HIM—A Stepbrother Romance: With BONUS NOVELLA: PERSONAL (17 page)

Please enjoy a bonus sports romance novel by me, PERSONAL.

CAT

“Okay ladies, listen up, listen up...” The stage manager snapped her fingers, looked down at her clipboard and checked her watch. The air was electrifying, full of excitement for the grand reveal. The energy was so tangible I was afraid we’d all shoot up to the stars from adrenaline.

“One more minute until we’re live,” she reminded us.

I inhaled deeply, holding my breath in anticipation. This was it. This was totally it. Everything I had ever worked for the last four years—every single workout, every clean meal, every two mile run, every early morning that required waking up at the crack of dawn, all those frigid water shoots where my body felt like I was plunging into a bucket of ice cubes while smiling and acting as if it were the most pleasant sunny summer day all the while ignoring the way my bones were shaking on the inside from frigid November weather—

This.

Was.

It.

I exhaled my breath in a slow release while shaking my hands out, trying to shake off the excess excitement.

Oh dear god. My cheeks flushed with heat. This was it!

I needed to exchange these nerves for charisma and confidence.

Breathe, Cat!

This was the big moment. No more hiding. All of my hard work was finally coming to fruition. I was about to be officially recognized as a supermodel.

Never in my life had my body felt sensation so intensely. My entire body felt like it had been attacked by a thousand stinging butterflies fluttering up and down with high voltage.

Breathe, Cat. Millions of people around the world are about to see you on television. Own yourself. Put on a brave face. You’ve worked so hard for this! This is your moment!

We stood in a line backstage, patiently waiting for our cue to emerge from behind the curtains and make our way down the aisle for the entire world to see.

Most of my model mates were now close friends of mine; this included a few who were now like sisters. This dream world we were all living in was a fantasy I’d been working towards since high school graduation. That was only four years ago, but even then, I never imagined I’d actually get this far.

While most students went away to college, I went attended a different type of school in France. Everyone moved into college dorms, but I entered a health and nutrition rehabilitation center—aka a weight loss wellness center, or “fat camp for adults with money.” I hated calling it that but that’s what it was. It was as expensive as Harvard tuition for a year!

Back then, I only dreamed just to make it to the beach for my senior trip without wearing Spanx under my one-piece.

Now here I was, standing in line of the world’s most beautiful women, wearing a tight fuchsia crop top and a matching high-waist skirt.

There weren’t any Spanx tightening up and smoothing out any curves in my body. I worked hard for my physique. I trained every day to maintain it.

Still, never in a million years did I ever think I’d be standing here. A model. Seriously, me of all people? The girl they nick named Fat Cat in High School? My old high school self would have never in a million years believed this day would ever happen, except in my wildest of dreams.

Lindsey, my Australian model BFF, stood behind me, holding my shaking hand as we waited.

“You’ve got this, babe! Walk out there and own that famous ass of yours!” She encouraged, squeezing my nervous hand to soothe me.

Her gorgeous sunkissed locks, pulled up in a high ponytail, bounced as she shouted in loud decibels over the noise.

House music blasted in our ears as we took in the moment. Its melodic fusion of electric guitars, drums, and keys evoked a motivational meets modern beach resort vibe. Its upbeat and positive energy conveyed the possibility that one could dash across red-hot coals without getting a single burn.

I certainly felt like I was about to take a similar dangerous walk of my own. I needed all of the courage I could get. I closed my eyes and let the music move me. In just one minute, Stacy, the stage manager, would direct me to walk out from behind the stage, where I’d make my entrance for the entire world to see.

I blew out more nervous breaths and tried to avoid thoughts of passing out. I’d walk out exuding confidence, like the role model I hoped to be for others.

I smoothed my free hand over my long brown curls, ensuring every lock was in place. I practiced my million-dollar smile. Shoot! Even my lips were trembling.

I was here! I was here!

Live TV!

Oh gawd.

“Cat, you’re next baby. You look gorgeous. And go.”

Moment of truth.

Oh
shit
.

The music was louder as the stage lights pierced my eyesight. Per practice, I remembered that I was to walk to the end of the catwalk, smile into the camera, and do any sort of little personal effect I wanted to do before turning around. Then I’d join the other models lounging on the couch. I was to exude a relaxed vibe on the outside despite feeling nervous as fuck on the inside.

As I walked the runway, I couldn’t help but to think of the girl I used to be: the funny fat girl. To all the mean girls and their rude jokes— now who has the last laugh?

As I spun around to meet my model colleagues, it was evident we were all filled with the sheer exhilaration of the night’s magic. Everyone’s smiles were wide, their eyes sparkling with excitement for themselves and one another.

In one short hour, we would experience the grand reveal of the
Sports Illustrated
Cover. Once everyone was introduced, the hosts began the show, and interviewed us live before showing exclusive behind the scenes clips from our swimsuit shoot.

