Colt (3 page)

“So? How
was
it? Did you get to see her tits or
what
?”

I shoot an annoyed look across at Greg, my widening eyes trying to tell him to shut the fuck up before Mrs Callaghan hears him and punishes us both. But just like always, he blunders on oblivious.

“God, what I’d give to spend an hour alone with Kelly Rog-”

Just then, I hear the sound I’ve been dreading: the sharp nasal tone of Mrs Callaghan’s voice.

“One more word from you Greg Addams,
or
from you Colt Grayson, and you’ll be outside the principle’s office so fast your feet won’t touch the ground ...”

“Sorry, Mrs Callaghan,” I say, trying to give her one of my winning smiles. But her continued stare tells me she’s either too old or too short-sighted to fall for its charms. I drop it. No point wasting that shit on an old hag like Callaghan.

As she turns back to the blackboard and starts writing something, I turn my face down to my book, to show Greg that I am in no mood for any more of his questions – at
least
until the end of first period. Damn it, I need to study.

I mean, sure. With my dad’s connections, I could probably get into any school in the country I want without even trying. But any rich kid can do that, and I want to be more than just
any rich kid
. I want to be special. I want to do things my way, on my own merit. That’s exactly why I’m in this public high school in the first place. I could be in the fanciest prep school in the world right now, but instead I convinced my dad to send me
here
; to the regular, local school. I told him that if I was gonna succeed in the world, then I needed to meet ‘all kinds of people,’ not just the upper classes. Rich or poor, I want to know how people operate, and how I can get them to do what I want. Oh, and the
other
reason? None of the preps school brochures we looked at were co-ed and here I’ve got my pick of the cheerleaders ...

I stare down hard at my notes, but right now I just can’t concentrate, the words swimming in unintelligible squiggles around the page as my mind flashes back to
her.

Kelly Rogers might well be the hottest prize in school. She’s a cheerleader. She’s got long legs and pneumatic tits, and yesterday I finally got my hands on them. So then, why is it, whenever I think back about yesterday afternoon, it’s
Stacey
that I can’t get out of my damn head?

I just
knew
somehow that she was there in that closet, while I was with Kelly, listening to us. And after I kicked Kelly out of my room, I lay back on my bed and closed my eyes and pretended to snooze – forcing my breathing to slow down, just the way it would if I was actually asleep. And sure enough, my suspicions were confirmed. Through one half-closed eye, I saw her: my bratty little stepsister Stacey, slipping out of the closet and padding across my room on tiptoes, thinking she’d totally got away with it.

But there on my bed, I felt something I wasn’t at all prepared for: the sharp, almost painful rush of blood to my cock, way more powerful and intense than it’d been with Kelly just a few minutes previous, as I realized all over again that
Stacey had heard us
.

I have to admit: it turned me on.

What the fuck is wrong with me?

And later on, when she got up from the table to excuse herself? Well, let’s just call it a hunch, but I wasn’t at all surprised when I went up to her room and found her there on her bed, masturbating over me.

But now I can’t get the image out of my head. Her toned body, her back arched, her small breasts pressed tight against her shirt with their rock-hard nipples, the way her hand was moving in her panties, as she whimpered into the pillow, right on the brink of orgasm.

Damn, just thinking about it is giving me another hard-on. But I know I
need
to get her out of my head.

It’s fucking
wrong
. I mean, she’s my freaking
stepsister
, isn’t she? She’s out of bounds. Maybe I can’t have everything.

And anyway, on top of all that, I need to stay focused on my studies. I’ve been accepted into some of the world’s best colleges, and as long as I make my grades I can chose wherever I want to go in the whole world. My dad is a big-shot businessman, well, by the standard’s of
this
town, anyway. My teachers might never say it to my face, but I can see what they’re all thinking; that I’m a bratty kid who already owns a better car than their’s, that I probably pay somebody to do my homework, and that I’m going to inherit my dad’s business, while they’ll still be driving the same crappy car when they’re teaching my son.

My friends, however? They tell it to me straight. They wanna know why the hell I’m studying
at all
, when Grayson Finance is right there waiting for me. But what they don’t know, what
nobody knows
, is that soon, even sooner than they think, I’m gonna leave this town far behind me.

I’m gonna be a millionaire. A multi-millionaire. Hell, I’m not gonna stop until I’m a
billionaire.

And on top of all that, I have a feeling that if I
don’t
get out of here, and
fast
– if I end up sticking around in this place, letting myself get distracted by my own damn
stepsister
for Christsakes
–
then things can only end badly ...

