Chapter Three
Belle
There are a few things in my life that I’ll never be able to forget for as long as I live.
Holding my dying grandmother’s hand as she passed in her hospice bed is the first. There’d been undeniable grief and sadness that took over my body for the loss of the woman I was named after.
On the opposite end of the spectrum is when I signed the paperwork that deemed me the official owner of Belle’s Place in Pittsburgh.
The absolute joy that buzzed under my skin as I signed my name on that line was so contagious that even the grumpy lawyer had cracked a smile.
But the third moment that will forever be carved into my mind is last night, when I saw the way my stepbrother stared at my naked body.
I thanked whatever God existed that he’d at least walked in on me when I was freshly shaved and squeaky clean.
An hour before then, I’d wondered when the last time I washed my hair or shaved my legs was.
Safe to say, it’d been a while. And the girls that Jesse has always associated with were much more put together than that.
They probably got Brazilian waxes every month and made sure they got routine haircuts that rid them of their split ends and overgrown roots.
I’m lucky if I get my hair trimmed every six months.
It was hard not obsessing over the way Jesse’s nostrils flared as he took in my breasts. Or the way he stepped toward me, as if he couldn’t help himself. He’d watched me the way I’d seen him watch the puck on the ice—with very careful consideration. Like he’d been planning his next move.
And I don’t know what would have happened if my mother hadn’t called and broken the moment.
I’d waited for him to come home despite his message, listening for the telltale sign of tire tracks or the garage door opening and closing.
I wanted to talk to him. Apologize for…I don’t know.
Something. But nothing ever came, and I’d given up waiting when four o’clock rolled around with no sign of him.
He left a string of my messages go unanswered since I woke up just after seven.
Me: Are you okay?
Me: It’s not a big deal
Me: You know…the thing
Me: Just let me know you’re not in a ditch somewhere please
Me: Jesse?
All five messages are ignored. Thinking about what happened turns the pure shock and arousal I’d been feeling into irritation.
He’s the one who barged in on me. He’s the one who stared at my boobs like they were an all you can eat buffet being offered to the team right after a big game. So why the hell is he the one who stormed out?
Maybe I should get my head examined for what I do next, but there’s too much pent-up frustration built inside of me to just go about my day. So before getting out of bed, I reach into the nightstand drawer and pull out the vibrator that’s been my trusty companion for years now.
And I let my mind wander on the heated gaze he pinned me with. How his eyes roamed over me with hunger, and his body heat soaked into me when he stepped forward. I imagine exactly what he would do if we weren’t interrupted. What I hoped he would do.
In my mind, I see Jesse dropping the towel back onto the ground and closing the distance between us.
His mouth is on mine and his hands are on my body, yanking me into him until I can feel his hard cock against my center.
I think about how good the friction of his denim would feel against my clit as I rub against him while he devours my mouth.
His hands move up my body until one of them palms my breast and plays with my nipple, making me even wetter at the sensation of him pinching and pulling and rolling it between his thumb and forefinger.
He pulls back, biting down hard on my bottom lip and earning a mewled noise from me. With a cocky smirk, he says, “You have no idea how long I’ve wanted to do this.”
And this turns into so much more. His other hand not working my breasts go further south, stopping between the apex of my thighs and feeling how hot I am. It would be so easy for him to slip inside me if he took himself out of his jeans.
When he realizes how wet I am for him, his smirk grows against my lips. “You want this too, don’t you? How long, baby girl?”
That nickname makes my hips arch as I feel the telltale signs of an orgasm building. “So long,” I say aloud, mouth falling open as I picture his fingertips dancing along my slick folds. “I’ve wanted you for so long.”
The admission earns me a growl of appreciation, and his knuckles graze my sensitive clit until I’m moaning aloud.
“Please,” I whimper. I’m so close.
So, so close.
“Please, what?” he goads. “Say it, baby girl. Tell me you want me to make you come.”
“Please,” I cry out, at the pinnacle and ready to jump. “Please make me come, Jesse.”
The second I imagine his fingers entering me, I’m done.
I come hard while crying out his name, waves of pleasure sweeping over my body with an intensity I’ve never felt before in my life. The orgasm is mind-altering good, and my legs shake as the vibrator moves against me until I can’t take it anymore.
My breathing is fast as I turn the device off and drop it onto my sheets, feeling my heart drum wildly in my chest from the fantasy I’ve had one too many times.