“Tell me, Lindsey, what’s one thing about your bestie here, Cat, that you think everyone should know?” The gorgeous Latina host asked.

I took a big gulp, sitting up as straight and tall as possible, trying not to think of the fact that millions of people were watching this through the lens of a brilliant HD camera that was sharp enough to capture pore sizes on my nose.

A picture flashed on the big screen, a photo of several girls and I goofing around in the turquoise waters. I froze, still processing the surrealness of it all. I’d never seen my own picture look that big.

Heck, I used to feel that big.

“I’d say she’s the funniest person I know,” Lindsey answered. “She kept everyone laughing for days—even those of us who are shy.”

“You’re shy?”

“Oh yeah, but I instantly became friends with Cat because she’s always so much fun to be around.” My cheeks flushed raspberry red. That was so nice of her to say, truly. I wasn’t expecting that at all.

“Cat? Is that true?” The host shifted her attention to me.

“Oh, I don’t know about
always
being fun.” I smiled politely, hoping to convey modesty and humility.

“Don’t cut yourself short. Of course you are!” Lindsey cut in.

The host continued on.

“Cat? You’re gorgeous, have a rocking body, and are one of
SI’s
favorite. What’s one thing we may not know about you, or that you’d like the audience or other girls who are dreaming of being in your shoes right now to know? What would you like to say to them?”

“I…” My voice shook. I willed myself to grow some balls and swallowed back fear. “I… used to be the fat girl.”

“I’m sure you mean P-H-A-T?”

“
No
. I mean I was the funny fat girl,” I corrected. “I was actually in a bathroom stall once after being voted class funniest. I heard this mean girl talk about how awful it was to be the funny big girl. Something in me rose up that day to reach for something more and prove that I could look good too, and that I would.”

“Wow. To reach for something more.” She repeated. “I like that.”

“Did you get a trainer?”

“Oh, I got a trainer alright.” 

My insides still burned when I thought about the embarrassment I felt in the halls of my high school from my first ever trainer and his hurtful words, which still stung and haunted me today.

“I did. And the rest was history.” I flashed a smile.

Because the rest
was
history.

He had nothing to do with my success. Well, maybe he did actually. Proving him wrong and making him miss me was my greatest weapon on my arsenal belt.

RAMON

“Dude. Did you see that Cat Johnson? Man, I tell you, perfect last name. She sure got my Johnson
all
hard. Let me just tell you. That ass, oh that ass! And those tits!”

“Man, shut up and just spot me on this last press,” I hissed to Chris, who quickly lost focus staring at the models prancing across the gym’s flat screen. 

“Whoa, what’s wrong with you?” He frowned down at me, gripping the bar and helping me on my last rep. My arms shook a bit. They never shook with this weight.

“Just take the bar.” I sat slowly up on the bench and let out a long sigh.

“Dude-”

I stopped him before the question could escape. “It’s nothing, alright man?”

“No, come on. Tell me. You know you’re going to get picked first round. Don’t worry about those rumors about what the Texans want to do.”

I shook my head back and forth, annoyed as hell.

“It’s not that, man.”

I wiped the sweat off my face and out of my eyes.

“Then what is it?”

“Cat’s my stepsister. Well, was.”

“Oh, shit.” His balled up fist covered his amused laughter. “Why oh why, man, have you been hiding her? Sorry man.” He doubled over, laughing. “I can see why you’d be all pissy: ‘Cuz she’s off limits!”

I shook my head. My scorn could burn a hole through his skull.

“She wasn’t always off limits. And she…”

…She didn’t always look like
that
. I couldn’t keep my eyes off her. After regaining my shock from seeing her body, which was off the charts, on all the gyms’ screens, I braced my hands to my knees.

“Who, whoa, whoa. You mean to tell me you could have had a piece of that hot ass?”

I rolled my eyes and sighed after gritting my teeth. I hated what I did and what I said. I hated being a pussy inside back then. Why did I cave into such stupid high school pressure?

“Pride’s a sucky thing man. Gotta let it go.”

“Tell me about it.”

“So, um,” Chris scratched the back of his neck. It was either itchy as fuck, or he was nervous. “How come she’s never around?”

I clenched my jaw, feeling a swirl of emotions: mad, hot, angry, turned on, possessive. Everything, all at once.

“Ain’t family supposed to like, come to their star quarterback’s games, like… especially when he’s a big shot like you? Wait… never mind. I forgot. I forgot about –”

“My dad being dead.” I finished the sentence for him.

“…Yeah. Sorry, I wasn’t thinking straight. With everything goin’ on, the draft, and shit. Stupid airhead moment. Call me blonde.”