Oh God. I feel totally
sick
with embarrassment at what happened last night. And even worse, it’s like there’s absolutely
nowhere
I can escape to. I mean, everywhere I seem to look, there’s some memory of Colt. If I pretend to be sick and try to convince my mom to stay home from school, I’ll still be here in this damn house – reminded of him, of the way those piercing blue eyes bore into me, of the way his stupid smug mouth curled into a grin as he watched me get myself off. And if I go to high school, well he’s
there
too, strutting around like he owns the damn place. 

At least we’ll be graduating this year
, I remind myself.

Even right now, in the locker room before gym class, I’m reminded of him. Because Kelly Rogers is in my gym class, too, smiling so sweetly like butter wouldn’t melt in her mouth, even though I know her mouth has had something far dirtier in it ... But the weirdest thing of all? When I look at her, I can’t help it: I feel envious.

I know, I know.

It’s totally fucking sick of me to wish that it’d been
me
with Colt in his room that afternoon.

But I just can’t help it.

It’s like he’s infected my freaking brain.

I shoot an envious glance over at Kelly: at her curvy body, her big tits, her toned tanned thighs. Of course Colt would go for someone like her. She looks like a real
woman
. But me? I’m still just like a scrawny little kid with tangled brown hair, skinny legs, and such small bumps on my chest you could hardly even call them breasts – more like bee stings.

I turn away to face the wall of the locker room as I pull up my gym socks, mainly to hide the blush that’s rushing to my cheeks as I think all over again about the dirty way Colt talked to Kelly.

Those
things
he said ...

Those things he told her to do ...

I can feel my panties getting wet all over again, and I fucking
hate
him for it.

§

Despite how much I’m dreading it, family dinner isn’t quite as weird as I was expecting to be. I mean, it’s the first time I’ve seen Colt since you-know-what, and so I can’t fight the giant blush that rises to my cheeks as soon as I set eyes on him, but to my surprise, he’s actually acting really
normal
with me – none of his usual arrogant attitude. He’s even kind of, well ...
nice
.

“Stacey, would you mind passing the potatoes?” he asks, in a totally normal tone, and when I do, my hand shaking only a little bit, he just smiles and says, “Thank you,” almost as if the crazy events of yesterday were just all in my imagination.

Maybe I
did
imagine it.

Christ, I hope so ...

And instead of the dinner from hell that I was dreading, it actually turns out kind of okay. Maybe this is what it’s supposed to be like – what I was imagining it might be like when my mom first told me about her engagement; you know, normal family life. But then, just as we’re all finishing up desert, Colt taps on the side of his water glass with the end of his spoon and everyone turns to look at him in surprise.

“I’ve got an announcement to make,” he says in an oddly serious tone, looking at each of us around the table in turn. “I’ve made a decision about where I want to live and study after I finish high school ...”

I shoot a glance at Mom and Alexander, wondering if they already know something about this, but from the puzzled looks on both their faces, I’m guessing its as much of a surprise for them as it is for me.

“I’ve decided,” he continues, slowly and deliberately, “that this summer I’m going to enroll on the European Summer Study program, and after that I’ll be applying to
British
universities in the Fall.”

The words hit me like a bomb.

Europe. British Universities. The other side of the fucking world ...

It’s everything I can do just to keep it together – to not let my face show that this news has hit me harder than I
ever
thought it would.

I mean, it’s totally crazy to feel this way. I know that more than anyone. If you’d asked me how I’d react, I would have said I’d be jumping for
joy
about the idea of Colt Grayson moving to a whole other Continent. But now it’s actually happened? Now he’s announced it, right here at this dinner table?

Well, I guess I don’t quite know how to feel.

I have to admit it to myself; crazy as it is, I’ve developed feelings for him – for this arrogant asshole who’s just smashed my heart into a thousand tiny pieces without even knowing.

“Happy birthday, sweetheart!” Mom says, smiling out from my computer screen, waving happily. I watch her as she leans in and turns the laptop, so that the webcam can include Alexander in the shot, too. They’ve even got some balloons and streamers in the background like they’re having a party for a daughter who actually loves them enough to come home, and I feel bad all over again that I didn’t make the trip to spend my twenty-fifth with them, the way Mom had asked me to, so many times.

“Happy birthday, honey!” Alexander joins in, smiling wide and giving me a hearty wave for good measure. “Twenty five, eh? I remember when you were just eighteen, my little junebug! Where
 
has
 
the time gone?” 

He looks so cheesy. His pastel golfing clothes and his expensive tan. And God, everything he says is cheesy too. I mean,
 
junebug?
 
