a few days of us getting back together. He proposed with the very same ring I found in his closet. My mom and I have put a lot of time and effort into planning the perfect wedding.

“Why not?” he persists and tries to steal another kiss.

I twist in his arms and he just misses me. “We’ve already bought the dress.”

“We can buy another one or have this one altered.”

“That sounds like a pain.”

He smirks at me, “Weddings are a pain.”

I thump him in the chest.

“I think you would look so hot pregnant with my baby.”

“AJ,” I sigh.

“You still haven’t given me a good reason.”

“People tend to get married first, then have the baby.”

“Still not a good reason.” Andrew frowns, “Do you not want to have my baby?”

“No,” I say. His eyes go wide. Shit. “I mean yes. I mean, gah, it’s not that!”

Instead of kissing me, Andrew reaches up and tucks a strand of my hair behind my ear. “Then what is it?”

It’s on the tip of my tongue to say
What will people think
? But Andrew and I have both vowed to no longer live our lives that way. We both want to be happy, regardless of stigma or how society judges us. We know we belong together, that we were meant for each other. Our parents accept us. Screw the haters.

“I… guess I don’t really have a good reason right now.”

Andrew’s eyes light up and he grins. He leans down and starts nibbling on my neck. Already, I can feel myself flushing with that familiar heat.

“That doesn’t mean, though, that I won’t think of one later….”

The End

The playlist for this series is available on Spotify

https://open.spotify.com/user/dirtynothings/playlist/3y8KL23TaNcu8PVm4jDiPf

Dear   Reader,

As a bonus, I’ve included the very first stepbrother story I’ve ever written. I hope you enjoy it.

Romanced by my Billionaire Stepbrother

In my hands, I held a blue jewelry box. I knew that inside the box was a beautiful, expensive piece of jewelry that was purchased just for me.

I was loathed to open it.

I did not want to see the trinket. I did not want to open the box and be tempted to keep whatever was inside it.

My roommate Hannah stood quietly behind me, shifting from foot to foot with badly repressed eagerness. She waited for me to make my decision.

We went through this same scenario every day.

If I accepted the gift, it meant that I accepted him. I could never accept him, no matter how selfishly I wanted to.

At exactly 8:30 every morning, before I headed out for school, there would be a knock on my front door. There, on the other side of the door, would be an older, balding gentleman dressed smartly in a black suit.

He would greet me, “Good morning, miss,” and hand me a jewelry box.

Today the box was blue, yesterday it had been white.

Once I accepted the box, the well-dressed gentleman would then say, “Mr. Blackman requests you join him for breakfast.”

Every morning I declined.

The gentleman would bow, bid me, “Good day, miss,” and return to the limo parked right outside my quaint apartment building.

The limo would then roll on down the street, only to return the next morning.

If I refused to open the box, the gentleman would stand outside my door until I did.

The first time I refused the box, I had returned home after an entire day out to find the man standing in the same place.

I didn’t want him to suffer on account of me or lose his position, so I accepted the presents. But I didn’t keep them.

Every morning I’d pass the gift off to Hannah. Every morning she’d react the same. She’d squeal in delight and then wear whatever pretty thing was sent. She was becoming rich with my discarded goodies.

This morning was no different.

Today the box opened to reveal a beautiful pink sapphire ring. I would have loved to wear it. Pink was my favorite.

Hannah slipped the ring onto her finger and over her knuckle. It fit perfectly. She then extended her slender arm out in front of her and admired the pink stone in the sunlight.

“Oh, it’s the prettiest one yet,” she sighed in delight.

“Yeah,” I grumbled in agreement.

It was pretty, and if the circumstances were different, I would have kept the ring. I would be wearing it.

As it was, I couldn’t help but be jealous, even though I had willingly given the ring to her.

It looked better on her, anyway, I had told myself. We were obviously the same ring size, but my fingers looked a lot thicker than her’s.

Hannah and I were as opposite in looks as you could get. Where Hannah was blonde, I was a dark brunette. Where she was petite and slender, I was taller and thicker.

