Hard Bastard(153)

“And try to get along with your mom, too.”

“That I can’t promise.”

He nodded. “Good enough.” He stood up to leave. “Sorry to have bothered you. Consider this matter closed.”

He turned to leave. “Frank?” I said. He looked back at me. “Don’t be my mother’s errand boy. She doesn’t respect that.”

He opened his mouth as if he was going to respond but decided against it. Instead he just smiled and left.

I watched him go, curious. Most men would have gotten pissed off at a comment like that, but he seemed to genuinely take it to heart. Or at least he did on the outside.

Frank was an interesting person. Maybe he wasn’t a total douchebag. Then again, he was married to my mother, so who could say?

I checked the time on my laptop and cursed. It was much later than I had expected. I shut the lid and went back into the house.

I had a date with my stepsister soon.



I was leaning up against a tree when Alex came walking down the stoop.

For a second, I felt my heart almost skip a beat. She was wearing this short, tight dress that clung to her hips and heels that made her ass look like fire. She wasn’t showing much skin, but the dress was tight enough to show off her perfect fucking tits and body. Frankly, she looked incredible, and I had the urge to take her right there on the street.

“Sis,” I said. “You look nice.”

She frowned at me. “You could at least dress up.”

I looked down at myself. I was wearing a pair of jeans, boots, a black T-shirt, and an old denim jacket. “What’s wrong with this?”

“You look like a greaser or something.”

I grinned. “Maybe I am.”

“Whatever.” She looked around. “Where’s the car? Your mom said it was waiting out front for us.”

“About that,” I said. “We’re not taking the car.”

“I am not walking in these heels.”

“Don’t worry, princess. We’re taking my bike.”

She gaped at me for a second and then shook her head. “No. No way. I’m not getting on the back of that thing.”

I walked over to it and tossed her a helmet. She caught it, but barely. “Come on. I thought you liked motorcycles?”

She walked over. “That was just for show,” she hissed. “Don’t be a jerk.”

“Better get on,” I whispered. “Your father is watching us from the window.”

She moved to look but stopped herself. She took a deep breath and let it out. “Fine,” she said, and she slipped the helmet on without another word.

I climbed onto the bike and she got on the back.

“Hold on tight,” I said as I kicked the bike to life. “Now wave to daddy,” I said.

We waved to her father as I slowly pulled the bike out into traffic.

She gripped my body like steel. I could tell she had never been on the back of a bike before in her life, which only made it that much better. Unfortunately, the restaurant wasn’t too far away, and so I couldn’t really open it up and get some speed at any point.

Still, I was surprised that she had gotten on without too much of a fight. Sure, she didn’t instantly jump on the back, but who would in her situation? I was just impressed that she didn’t throw a fit. I had her pegged as a rich little daddy’s girl, but maybe there was more lurking under that exterior.

That fucking too damn sexy exterior.

I parked the bike and we walked a half block to the restaurant. It was an expensive place, clearly new, and was some kind of Italian fusion place. I didn’t much care since anything was better than the shit I had eaten in Thailand. We were seated pretty fast and had drinks in front of us almost faster.

“Not bad,” I said, looking around. “Cindy knows how to pick them.” I sipped my whisky.

“I can’t believe we even got into this place. It just opened last week, and the wait list is months out.”

I snorted, shaking my head. “What a waste.”

“What do you mean?”

“My mom could probably make anything happen, but she wastes that shit on good reservations.”

“This is really nice of her, you know.”

“It is, but don’t get used to it.”

“What’s that supposed to mean?”

I considered telling her the whole truth about Cindy. I considered telling her that Cindy had been a controlling psycho my entire childhood, barely letting me out of the house. I was homeschooled and didn’t have any friends my own age for a very long time. She had been oppressive and insane ever since my dad had died of cancer when I was two, probably because she was afraid of losing me, at least on some level.