Really? He can be such a cheeseball sometimes. But then I look at the two of them together on my computer screen, his arm holding her protectively. He steals little glances at her, like he still can’t quite believe his luck, even after all these years. I can see how much he loves her, and I guess really, that’s all you need.

‘Thanks so much, you guys,” I reply, trying my hardest to keep the fake grin fixed firmly on my face, all the while hoping that my own laptop’s webcam doesn’t show
 
too much
 
of my crappy, messy little shoebox of an apartment. There are no balloons and streamers here, and I just know how much fuel it would give Mom, if she caught a glimpse of the peeling paintwork, the damp patches in the plaster, not to mention the many takeout containers and other trash littered about the place.

It’s basically
 
the
 
typical depressing single girl studio apartment.

“So, what are you doing later, Sweetie?” Mom asks in a tone that’s half friendly but also obviously trying to sniff out more clues about my social life in this city. I don’t blame her. No wonder she’s curious; I try to tell her as little as possible about my life these days. “Seeing some friends? Going out to a few bars?”

“Yeah, yeah, something like that,” I mumble, my fake smile faltering for just a half second before I quickly remember to reattach it to my face.

But the truth is, I don’t really
 
have
 
any friends in this city – the
 
third
 
one I’ve lived in in the same number of years, after I graduated History from Penn State. And it turns out that, hey, guess what – nobody in this country is looking to hire a History major! The only jobs I could find were all part-time, and nothing in the
 
slightest
 
related to my field of study – I’ve taken everything from receptionist, to assistant in a daycare, to my latest job: waitressing in a diner.

I have to admit, it’s not exactly what I dreamed of when I signed up for college.

“So, did you receive our birthday card?” Mom asks, with a strange excited tone to her voice. “I hope you haven’t opened it already, now. We were hoping to watch as you open it ...”

“Sure, sure, I have it right here,” I reply, holding up the plain envelope with my Mom’s familiar handwriting scrawled across the front – the one she made me expressly promise I wouldn’t open until the morning of my birthday. And now she’s actually insisting on watching me open it right here on Skype, too?

Something makes me feel uneasy about this all of a sudden.

Why don’t I have a good feeling about whatever this envelope contains?

“Well, go on then, honey!” Alexander laughs from the screen of my laptop, obviously noticing my slight hesitation as I clutch the plain brown envelope in both hands, staring down at it. “Tear it open!”

So I begin to tear open the envelope, very slowly and deliberately, at first just uncovering a cute baby blue birthday card inside, with a cartoon kitten on the front and the words
 
To A Very Special Daughter!
 
embossed in a curly silver font across the front.

But then, a moment later, when I slip the card from the envelope and open it hesitantly, well that’s the moment I realize that this is more than just a regular birthday card. Because inside it is something else, too ... 

A ticket.

A
 
plane
 
ticket.

A
 
plane ticket to London ...

“Wait a moment,” I say, the smile falling from my face faster than you can say
 
WTF
 
and the card falling from my fingers in shock, the ticket fluttering down onto the unswept dirty floor of my apartment. “What the hell is
 
this
?”

But I don’t even need to ask the question, do I?

Nope.

I’m pretty sure I know
 
exactly
 
what this ticket to London means ...

This ticket to London is nothing more than a one-way ticket to Colt
.

§

It might sound mean, but I guess I was surprised that my mom and Alexander managed to stay together all these years. Don’t get me wrong. I’m totally made up for them and everything. But it’s just that they’re just so ... well ...
different
. And when they first got together, I
 
really
 
didn’t think it would last.

Alexander is what you might call ‘refined’ – always wanting only the very best fine wines and food, always dressed in expensive, tailored suits, while Mom is more of what you might call a party girl. More of the beer n’ burger scene than fine dining. That said, she works hard, even now, though she doesn’t really have to anymore – she says she enjoys keeping busy – and she’s still looking pretty good for her age.

I guess in a strange way, the differences between them remind me of Colt and me, too.

We’ve led such different lives, ever since our folks got married. Since Colt went away to Europe to study Business that fall, I’ve hardly seen him, save from the odd flying visits here and there at family holidays. But even at those, I’ve tried to avoid him as much as possible.

It would be an understatement to say that Colt screwed with my head. When I think back now about that weird thing that happened – that crazy afternoon when I hid in his closet – I feel like I can trace all my hang-ups and insecurities and, well, almost everything right back to that one intense moment.

