Chapter Twelve
Eric
Things are fucked up.
Having our parents show up the other day was a wake-up call neither of us wanted. I can feel both of us trying to put distance between the other. It sucks ass.
Despite the strangeness during the days, we seem to end up naked and making love in the middle of every night. I come inside her and make whispered promises I have no business making. We love each other in those dark moments like it’s the realest, most normal thing on the planet.
But the days, man.
Ugh.
“Scootch your bootch,” Yolanda says as she opens her oven. “You okay, honey?”
I nod as I brown the sausage. I’ve been at our parents’ house since the butt crack of dawn this morning.
Tonight is the big party and we have so much to do.
Clara is supposed to come by after work to lend a hand.
As much as I want to see her, I’m not sure if I’ll be able to handle the weirdness of us being in our childhood home knowing we have such a horrible secret.
Horrible?
It’s actually the most amazing thing that’s ever happened to me. I hate that it has to be kept a secret. One day, we might have to squash it altogether.
Then why do you keep having unprotected sex with your stepsister, dumbass?
“I’m fine,” I lie with a grunt. “Just thinking about what Dad said.”
Yolanda closes the oven and then rests her hip on the counter near me to study me up close. “You know he means well, but sometimes oversteps. If you’ve got the savings, take time to find what you want to do. Don’t let him rush you.”
“I wish I could do this with you,” I tease, grinning at her. “Bake shit and listen to music.”
She chuckles and smacks my arm. “Don’t tease an old woman. It’s mean.”
We fall into a comfortable routine, making a shit ton of stuff from her list. It’s nearing five when we stop for a break. I suck down a bottle of water while my mind drifts to Clara.
I miss her.
I can’t go a day without her, apparently, without physically aching for her. She has me so fucked in the head.
“Hey guys,” a sweet voice calls out. “Did I miss out on all the fun?”
My chest tightens at the sound of Clara entering the house. She waltzes into the kitchen, a bag over her shoulder and a smile on her face. I track her, feeling the pull to go to her, as she hugs her mom. Then, she gives me a quick hug. I wish I could crush her to me and keep her there.
“We’re mostly done,” Yolanda says, stroking her hand down Clara’s back. “We need to get ready, of course, but it’s just about ready.”
“I can keep an eye on the oven,” I tell Yolanda, “if you want to go get dressed. It’ll only take me a couple of minutes to get ready.”
She gives me a grateful smile and hurries out of the kitchen. Clara sets her bag on the floor and peeks at me under her dark lashes. It’s dangerous being in this kitchen alone with her.
“How was work?” I ask, voice gruff. “Busy?”
I hate small talk. And yet…
“Good,” she chirps. “It’s the season for great tips. I’m happy.”
“Do you massage a lot of men?”
So much for small talk. Now you’re back to being a possessive idiot.
Her eyebrow hikes up. “A lot, yes. Why?”
I grind my teeth together, hoping to get the image of half-naked men on her table out of my head. “Just wondering.”
She creeps over to me until she’s inches from my chest. “Are you jealous?”
“If I was, would you quit?”
“Nope.”
“I don’t like thinking about you touching them,” I admit with a growl. “Makes me twitchy.”
She smirks. “I’m a professional. Except with you.”
Heat ignites in my belly. Before I can stop myself, I dip my mouth to hers and kiss her deeply. She gasps, shocked at the boldness of my action, but kisses me eagerly back.
I pull away before I get carried away. The last thing we need is to get caught by her mother.
“I love you,” I blurt out, chest aching. “So fucking much.”
Her features soften and she hugs me. “I love you too.”
We’re both hurting. I can feel it. I know she does too. This thing between us is messy and fucked-up. We should quit it, but we can’t. It’s an addiction that we’ll never be able to conquer.
I rub my palms up and down her back before settling them on her ass. She squeezes me tighter. The oven timer dings and we jolt apart. And just in time too, because I hear the garage door opening.
“I’m going to go get changed,” Clara says, pecking me on the cheek.
She disappears and seconds later Dad walks into the house.
“Smells damn good, Son,” he says as he strides over to me. He smacks my back and grins at me. “Anything I can snack on now?”
“Yolanda will kill you.”
“Meh,” he grumbles. “What she doesn’t know won’t hurt her.”
“What’s that?” Yolanda says as she breezes into the kitchen wearing a pretty green dress.
“Busted.” I burst out laughing as Dad hangs his head. “On that note, I’ll go change too.”
Once upstairs in my old room that’s been turned into a guest room, I tear off my casual clothes and change into slacks, dress shoes, and a corny Christmas sweater that came from Dad’s closet.
“Hey,” Clara says, peeking her head into the room. “Can I come in?”
My cock jolts in my slacks. “Of course.”
She closes the door behind her and leans her back against it.
I rake my gaze down her form, mouth watering.
In a tight, red dress that hugs all of her curves, I’m astonished at how beautiful she is.
The dress is fairly demure, not showing any cleavage and hits below the knee, but it’s snug around her body.
I’ve memorized every curve and they’re all on display for everyone to see.
