Cockney:A Stepbrother Romance(20)

     



 



We're silent for a moment, both of us panting as we lean against the  glass of the shower door, before I turn in his arms and smirk at him,  "Who's loud now?"



He grins, "Challenge accepted."





"Oy, you look like shit."



I'm bleary-eyed as I frown at Marco while he shakes his head at me. Any  other day and I'd tear him a new asshole, but today, I just don't have  the energy.



Well, that and I know he's right. Chloe and I are on about three hours  of sleep after last night, which is red-lining it even for me. Of  course, I tried to push it after the fun in the shower by following her  back into her room, but she'd pushed me back towards the door. "Out,"  she'd said, shaking her head. "Not while they're home, Oliver."



Like my dad ever comes up to my floor, but I'll grant her that worry.  It'd be just my luck for the one day ever that my old man comes upstairs  in the morning to be the day I'm in bed with his fiancé's daughter.



So yeah, it's going to be absolute murder getting through the shift  tonight. But hey, if I do look like shit after the night I had with  Chloe?



Totally worth it.



I blink and rub my eyes before nodding at Marco instead of giving him a dish of authority, "Yeah, late night, mate."



"Where'd you run off to after the pub? You buggered out right when your sister did."



"Stepsister," I add, clearing my throat and trying not to grin too much at his mentioning buggered.



"Yeah she was feeling sad and shit," I shrug. "Dunno, mate, probably the move and all that."



Marco nods, "Well, sad or not, she left me all high and dry when she  ditched. I mean I know she's your sis- stepsister or whatever, mate, but  the stems on that one? Shit, bruv," he says with a whistle and some  sort of pantomimed thrusting motion with his hips.



I can feel my fist clench at my side, my jaw tightening as I narrow my  eyes at him. This is one of my oldest mates in the world, going back to  when we were kids tearing it up around the old block, and yet I'm  suddenly wanting to pound his fucking face in for just thinking about  Chloe like that.



Cool it, I mentally growl to myself. Can't very well go around murdering  friends for expressing an interest in a girl I can't very well say I'm  into.



Marco shrugs, oblivious to how close he just came to getting my fist in  his teeth, "Anyways, not a total loss; got my knob polished by that new  waitress."



I smirk and raise a brow, "Delia?"



He laughs, "I wish, brother. Nah, the other one; Jill."



"Not bad."



"Yeah it was alright," he glances at the prep sheet in his hands. "Fuck me," he groans.



"Full book out front tonight, get your game face on."



He grins, "Says the bloke who looks like he slept in the fuckin gutter."  He eyes me suspiciously, "Okay, please tell me you at least had a bit  of luck last night after you dropped Chloe home."



You have no fucking idea, my friend.



I shrug and say nothing, and Marco grins. "Atta boy!" He shakes his head, "Fuckin hell, must be nice to be restaurant royalty."



Chloe steps into the kitchen. Chloe who looks as tired as me. Chloe  who's ignored me at breakfast and caught her own ride to work while I  was upstairs getting ready.



Yeah, mate, it's fuckin' lovely at the top.



She shoots me a look before quickly moving to her station and tying her apron on, her back to me.



"Oy, hit that list, yeah?"



Marco nods. "Hey, go find yourself an espresso IV drip bruv, you really do look like shit you know."



"The list, Marco."



He grins, "You got it, chef."



Chloe doesn't turn to look at me until I'm right next to her, like she's  just noticing I'm there. Which is total fucking bollocks, by the way,  since I watched her shoot me about three not-so-hidden glances on my way  to her side of the kitchen.



"Hey."



"Yes?"



I frown, "What's with the ditch this morning?"



I cringe the second I say it, realizing what an utter twat I sound like. Like some sort of jaded chick the day after.



Seriously, what the fuck is this girl doing to me?



Chloe just shrugs and turns back to dough she's rolling out, dusting it  with the occasional sprinkle of flour, all while doing her damnedest to  avoid looking at me. "You were going to make me late."