We both just stared at her. There she was on screen, glowing in the behind the scenes shoot, standing in tropical waters on some remote island. Her tan skin contrasted beautifully against the white cropped t-shirt, leaving nothing to the imagination. The way the shirt cut off right below her nipples left her bottom breasts in full display.

It was sweet torture.

She was smoking hot. So hot, my cock was hard. I needed to hit the showers.

Private showers.

“So… she’s technically not your step sister anymore.”

“Shut up, man. That’s all you can say?”

“Sorry! I mean look at her.”

I bit my fist as a shot of her on her stomach made her ass pop out of the water in the shallow waves. She was sizzling. I couldn’t believe that ass. She literally lost half of her body.

“You really know this girl? Like for real? You ain’t like, messing with me man? Getting me back for all the times I mess with you?”

He was getting on my nerves.

“Yes, dude. Why you asking so many damn questions?” I popped him hard with the towel.

“Ouch man! But damn.”

“Damn, I know.”

“Sucks to be you bro. Sucks to be you.”

“So what would you like to talk about today?”

Coach Lineheart felt it was best to visit a grief counselor after my dad passed away sophomore year. Counseling was something that I kept private. I didn’t really advertise my activity, but getting help was really, well, helpful. It was therapeutic to talk to someone without having to screen what I was saying for fear of press misrepresentation.

Inside this office, I wasn’t a big shot quarterback whose very future hung on what happened on the field. I wasn’t an orphan. I wasn’t alone. Someone listened me, heard every word I said, and allowed me to speak without feeling like a little girl. Jocks had feelings too. 

I lived with Coach during the summers and became one hundred percent focused on the game. Football was my new family. Football was my future. Football was my everything.

There was no time to focus on women when my desire was to be a legend. It’s what J.J. Watt does. My professional NFL role model, Watt kept a tight schedule training wise. All he does is eat, breathe, train, lift, and live football. He watches film, plays football, and sleeps twelve hours. Wash, rinse, and repeat. Like him, I would do the same. Women would come later.

But ever since I saw that shot of Cat… Hell, I didn’t know she became a model. I didn’t even know it was her. I had to blink twice at the full name. And then during that interview she confirmed it.
Fat Cat
. That’s what they called her. That’s what I had called her. Guilt hit my chest like a pound of bricks.

“You… seem uptight today. Distracted, maybe? Is it because of what’s hanging around the corner for you? Perhaps you wish he could be there to see you in your special moment?”

The NFL draft was two months away. I couldn’t stop thinking about it, and everyone couldn’t stop asking me about that. I mean, everyone. I wondered if I should start freaking out simply because everyone else was freaking out. But that wasn’t my temperament. I didn’t let worry consume me. I knew how to channel my energy and buffer my focus. But this was different.

She was different.

“Something’s bothering me.”

“Oh?”

“It has to do with my former stepsister.”

She folded her hands and patiently waited for my next words.

“I… I, um, haven’t seen her since my dad died. Well, before actually.”

“I see, Ramon. May I ask you something?”

I nodded. I felt slightly uncomfortable, yet I was willing to have this discussion if it would help me deal with my feelings, forget about her, and  get back to focusing on the game. If that were what it’d take then I’d share anything.

“This is the first time you’ve mentioned your former stepsister. You’ve spoken in great detail before of your feelings about your father marrying Rebecca for his last year of life.”

“It was sudden then. But, as you know, looking back on everything now, and knowing what I know now, I get it. At the time I had no idea that he was diagnosed with terminal cancer and refusing treatment. But –”

I stopped to clear my throat. It was an opportunity to push back the familiar lump of grief that arose whenever I thought of him.

“I’m glad he had someone so dear and close to take care of him in his finals months. Especially someone who could legally have medical say and make decisions on behalf of him.”

He embarrassed the heck out of me at times, but I still missed him. It was because of his sacrifices that I was who I was today as an athlete. I still couldn’t believe he was gone. And I still couldn’t believe he didn’t tell me he had cancer until one month after his passing. He had kept his secret from me all for one purpose: so I would perform the best that I could at my game.

My dad was selfless and self-sacrificial like that, a true hero.

“Yes, that is something nice to have while you’re going through something as tragic as he experienced. Was Rebecca’s daughter quite younger than you? Or out of the picture for some reason?”

“She left the country for a special program.”

“Like drugs and alcohol?”

“No, like… diet rehabilitation.”

“I see. Was she treating an eating disorder?”

“No, she… went away to lose weight at some health resort. She didn’t come back for the funeral.” I explained quietly.

My therapist nodded in deep introspection.

“I see, and does that make you angry? Is the unresolved anger that resurfaced today something you’d like to address in today’s session?”

It didn’t make me angry that she didn’t come to the funeral. She barely knew the man after all. I had a feeling it had to do with funerals in general and what they meant to her.

How could I explain to my therapist our complicated past?

The only way to do so was to tell her.

Everything.