Hooked: A Stepbrother Romance(5)

Well, at least he’d learned to hide, pretending he was decent.

“I’d rather die,” I said, and a shadow crossed his face.

“That’s not true.”

“Oh, blow it out your ass, Mr. Goodwill. What are you doing here?”

“Helping,” he said, looking down at the floor and sliding his free hand into his pocket. For a second, he looked like a boy who’d just been caught with his hand in the cookie jar…except there was nothing boyish about Simon Ferguson.

“You’re a bit late for that, by about thirteen years. You’re not welcome here. What did you do? Fuck a movie star’s wife and need to do a little damage control? Go find some other charity to patronize, asshole.”

“Are you allowed to swear in front of the kids, now?”

“I’m allowed to do whatever the fuck I want. And the only kid I see here is a damned overgrown one. Now, please kindly go choke on a lemon while I sort through these vests, Mr. Ferguson."

“They’re not going to be very useful without me, Emilia,” he hissed softly, close to my ear. Grabbing the whole bag, I turned and briskly walked back to the gym, pushing through the doors as hard as I could. Maybe, just maybe, if I let it go at the right time it might slam into his face and smash some of the prettiness away.

“Emilia, wait,” he called from just behind me. I looked over my shoulder, and a petty thrill ran through me as the doors swung back in his direction. Chuckling, I dumped the bag out and spread the vests out on the floor.

“Emilia.”

“Fuck off,” I hissed quietly, focusing on the vests.

“Emilia, I—”

“I see you two have met,” Adam interrupted, standing atop a pile of minty new sports mats. “Everyone’s all caught up, Em,” he said to me, gesturing towards the pocket he kept his phone in. “Now, Mr. Ferguson, do you need anything else?”

I could feel Simon’s presence behind me, and for a second I was seized by the mad urge to slap him, resign, and spend the rest of the day curled up into a sobbing ball. The only thing that stopped me was seeing Theo’s scrawny silhouette huddled in a corner, sitting patiently. I knew what he was waiting for.

A bowl of cereal and a little compassion.

I looked down at my feet, overwhelmed and feeling tears threatening to spill.

“Everything is set for tomorrow. I’ll just need Ms. Jones to show up,” Simon said, his tone the exact cold voice I’d dreaded years ago. I shivered. “And the players, of course. In their vests.”

A second later, Simon was trading a friendly handshake with Adam before turning and offering his hand to me, as if this were somehow business as usual. His eyes caught mine, and all traces of smugness were gone. He did look boyish after all, and the breath caught in my throat.

“Blue” had always failed to accurately describe the brightness of his eyes, but right now, his gaze was shining with an earnest vividness I'd never seen during the two dreadful summers we'd lived together. On complete autopilot, I took his hand. He squeezed tight, and a shiver ran down my spine.

Jesus. Simon Ferguson really was back in my life.

“I’ll see you two tomorrow, then. Have a good day,” he said, his voice chipper as he grabbed a heavy leather workbag from the floor. Taking a few steps towards Theo, Simon once again offered his hand. “See you tomorrow, too. Nice meeting you.”

Theo’s eyes went wide as he took Simon’s hand and shook it, a smile on his face.

“Are you okay?” Adam whispered, his eyes fixed on me.

“Sure,” I lied, bile rising in my throat as I recognized the pattern. The seeds of hero-worship were already firmly planted on Theo’s face. Typical. Simon always did have a way of making people love him. Always.

Asshole.

With one last wave, Simon casually turned and headed for the doors, large shoulders and bulging deltoids moving just under his perfectly tailored shirt, his snug designer jeans just barely hiding his fantastic backside.

I sighed, feeling bad about being dishonest with Adam. Still, with Simon back in my life, I was going to have to get used to it. If lying to my friend was the worst thing that happened this summer, I would count myself lucky.

Simon Ferguson.

My freaking stepbrother.

He was back.





I’m not writing this shit.

It’s stupid. You’re stupid.

Actually, you can just go fuck yourself.





I let out a long sigh, staring at the ceiling of my ridiculously oversized hotel room while I toweled myself dry. Even with the unusually hot spring afternoon, a warm bath had seemed like a good idea after this morning's tense meeting with Emilia.

I’d known what I was in for with the Goodman Youth Center; I’d wanted to be in it. Rugby and troubled teens I could deal with. I’d been dealing with them my whole life.