I loved Hannah to the moon and back. She was such a good roommate and friend to me. I loved her and treated her like a sister.

At times, though, like at that moment, I envied her and wished I could be her.

I wanted sparkling green eyes instead of my muddied ugly brown. I wanted her seemingly flawless milky white skin instead of my freckled tan.

And most of all, I wanted her freedom to accept all the pretty trinkets, and not feel as if she owed the man who had sent them.

Six years ago my father passed away. It was a freak and fatal car accident.

I loved my daddy. I remembered riding on his shoulders and going for ice cream. I remembered him cheering in his deep, booming voice during my soccer games. I remembered that with him I felt safe and protected.

I haven’t played soccer since he passed. It would never be the same.

My life was never the same.

My mom and I continued. We were brokenhearted, but we still had each other.

And she was an awesome mom.

She was the embodiment of strength and perseverance. She went back to school, to earn a degree in business at night, and worked through the day waiting tables at the local diner.

By the time the money from my father’s meager insurance policy had completely run out, she had gone from stay-at-home mom to a degree holding soon-to-be successful business woman.

She nailed her first interview and landed a highly competitive position with Blackman Enterprises. That’s when she met Edward Blackman, and we would never need to worry about money again.

It was a whirlwind romance and I, myself was left breathless, wondering what had just happened. It had been six years since my father passed. During all of that time, my mother had not shown even the slightest of interest in other men.

There had been no dating, just suddenly him.

I could definitely see what my mom saw in Mr. Blackman. He was mouthwatering handsome. The moment I first met him I could have sworn he was the most handsome man I had ever met.

He had ink black hair, deep dark blue eyes, and pale pink lips. Those lips of his always seemed to be curled with a hint of amusement. He was always composed, ever immaculate. Not a hair on his handsome head was ever out of place. And I couldn’t recall ever seeing him dressed in anything that wasn’t very expensive, and very black.

I thought he was the most perfect, most handsome man I had ever laid eyes on. I was worried I was going to suffer a crush on my own soon-to-be stepfather.

Then I met his son.

Charles was like a younger carbon copy of his father. They shared the same features, they shared the same build and height, but somehow Charles just wore it differently.

His dark hair was usually a soft mess, yet it managed to look good on him. Where his father wore his secret amusement upon his lips, Charles held it in his eyes. His deep blue eyes glittered with secret humor. And where Edward dressed to impress, Charles was more relaxed, with his buttons popped open and his sleeves rolled up.

“Hello, Charles,” I said shyly the first time we met and shook hands.

“It’s a pleasure to meet you, Lauren. You can call me Charlie,” he grinned at me.

I was instantly besotted.

His hand was warm and strong. The innocent contact of shaking hands had my heart beating rapidly in my chest.

He smiled down at me, he was like an entire foot taller, and butterflies fluttered inside my stomach.

I had never felt this way about a boy before. It was so quick, it came out of nowhere.

Sure, I had appreciated and even drooled a bit over the hot guys in my classes.

But they never made me feel like this.

I felt like the earth had stopped spinning and I couldn’t get enough air in my lungs. I felt like our skin touching was sparking and electric. The shocks of the contact struck me inside and traveled to my core.

Peering up at him, only a moment after meeting him, I fell for him. Hard.

I was embarrassed by it.

I was embarrassed not so much at the time because he was soon to be my stepbrother, but because crushing on him so instantly made me feel young and stupid. I was turning into a twit.

He frowned when I abruptly pulled my hand from his and stumbled back. I’m pretty sure he was probably wondering what had gotten into me.

“It was nice to meet you!” I stammered out.

Without giving him a chance to respond, I turned and fled to my room.

Once in the safety of my room, I slammed the door shut and leaned against it.

My heart raced in my chest, the sound of my blood pumping pounded in my ears.

I was crushing on my stepbrother. The realization set in. My stepbrother of all people.

Oh, God, I thought, what was I going to do?