Chapter 3
Three
Brandon
Neither of the women seems to know the real Devin.
They think his nice guy facade is the real man.
I see him watching me sometimes, probably trying to figure out how much I remember from living with him when my mother was his housekeeper.
Much more than I let on, for sure. Does he think I’ll tell his wife about the debauchery of his single days, the things I saw that no kid should see?
The first time I saw a naked stranger passed out in the living room I thought she was a mannequin, but when I touched her, she was warm.
Devin laughed, throwing her unconscious body over his shoulder and taking her upstairs to his room.
After I told my mother, she arranged for me to be out of the house or in our room on weekends.
But I was a kid, so of course I snuck out whenever I could, and the things I saw Devin do are still seared in my brain.
When the Briarwood principal and coach requested that I live with Devin, he said it was his godly duty to take me in.
You would hardly imagine this was the same man who did all those sick things.
He technically didn’t have to accept me since I was about to turn eighteen, but he agreed to have the guardianship extended until I finish high school.
He’s soaked up the praise for his generosity.
I know he’s given at least one speech at one of those businessman clubs about how he rescued a juvenile delinquent from a life of despair because he had me sitting in the room like a prop.
But the first time he and I were alone he promised to “destroy” me if I sold drugs again because if I embarrassed him, I’d regret it for the rest of my life. At least he has his priorities straight, am I right?
A combination of fast-paced rock and aggressive hip-hop drives me forward, the uneven ground forcing me to focus on placing my feet as I run.
The burn of exertion gradually transforms into the ecstasy and clarity of mind that only comes from a challenging workout.
I feel the pressure lift away, my focus narrowing to the sensation of my feet on the path, the rush of air over my sweat-damp skin, and the rhythm of my controlled breathing.
My mind shifts through images of the last few weeks—my mother’s face the last time I saw her, Devin sitting at his desk in his study droning on about his expectations, Deja standing by the pool in a yellow bikini that barely covers anything.
Shit! I don’t want to think about her, but my mind keeps circling back.
Those long, lean legs that terminate in her lush, heart-shaped ass.
Her flawless, smooth brown skin. Those dark eyes, at once innocent and knowing.
From minute to minute I think she’s a virgin or a vixen—either the least or the most experienced girl in our senior class.
I imagine her on her knees, those soft, full lips opening to accept my cock, hearing her gag as I force myself deep inside, watching her eyes bulge and leak, silently begging for mercy I won’t show.
Damnit. Now I’m getting hard. Thank god my running shorts have a compression liner, but there is no comfortable way to run with an erection. I try to think of something unsexy. Oatmeal. The smell of the locker room after soccer practice. Taking a math test.
Arriving at the chalk-marked tree does the trick.
I’m limp as a noodle again as I dig through the leaves and dirt until I find the small metal case about the size of a cigarette lighter, but a little longer.
It makes barely a lump in my pocket. I continue down the track, the brief pause making the next few hundred steps torture.
It takes almost until I return to the back gate for my muscles to relax again.
When I enter the house, I’m also dripping with sweat.
As much as I’d like to take a shower, I need to lift weights while my muscles are still warmed up.
I hope all this effort is worth it. Coach will put me on A squad soon, and I have to be able to keep up with the other guys or people will suspect I don’t belong there.
But working out is more than just for soccer.
It’s the best method I’ve found for keeping my mind off the things I don’t want to think about.
Of course, when I step inside the gym, who do I see running on the treadmill but Deja, dressed in a sports bra and yet another pair of tiny shorts.
The movement of her ass is hypnotic. My cock jerks against the stiff liner, and she spots me in the mirror just as I wince.
A frown flits across her face, but then she makes her expression blank.
She knows what she’s doing, dressing like that, even though she pretends not to.
It would serve her right if I accepted the invitation and took what she was offering.
I’m bigger and stronger and I like to make it hurt. What could she do?
We ignore each other for the next twenty minutes while I do my sets until she finally stops the treadmill and leaves. I know she’s avoiding me because she usually lifts as well, but not today. I’m just about done, too, but I get a sick pleasure in knowing I messed up her workout.