Since Colt went away, I’ve had my share of boyfriends, sure. But they were always such
 
nice
 
boys, too – the kinds of boys who’ll offer to carry your books and constantly be asking you if you’re okay. And whenever I think rationally about things, I know that I should
 
like
 
boys like that – boys who respect me, boys who treat me kindly and sensitively. But deep down? Deep down, what I want is for someone to grab my fucking hair and push me to my knees and call me a dirty little slut, then ask me – no
 
tell
 
me – to suck their fucking cock ...

God, I’m totally messed up in the head, aren’t I?

Well, I needn’t worry. I mean, it’s not like I’m about to tell anyone these dirty secret fantasies of mine out-loud any time soon, now is it? Nope. I’m
 
way
 
too shy for that. I guess I’ll just keep up my Miss-Prim-and-Proper act and try to ignore all the icky dirty things that
 
really
 
turn me on. God. I’m like a total ball of contradictions. And I blame it all on that asshole Colt.

So
 
that’s
 
why, as far as I can, I’ve tried to avoid him like the plague since he went away to study. I’ve just about managed to arrange my visits home to fall just outside of his, meaning in the last seven years, I’d guess we’ve seen each other for maybe six days, total. And the last of those was ... what? Two years ago? Three, maybe.

And all the while Colt was in London, calling on all his daddy’s business connections to get ahead in the corporate world of whatever-the-hell-it-is-he’s-doing-now ... Me? Well, if I’m totally honest, I just seemed to be stumbling from one total disaster to another – from failed job to crappy apartment, from city to city, never really feeling settled or satisfied – and all the while refusing any financial help from Mom and Alexander, even though they offered, again and again and again. I guess I just felt like I had to try and do this on my own. And the only way I could find to get my mom off my back and let me make my own mistake was to make her a promise.

A promise that brings us right back around to this stupid plane ticket to London ...

§

“You
 
swore
 
to me, Stacey, remember?” Mom admonishes, wagging her finger sternly from my computer screen for good measure, snapping my thoughts back to the present moment again in the process.

I just nod. I know there’s no point in trying to fight it now.

“I gave you until your twenty fifth birthday to
 
live your own life
 
as you put it, young lady,” she continues, going into another one of her rants. “But I’ll be damned if I waste any more time watching my daughter working as some crummy waitress in a
 
diner
 
of all places. I raised you better than that ...”

“Mom!” I begin. “You were a waitress yourself ...”

But she holds up her hand and cuts me off.

“Exactly. And I didn’t work three jobs at a time just so you could make the same mistake and waste your life hustling for tips. You’re a smart girl, Stacey, and besides, we had a
 
promise
. Your stepfather and I agreed to give you a little space and time to let you try and work out what you wanted to do with your life, on your own, just like you wanted. I think we can all agree on that.
But
 
if you didn’t have things sorted by the time you were twenty five, then you also agreed that we could step in and give you some help. You’ve been so proud, up until now. Too proud, if you ask me. And now, I’m afraid it’s time for you to finally let us help you. Agreed?” 

“But why
 
London
, Mom
?
” I sigh.
 
“
I don’t understand.”

“Because you’ll be working at your brother’s company of course,” she smiles back, as if this is the most obvious thing in the world.

I feel my stomach sink even further. This was exactly what I was dreading.

“For a start, he’s my
 
stepbrother
,” I remind her, the word flashing from my lips, filled with unexpected venom. “And secondly ...”

But again, she holds up her hand, once more signaling me to be silent.

“Your
 
stepbrother
 
Colt has kindly offered to give you some business training, Stacey,” Mom persists. “And both Alexander and I think it’s an absolutely excellent idea. There are opportunities for intelligent girls like you, with excellent research skills that you picked up in college. But you need to learn something about the real world, too, about how to make money. I mean, you have to agree – Colt has made rather a success of himself, hasn’t he? And we simply think he could certainly teach you a think or two. So? What do you say? Are you finally going to let us help you a little?”

As I think it over, I glance around me at my god-awful, beat-up apartment – the very same apartment that’s costing me a fortune, and way more than I can even afford to pay on rent next month, unless some miracle falls into my lap.

I sigh, blowing a plume of air towards my messy, half-grown-out bangs.

I know there’s no use in arguing with her now. And while a trip to London, to work for
 
Colt
 
no less, is certainly a hell of a long way from a miracle, it’s also pretty much my only remaining option right now. Mom’s right. I want to do more than just make ends meet, struggling from paycheck to paycheck for the rest of my life. I want to
 
become
 
somebody. 

“Fine,” I sigh. “I’ll do it.”

“Wonderful!” Mom laughs. “Just wonderful!”

And as she and Alexander start talking excitedly amongst themselves, I’m left wondering just what the hell I’ve let myself in for ...