Chapter 4
Ryker
The first thing I did when I got to my stepdad's house for poker night was grab Starla's car keys from the key rack. I arrived several hours early just in case she got any crazy ideas to skip out early.
I don't think she’d be ballsy enough to drive to the Aubergine Affair while she's clearly grounded, but after seeing how mad she’s been since Dad told her she couldn't go to the auction, I'm not willing to put my money on that.
My ulterior motive is my true driver though. I can’t stand the thought of her selling her virginity in an auction, which, of course, I made clear in such an uncool fashion.
I pass her in the living room, and she glares at me again, not willing to make eye contact for more than a second. That’s how it’s been all week. I’ve tried to talk to her several times but she’s not having it.
I pretend that I'm here to help Dad with some remodeling ideas, but my presence is all about keeping an eye on Starla.
When Dad heads out to the garage, I head to the kitchen where Starla's making snacks for us. I take it as a good sign that maybe she's not too mad. Wrong—another glare when I get a drink confirms that she's still upset.
"Starla, I'm sorry about the other day. I didn't mean—"
"You made yourself perfectly clear… I shouldn’t fuck strangers. You win. I’ll have snacks ready for poker night. I just want to be left alone."
My heart shrinks. This isn't what my gifts were supposed to lead up to. Should I just blurt out that they were from me? Show her receipts?
"Get out of my kitchen, Ryker. I know my place." She keeps her eyes on the prosciutto and cheese she’s rolling.
On second thought, I should ease into the reveal or it might sound fake. "I don't believe that, Starla."
She slams her hands on the counter. "You don't believe that I know my place?"
I step closer but she shoos me away. "No, I don't believe your place is in the kitchen."
"Yeah, well, too bad Dad doesn't share your wild ideas."
Her dad got messed up hard when Starla's mom wanted a divorce. Her parents had an agreement that her mom was going to stay home and take care of the kids when they were little, and her dad was going to provide the income.
But things went wrong and he ended up with sole custody. He said he had to dial his career aspirations back, but you’d never know it by the multi-million dollar empire he’s built.
Starla loves cooking. She loves taking care of people. She'll be the best mom ever. There’s no need for Dad to force it.
I was probably foolish to think I stood a chance with her. We’ve always had a connection. At least I thought we did. Maybe I just saw what I wanted to see. The complication, other than how Dad would take it, is that I’ve seen her look at Cullen the way she looks at me.
Starla resumes her meat-and-cheese prep. “Why are you still here?"
Clearly this is not the right time to try to explain anything. I’d be wise to let her cool off. Nobody wants a secret admirer who goes from lavishing them with gifts to thinking they can tell them how to live their life.
Before long, Cullen and a couple of other friends show up. Starla acts totally normal, serving us food and drinks, although with less of a smile than usual. Then, when there's nothing else we could possibly need, she heads to her room.
While Dad and his friends load their plates while deciding if they want to play Texas Hold'em, Cullen pulls me aside. "We need to make sure she doesn't leave."
Telling him to fuck off would be self-defeating. "We need to make sure she knows who the gifts were from."
“It wasn’t my best moment.” Cullen cups a hand over his mouth. “I’ll set it straight, but you’re not the only one who wants her.”
“So you’re going to lie to her?”
“I panicked.”
I motion loosely toward her room. “Then go tell her the truth.”
He looks down the hallway, at my dad, at the floor… anywhere but at me. “You haven’t told her?”
“I didn’t want to deprive you of the chance to face her fury.”
“The auction argument really blew up, caught us all off guard.” Cullen shoves his hands in his pockets, exhales hard, and nods. “I’ve been trying to figure out how to do this, but I need to talk to you about her… about us…”
I wait, but he doesn’t finish. “Us? How do you mean?”
“Fuck man, I can’t believe I’m even considering this.” He meets my gaze. “I see the way she looks at you. I see how much you care for her. I don’t want to deprive either of you.”
Is he trying to say what I think? In my peripheral vision, I notice Dad checking the key rack.
“Shit! Your sister—”
“I took them.” I pull her keys out of my pocket.
“Good thinking, Son. I know I can count on you. She needs to get her head out of the clouds. Meet a nice boy her age who will take care of her."
I'm only five years older than her, but I don't think this is the time to point that out.
“No daughter of mine is going to be a prostitute.”
“It’s not prostitution.” Why do I clarify that?
"Your sister wants to sell herself to the highest bidder. Explain to me what that is."
Cullen waves his hands. "Let's not do this. We caught her in time to keep her from making a huge mistake. We'll just make sure she doesn't leave tonight."
Dad steps into the hallway toward her bedroom. “I already hear the pots and pans. Good on you, Ryker, for building her that kitchen suite off her bedroom. At least we don't have to listen to all that banging during our poker match.”
Poker proceeds as normal. Starla pops out of her room a couple of times. Stories are told while the cards are shuffled.
Something holds Dad’s attention out the front window, but from my angle I can’t see anything.
After a few more rounds, Cullen says, "I'll be right back."
