Filling up the Virgin(203)

I scanned the room, but I didn't see any faces I recognized. Most of the crowd was rich folk and various celebrities. Mom had only invited a few close friends. And since I had no desire to mingle with rich snobs, that left me alone with just my wine glass.

“Not really your sort of party, is this?” a voice said.

I turned to see a rough-looking man approaching me. He had his shirt untucked and his tie was undone and slung haphazardly around his neck. He had a sharp jaw, deeply tanned skin, and deep, dark eyes.

“I prefer something a little more upbeat,” I said, looking out over the quiet, boring crowd. “I mean, no one even did the Chicken Dance.”

Everyone in the room was sitting quietly at their tables, talking and eating. It was all very subdued. Dinner had been even worse. People had glared at me when I used the wrong fork, and a very stiff woman in a tight, binding dress had cleared her throat at me and given me a judgmental stare when I put my elbows on the table.

“You're Anne, right?” the man said.

I eyed him warily, wondering how he knew me. “Yeah. Daughter of the bride, not that I thought I'd ever say that.” My mother had sworn off men when she divorced my father. She hadn't dated anyone in years, and she wasn't remotely the romantic type. She never would have pursued a relationship at all, if not for the prospect of striking it rich.

“Well, then,” he said, extending his hand to me, “looks like we're related.”

“Oh!” I took his hand, forcing a smile. “You'd be Matthew Junior, then.”

“Just Matt.” He chuckled. “The apple fell pretty far from the tree.”

“How far?” I asked, smirking.

“Care to find out?”

I frowned in confusion as he stepped towards the door, gesturing for me to follow. I finished the rest of my wine glass and set it down, then followed him. No one in the room even noticed us leave.

Out in the parking lot, we walked past several limousines and a line of very expensive cars, including Bentleys, a Ferrari, and a few Mercedes. I scanned the parking lot, wondering which of these luxury cars my billionaire stepbrother drove.

He stopped in front of a Harley Davidson, heavy on the chrome. “You're kidding, right?” I said.

He pulled a helmet from a compartment in the back and tossed it to me. I caught it and clutched it against my chest. “You want me to get on that thing?”

“You want to see a real party, don't you?” He straddled the bike and waved me over.

I walked over, looking at the bike, then at my dress. “I'm not really dressed for motorcycle riding.”

While I was putting the helmet on, he grabbed my skirt by the slit near the knee, and ripped it until the slit was all the way up my thigh. “There you go.”

I stared at him in shock. This was the most expensive dress I owned, and even if my mom had married a rich man, I was still dirt poor.

“Oh, don't worry about it,” he said, starting the bike and revving the engine. “I'll buy you a new one.”

I climbed onto the bike behind him. “Don't you need a helmet?” I asked.

He shrugged. “I can afford the best doctors in the world.”

With that he kicked the bike into gear and we tore out of the parking lot, leaving the boring wedding party behind.

We rode for about twenty minutes, with me clinging to Matt as hard as I could to keep from falling off. I was scared out of my mind, but at the same time, it was a rush. The bike vibrated between my legs, the engine roaring like a hungry lion. Matt took sharp turns at high speeds, making me squeal every time, though he had full control over the machine. Still, I was glad that I was the one wearing a helmet.

We finally pulled into the parking lot of a seedy looking bar. We climbed off the bike and Matt put the helmet back into its compartment. He led me inside, and I immediately felt like I was overdressed. I was wearing a shimmering blue dress and high heels. Most of the bar patrons were wearing biker leathers, stained blue jeans, and flannels. The bar smelled of old booze and cigarette smoke. Loud music played from the speakers overhead. A couple of burly men were playing pool in the back, and another group had a card game going with a pile of money in the center of the table.

“Jessup,” Matt said as he entered, “drinks all around. Put it on my tab.”

“Matty boy, my favorite customer,” the bartender said. He grinned, showing off a few missing teeth. “You want the usual?”

“Sure thing.” Matt looked at me and arched an eyebrow. “How about you, Sis? You a drinker?”

I looked around the room, feeling like everyone here would laugh at me if I ordered a wine cooler. “Whatever you're having is fine.”