I take her hand and tug her to me. With her high heels, she’s nearly eye to eye. Spearing my hands into her hair, I kiss her much rougher than earlier. She’s so damn beautiful and I ache to be inside of her.
“You’re gorgeous,” I murmur against her lips. “So fucking gorgeous.”
“You’re awfully cute too in this sweater.”
I groan and nip at her red lipstick painted bottom lip. “I want to go home, sass. I want to tear this pretty dress off you and worship you like you deserve.”
She rakes her nails along the sides of my neck making me shiver. “Soon. We have to get through this party first.”
I kiss her again, and boldly roam my hands over her ass. When she moans, my dick nearly rips out of the confines of my pants. That is until I hear a giggle.
We bolt apart and I stare in horror at Ruthie and Layla peeking in the open door, matching mischievous grins on their faces.
Fuck.
Fuck, fuck, fuck, fuck!
“Hey girlies,” Clara says in a high-pitched voice. “Show me your new dolls Grandma got you.”
They cheer and race off. Clara shoots me a panicked look before disappearing. I hope to fuck she can convince them not to say anything.
This is bad.
So bad.
Shaking, I make my way out of my old room, past Dad’s office that once was Clara’s room, and steal a glance in the room the girls share. Layla makes direct eye contact with me and makes her Barbie and Ken kiss. Ruthie laughs uncontrollably as Clara whispers things to them.
I take off like my ass is on fire.
I’m able to slip outside to hide without being detected. It’s cold as fuck and snowing. Again. I let the snow numb my skin and the cold slow my erratic heartbeat.
Stupid.
I’m so fucking stupid.
Kissing Clara in our parents’ house was beyond stupid. It was like taking the pin off a grenade. Now I have to wait for it to explode in my face.
Bile burns up my throat. I itch to drown myself in one of the cocktails we have planned to serve tonight, but I can’t let Yolanda down further than I already have. She’s going to need for me to help her pull off this epic Christmas party.
What happens when the girls tattle on us?
Fuck, fuck, fuck.
In this moment, without Clara, I realize I have no one to talk to. No friends. No confidants. Nothing. And, pretty soon, I’ll have no family either.
“Look what the cat dragged in all the way from New York,” a familiar voice says. “How the hell have you been, man?”
Bug Eyes?
A motherfucking cherry on a shitastic sundae.
“Hey,” I grunt, voice pained. “Long time, no see.”
James strides along the show-shoveled sidewalk and onto the porch, jutting his hand out to shake mine.
I take his proffered hand and give it a squeeze.
I’ve been away for far too long, because he’s not the same bug-eyed guy I remember.
He’s growing a beard and I don’t see any eye boogers.
If I’m being honest with myself, he looks good.
Maybe Yolanda should set him up with Clara. James is our friend. He’s a good man.
My stomach burns hot with disgust. I can’t stomach the idea of them together.
She belongs with me.
Unfortunately, that ship has sailed. Our sisters caught us kissing. It’s only a matter of time before that shit explodes my life into a million pieces.
“You okay?” James asks. “You’re looking a little sick. Been hitting the cocktails early?”
I blow out a sharp breath. “I wish. Maybe that’s what I need.”
He studies me, the twinkling Christmas lights on the porch, lighting his face up. “Want to talk about it?”
At one time, I feel like I would have confided my darkest secrets to our neighbor friend. Too much time has passed, though. There’s a divide now and I don’t even know how to bridge it.
The door opens behind me and I whirl around to find Clara frowning.
“Hey,” she says, waving to James. Then, she turns to me. “It’s all good, Eric. Relax.”
I bore my gaze into her, aching to go to her for a comforting hug. Swallowing thickly, I nod instead. “Okay. Be there in a sec. Catching up with an old friend.”
“You look stunning, Clara,” James says. “In case no one told you today.”
She smiles. “Thank you, and you’re not the first person to tell me.”
James chuckles as she closes the door. “Still fiery that one.”
“Yup,” I croak out as I turn to look at him.
His eyebrows pinch together and he steps closer to me. “When are you two going to get together? I keep thinking one day I’ll get an invite to the wedding.”
I freeze and gape at him. “W-what are you talking about?”
He snorts. “I’m not a dumbass, Eric. You two have always been in love.”
“We have not,” I blurt out, denial dripping from my words. “Don’t be a dick.”
“I’m not being a dick,” James says, voice firm. “And you are. I just saw it again with my very own two eyes. It’s never been that obvious before, but it’s always been there.”
“You’ve got it all wrong,” I rasp out, unable to look him in the eye. “She’s my stepsister. We can’t be together.”
He takes another step and squeezes my shoulder. “You’re trembling. It’s cold out here and you don’t have a coat on. Go inside, man.”
I swallow hard, hating how my eyes burn with emotion. “I can’t breathe in there.”
“You have to,” James says softly. “You have to face it head-on.”
Squeezing my eyes shut, I try to imagine what that would look like. Painful. Horrifying. Awful. Loving Clara shouldn’t mean losing the rest of my family, but it’s exactly what would happen.
How can my family forgive me for such a travesty?
They can’t. They won’t.
We can’t do this.