He heads down the hallway to the bathroom.
Nothing abnormal, except that it’s also the way to Starla’s room.
If I wasn't paying attention, I wouldn't notice that the bathroom door doesn't shut as soon as I expect it to. There’s a definite pause.
It's too long. I lean over, questioning if I need to confirm whether he went to the bathroom or to Starla's room, but just before I get up, I hear the bathroom door shut.
Maybe he just listened to make sure she's still in her room. The pause didn't seem long enough for him to have actually gone in and said anything to her.
He's rubbing his stomach when he returns. "I'm not feeling so good. I'm going to call it a night."
The hair on the back of my neck raises. He won't meet my gaze.
“I must have caught the stomach bug that’s going around.”
I haven't heard of any bugs going around, but no one else seems to think this is weird. Everyone waves him off, a few verbal jabs insinuate he wants to cut his losses.
But something's not adding up. He wants to be sure she doesn’t try to go to the auction so he wouldn’t leave while Starla’s still home. My gut tells me his leaving has to do with the auction. Is she gone?
Cullen already has his keys in his hand and is heading to the door, which, in his defense, if he's not feeling well, he might do. He leaves quickly, the squeal of his tires perfectly in sync with him saying he needs to get home, or to the sex club.
Dad starts to deal another hand, and I say, "I’m sitting this one out. Anyone want me to top off food or drinks?"
A few people tell me what they want. I make good on it, then, with no fanfare, I duck down the hallway, and even though I can hear Starla's voice, something is off.
Her ‘On Air’ sign is lit. Her love of cooking is evident in the light-hearted explanations about the power of nutmeg drifting into the hallway.
And while she loved that I made that part of the design for her suite so that we wouldn't interrupt her recordings, I'm going to take a chance and very quietly peek my head in.
Gently turning the handle, I ease the door open just a crack. Her monologue continues seamlessly. Either I’m so stealthy she didn’t notice, or my suspicions are correct.
All I can see through the sliver of opening is her dresser. Her voice comes from the other end of the suite. Noticing that the vibrance of her voice isn’t present, I’m almost certain I’m hearing a recording.
My heart sinks. Did I push her to this? If I’d just told her how I felt, would we be snuggled up in front of my fireplace, sipping cider, making love, starting our future?
Have I lost her?
Enough wallowing. If she’s not here, I have to catch up with Cullen. I’m not about to let that fucker undercut me again.
Opening the door wider, I poke my head in and scan the room as I turn to her kitchen suite.
Just as I suspected. She's not there.
Her laptop is. I watch in disbelief as the sounds match the video that’s playing. I scan the room again, confirming my assessment. What did I expect? She was going to jump out from under the bed?
She didn't leave through the front door, and I have her keys. Fuck, did she sneak out the window? This must be what Cullen figured out.
Not bothering to check the window, because I’ve wasted enough time already, I pull my phone out of my back pocket and rush to the bathroom.
Under the cover of privacy, I fire off a text to Cullen: Where are you going?
Cullen: Home
Me: For real?
Cullen: I don't feel good.
I didn’t expect him to confess. How do I call his bluff?
Me: Then it won't be a problem if I let Dad know Starla snuck out.
Three dots appear on my screen and continue bobbing up and down. Cullen is so busted. But Dad's going to start worrying that I have digestive problems if I don't come out of the bathroom soon.
I send another text: Come clean.
Just in case anyone's paying attention, I flush the toilet and wash my hands. It also helps pass the time while Cullen figures out what he's going to tell me.
Finally, a message comes from Cullen: I'm going to win her.
Anger rips through me. I bring my arm up, but catch myself before smashing my cell phone against the wall.
It's my lifeline. I just have to figure out how to use it. If I leave, Dad will be suspicious, and there would be no one to stop him from finding out Starla’s gone.
Cullen: I’m winning her for the two of us.
It’s the only viable option, but how can I ensure Cullen won't cut me out?
I scroll back through my texts, making sure autocorrect didn't change anything—the messages are clear. I definitely have it in writing that Cullen agrees to include me in the win.
I don’t trust him. I need to hear his voice. I need him to give me his word, so I tap the call button next to his name.
The second he answers, I keep my voice down and say, "Don't fuck me on this one, Cullen."
"You have my word that I’ll do whatever it takes to win her for the two of us.”
Sincerity and urgency match his wording.
He continues, “I was worried she might find a way to go, so I checked out the rules for the auction and got pre-approved.”
“Good thinking. Text me when you win, and be clear with her that I’ll get there as soon as I can.
” I have to give him credit. I just assumed my little sister would be the good girl she always was.
Why didn’t I pay more attention when she stood up to us about the auction?
Why didn’t I listen to her needs? Why didn’t I tell her how I felt sooner?
“I’ll do what I have to do. There’s a clause that allows her to back out of any situation she doesn’t feel comfortable with.”
Struggling to keep my tone controlled, I say, “I can prove I sent the gifts.”
“I know.”
“Then don’t fuck me while I sit at home babysitting her dad.”
“You have my word, Ryker.”