It’s only after I come back to reality when I hear the footsteps in the hall moving away from my room and a door slamming at the other end.
Oh.
My.
God.
Jesse.
*
I decide two hours after this morning’s incident that the mirror I broke years ago really must have given me seven years of bad luck.
I’ve never considered myself a superstitious person, even as someone who spends a lot of time with athletes that almost always have superstitions of their own. But me? I wasn’t convinced until today.
Because not even a day after my stepbrother walks in on me naked, he hears me get off saying his name.
And I haven’t quite decided how to take myself out yet.
Do I walk in front of an eighteen-wheeler?
Drown myself in a bubble bath after getting drunk off my favorite bottle of Moscato?
Start cheering for Boston’s hockey team at a Pittsburgh Penguins game?
All are perfectly good ways to end this life, and each of them are better than dealing with the absolute mortification that comes with facing Jesse.
Thankfully, the stint of bad luck eases when I get a call from Rae telling me my paperwork is ready to be signed and keys can be picked up. I waste no time getting the hell out of the house before Jesse decides to leave his room.
I try to wipe everything that happened from my mind when I see Rae’s smiling face at the store. “Hi,” I greet, holding my hand out to her.
I’m silently grateful that she has a busy schedule ahead of her and can’t stay long to chat after the rental agreement is signed and a check with the first three month’s rent is given to her.
It isn’t until after she leaves that I release a relieved breath of air and study the space that’s now mine.
Setting my bag down on the counter, I grab my notebook and start taking measurements of the space.
This storefront is much smaller than Belle’s Place, so the furniture I have in storage probably won’t work for it.
Not that it would matter. A speakeasy in downtown Fairbanks wouldn’t do as well.
The stores and eateries surrounding the space would make it stick out like a sore thumb.
When my phone buzzes a while into my brainstorming session, nerves bubble in my stomach. Thankfully, it isn’t his name that I see on the screen.
Mama Mia: Hi, pretty girl! Are we still on for lunch tomorrow? We’ll be arriving early at the hotel, and I’d love to see you before the game. It can be a girls day!
Ugh. The game. Normally, I’m excited to wear my Clarkson jersey, grab an overpriced drink, and cheer the team on.
I’m not so sure how Jesse would react if he saw me in the stands watching him like nothing happened.
But our parents will be attending this home game, and it would be weirder if I didn’t go.
Especially now that I don’t have Belle’s Place as an excuse not to.
Me: A girls day sounds nice. Let me know where you want to go. My treat
I know her better than to accept the offer. She’ll fight me for the check the second it comes to our table, smacking my hand away or pinching me until I squeak out in pain.
Mama Mia: Don’t even try that. I told you next time was on me. I’ll let you know when we get to town. Love you!
I can’t help but smile at her message as I sink onto the lonely barstool left behind.
She’ll either be ecstatic to hear about my new business venture or lecture me on how I need to focus on taking better care of myself since I’m always busy.
Then conversation always veers toward my lack of a dating life.
As I stare at my message threads, I can’t help but click on the one with Jesse’s contact photo set as a selfie we took at my high school graduation.
It’s my favorite photo of us because he didn’t have a lot of time to visit, but he flew halfway across the country to attend it anyway.
Then he had to get on a plane and go right back to the University of Denver where he got a full hockey scholarship.
He’d been home for a day, and he’d come for me.
I stare at that picture, of the youthfulness on our faces, and can’t help but feel nostalgic.
His arm was wound against my waist and a proud smile was spread across his scruffy face.
Part of me is glad he abandoned the facial hair stage.
I always thought he looked better clean shaven, even when he had a baby face like in this photo.
Throat thickening, I scan the last message I sent to him this morning that he never responded to. I really wish he had, or maybe I would have been a lot quieter while trying to relieve some pent-up energy. But what’s done is done.
Clicking off my phone, I gaze out the front window with my chin resting on the palm of my hand. I firmly believe that things happen for a reason, and I came to Fairbanks, Connecticut for something bigger and better. Not just for Jesse, but for me.
So I’ll do anything I can to make sure that homey feeling doesn’t go away. Which means not addressing the elephant in the room when I go home later. If said elephant is there. I’ll smile at him, make his protein shake, and ask how his day is like nothing ever happened.
We’ll move on like we always do and be those two young kids celebrating a high school graduation again.
Because deep down, I know the only versions of ourselves we can be are Jesse Clarkson the MVP award-winning hockey player, and his stepsister Belle.