I arch a brow at her, even if she isn't looking at me. "You just got here."



"My shift just started." She cocks her head as she turns towards me, "I'm not late or anything."



"No, you're not late, you're just acting a bit crazy since you kicked me out of your room last night."



She whirls at me then, her face bright red and her eyes wide, "Oliver!"  She hisses, her eyes darting around the kitchen. "Jesus, keep it to  yourself," she spits out.



I roll my eyes, "Fucking hell, relax. I'm not exactly going to go around telling everyone."



She glares at me, "What's that supposed to mean?"



"Oh, did you want me to send out a staff notice about how I made my new pastry cook come all over my cock last night?"



Her face goes quite crimson and she drops the rolling pin in her hands  to the floor with clatter. Her eyes dart around the room again, again  like she's worried someone's listening to her dirty little secret, which  somehow starts to really piss me off.



"You're unbelievable," she says quickly, shaking her head as she picks  up the rolling pin and tosses it in the basic sink next to her station.



"You know, I think I remember you saying the same thing last night just  before I gave you the best orgasm of your life while you sucked off my  finger."



I have no idea what's pushing me to be such a prick here, but it's like I  can't even stop the words from coming out of my mouth. And the worst  part is, I know I'm acting like this because for the first time  literally ever, I'm the one getting kicked out of a room or getting  ditched at the front door. How in the hell did things get so turned  around?



Shit, that's what I do best. Leaving, sneaking out, ditching, not  calling back; you name the scummy post-sex move, I've done it. I've  spent most of my adult life using my charm and my looks, and my position  either in the streets, or the army, or now the restaurant world to drop  panties and spread legs. And after? I'm fuckin' gone and on to the  next.



Except now I've got this fucking girl. Chloe fucking Caulfield; the girl  who stood me up. The girl that told me "no sex" last night.



The girl who kicked me out.



I'm not sure what the fuck is wrong with me, but I need to get my shit together is what I need to do.



Chloe's whole face wrinkles up as she turns to me with her mouth open,  "I did not ‘suck off your finger' you disgusting pig, I-" she stumbles  over her words, her face growing bright red again and her fists balling  up at her sides. "You know what, I knew last night was a huge mistake."



"Oh?" I cross my arms over my chest and smirk at her, "Why's that, luv? Cause once you've had a taste, you can never go ba-"



"Because you're disgusting, and a man-whore, and...and...repulsive."



Her eyes flash as they meet mine, and for maybe the first time in my  life, I'm actually at a loss for words. Fuck, I mean what do you even  say when someone calls you repulsive?



You say nothing, that's what you say.



I hold her gaze with my own for one more second, glowering at her,  before I turn and abruptly stalk back across the kitchen to the service  pass.



Nice one.



*****



If I was tired before, a few hours later right before we start service  I'm fucking fading. I'm stumbling, squinting at the menu in front of me  for any last minute changes while Ian, the front of house manager and  Maître d' taps his foot impatiently and straightens his fucking tie for  the hundredth time.



"Oy, Ian, chill; you're making me nervous."



"Oh, am I? Sooo sorry, chef." His tone is dripping with sarcasm, and  though I give him a sharp glare, he's another one who gets a pass. Not  just because I'm Goddamn exhausted, but because Ian's been a home run of  a wingman more times than I can count.



Let me just say, a gay friend is secret weapon you definitely want to have when you're cruising for girls.



I finally realize I'm not even reading words on the menu and pass it  back to him with a mumbled "it's fine" and a middle finger when he rolls  his eyes and snatches it back from me.



"Mate," Marco is leaning against the counter next to me, eyeing me.



"What?" I'm irritable, and tired as shit, and I just want to get through  this fucking day so I can sleep and figure out how to get Chloe out  from under my Goddamn skin tomorrow.



"You're fading."



"Tell me something I don't know, Marco."         

     



 



He opens his mouth but then hastily closes it and shakes his head.