She’s generally impervious to my digs, so I get extra enjoyment when I’m able to get under her skin.
That day in the hot tub was glorious. I got so close to getting her in big trouble.
Maybe if she wasn’t such a stuck-up bitch it would be different, but people like her need to be put in their place.
I imagine picking up one of the jump ropes hanging on the wall and lashing her with it, catching the tender skin where her thigh meets her ass, eliciting a pained cry…
damn it! Again? I’m going to have to jerk off in the shower.
Deja
Here I am again, sitting across the dining table from last week’s trash.
Same old soccer jersey, same resentful attitude, but this time there’s that smug triumph underneath it all.
He thinks he’s winning now. I shouldn’t let it, but it gets under my skin.
He may think of me as the interloper here, but I’m not.
He is the one who doesn’t belong. He was just the housekeeper’s kid, yet he acts like this place is his birthright and I stole it.
“Sir,” Brandon says, fake as hell, “I was wondering if I could borrow your car tonight.”
“What do you need it for?” Devin asks, slipping into his ‘Boss of You’ persona.
“I’m meeting one of my friends at the movie theater,” Brandon says. “Then we were going to go to hang out at the arcade.”
The arcade, my ass. More like smoking weed in the field behind the mall. Not sure who he would be doing it with, though. I haven’t heard of him hanging out with anyone.
“Is this with a girl?” Devin asks. Super awkward now. “Or a boy. Either is fine.”
“It’s not a date,” Brandon says, quickly. “Just hanging out with a couple buddies from the team.”
“Bom chicka bom bom,” I sing, earning a disapproving look from my mom. Brandon gives me a what-the-fuck look,’ but he also colors a little. No, it doesn’t really make sense to imply he’s having sex with his guy friends but if it embarrasses him, I’m doing it.
“Do we know these boys?” Devin asks.
Brandon shrugs. “I don’t think so. They were recruited from other districts like I was.”
“I’m really not comfortable—“
“Why don’t you take him, Deja,” my mom interrupts Devin. “You’re going to the movies tonight, aren’t you?”
“Uh,” I say, caught off guard. Usually I’d have a lie at the ready, but I’ve been talking about going to see this new movie for weeks and was even griping about how I couldn’t see it on opening night because one of my friends was grounded and we’d all promised to go see it together.
I should also explain that Devin’s car is a two-year-old Mercedes Benz E class that he still caresses with his fingertips every time he walks past it.
There is zero chance of him lending it to Brandon, or anyone else for that matter.
“What time does your movie start?” I ask, trying to think on my feet.
“We hadn’t picked one yet,” Brandon says. I try giving him the ‘work with me’ eyes, but it’s a no-go. “I think that would be a great idea.”
“You can give him a ride home after, can’t you?” my mother presses on. “You girls weren’t planning to go anywhere else.”
“We were actually going over to Lorelei’s house after,” I improvise. She lives in the opposite direction from us, so it is definitely out of my way to bring him home.
“You could take Brandon and his friends with you,” my mother suggests.
“So have boys over?”
“Her parents are going to be home, aren’t they?” Devin asks, that much-too-sharp brain of his picking up on my careless mistake.
“Yeah, of course,” I say. We aren’t going to Lorelei’s house precisely BECAUSE her parents are going to be home. We are going to the field behind the mall.
“Just make sure you guys are home by midnight,” my mom says, cheerfully. “It will be good for you to spend some time together. You two snipe at each other too much.”
Brandon and I exchange a look across the table and for once we are on entirely the same page. We don’t like each other, and we don’t WANT to like each other. What we both wish is that the other would disappear and never come back.
Brandon is as rude in my car as he is everywhere else.
He rolls down the window, lowers the seat way back, and tries to change the radio station.
My car is not that new or that nice because I bought it with my own money that I saved up over two summers.
Or two-thirds was my money and the other third Devin and my mom gave me.
Devin was very adamant about getting it checked by a mechanic and all that before I bought it. He paid for that, too.