Stepbrother Broken (The Hawthorne Brothers Book 2) (4 page)

“
I was hoping to catch you alone
before you left for the summer,
”
Luke tells me, crossing his
thick, muscular arms. The sleeves of his tasteful button-down are rolled up to
above his elbows, and tighten around his sculpted biceps. I have to prompt
myself to respond.

“
Oh. Uh. Why is that?
”
I ask him, looping my thumbs through the straps of my
backpack,
“
Am I in trouble or something?
”

“
Not yet,
”
he says, the corner of his mouth lifting into a
knowing smile.

Holycrapholycrapholycrap,
I think excitedly
to myself,
Is he seriously about to go all dirty professor on me? How did I
get to be so lucky? Should I have brought an apple or something?

“
But you might be, if you don
’
t course correct. And soon,
”
he goes on perplexingly.

My
brow furrows as I look up at him from my measly height of five six.

“
Sorry, I
’
m not sure what you
’
re
talking about, Prof,
”
I laugh lightly.

“
I
’
m
talking about the effort you put into this class, Ms. Porter,
”
he says bluntly,
“
Or rather, the lack of it.
”

My
half smile fades away as I realize this meeting is going to be a lot less sexy
than I
’
d hoped.

“
With all due respect,
”
I say, drawing myself up under his condescending gaze,
“
Econ. 101 wasn
’
t exactly my priority this semester. I didn
’
t have a lot of effort to spare.
”

“
Yeah, that was pretty clear,
”
he shoots back, cocking an eyebrow at me.
“
You barely turned in any of your assignments, you were
late more often than not, and I
’
m not convinced you
’
ve to listened to a word I've said these past few
weeks.
”

That
’
s because I was too busy checking
out that fine ass of yours,
I think, face reddening with embarrassment. I don
’
t
mind being called out on failing at something I care about deeply. But being
scolded for not putting effort into something totally irrelevant to me really
grates.

“
Look. Luke. Can I call you Luke?
”
I ask, cutting the bullshit.

“
By all means,
”
he replies, looking amused.

“
I honestly couldn
’
t give less of a shit about this class,
”
I tell him,
“
I
’
m
just here to fulfill my graduation requirements. I
’
m a performer. That
’
s
what matters to me. That
’
s what I spend my every waking hour
trying to get better at.
”

“
I understand being passionate about
your hobbies,
”
Luke cuts in,
“
But it
’
s important to
—”

“
Performing isn
’
t a hobby,
”
I snap,
“
It
’
s what I plan to do for the rest of
my life.
”

“
That
’
s
what I used to think about sports, too,
”
Luke replies condescendingly.

“
Well, that
’
s a totally different story. No one really gets to be
a professional athlete,
”
I say, crossing my arms.

“
No one really gets to be a
professional actor either,
”
he shoots back,
“
It doesn
’
t sound that different to me,
Sophie.
”

I
stare up at Luke, my jaw clenched tightly. In about three minutes, this man has
shattered my esteem of him into a thousand pieces. I should have known that
someone like him would turn out to be a total asshole. No one man could be as
gorgeous and brilliant as he is and still be a good person. That must be a law
of physics or something.

“
I
’
m
sure you
’
re not used to hearing this, Luke,
”
I say, all joking aside,
“
But you have no idea what the fuck you
’
re talking about.
”

“
There
’
s
no need to get upset,
”
he tells me,
“
I thought you could use a bit of honesty from someone
at this school. It
’
s a shame to see someone as bright
as you waste her potential.
”

“
Let me guess. You think I should
abandon my dreams, sell out, and become an upstanding citizen like you?
”
I shoot back with a laugh.
“
Thanks, but I
’
ll pass.
”

“
We
’
ll
see,
”
he shrugs.

“
Yes. We will,
”
I say resolutely, turning on my heel,
“
Enjoy the rat race, Prof.
”

I
storm out of the lecture hall, leaving Luke Hawthorne behind in the dust. My
hands are shaking with indignation. This guy doesn
’
t know the first thing about what I do. What could a
MBA-toting jock know about art, or expression, or inspiration? I can
’
t tell if I
’
m more outraged by his assumptions
or disappointed that he
’
s just another macho asshole. As an
assertive woman, I
’
m used to men trying to tear me
down to make themselves feel more important. It was ridiculous of me to imagine
that this guy would be any different.

As
I burst back into the warm afternoon, I swallow a huge gulp of fresh air and do
my best to calm down. This guy
’
s opinion of me doesn
’
t matter. I
’
ll never see him again in my life.
I should just shake off his criticism and look forward to a summer full of
classes that won
’
t include a single money-minded
asshole.

But
for some reason, Luke
’
s words cling to me like a wool
sweater in this summer heat. It wasn
’
t just criticism he had for me,
after all, but praise. He thinks I
’
m bright. He thinks I have
potential
…
and
he thinks I
’
m wasting it. Well, add him to the list of people I
’
ll be proving wrong once I carve out the life I want
for myself, no matter what it takes. God knows, there are already enough names
on that list
…
what
’
s
one more?

Chapter Two

I
’
ll say this for Luke Hawthorne: he certainly motivates
me to bring my a-game to the final day of performances for the year. My fellow
drama students and I spend the day presenting our final scenes, songs, and
movement pieces for each other and our professors. Danny and I are scheduled to
perform our dance piece at the very end of the day, and I can barely contain my
excitement. When we get out on that stage again, it
’
s like we
’
re entirely different performers
than we were the day before. Our bodies are entirely attuned, our every
movement energized with a determination I haven
’
t
felt since first arriving at school. We leave everything on the stage, losing
ourselves in our last performance of the year. And our hard work doesn
’
t go unnoticed this time.

“
Good goddamn,
”
Gary gasps, wrapping us up in a bear hug as applause
rains down from our peers and teachers,
“
I don
’
t
know what the hell happened to you two overnight, but I suggest you nail it
down and keep it forever!
”

I
can
’
t help but laugh at the idea of
keeping Luke Hawthorne nailed down forever. If such a thing is even possible, I
’
ll happily leave the task to some other poor sap,
thank you very much.

Elated
by our job well done, Danny and I walk on air as we leave the performing arts
building at dusk. We walk across campus with our arms thrown around each other,
taking in the gorgeous night. I notice more than a few women
—
and men
—
stealing glances at Danny as we
make our way past. I can
’
t blame them for starting. My
friend is Hollywood-handsome and stylish as hell. But even though we have great
chemistry as performers, Danny and I have never once hooked up here at
Sheridan. He
’
s bisexual, and I
’
m pretty sure every single one of our fellow drama
students harbors a crush on him. But our friendship has always outranked any
sexual tension that might crop up between us
—
and
I
’
m glad, too. I
’
m not very good at keeping my romantic interests
around for more than a couple of weeks, and Danny is someone I want to have in
my life for many years to come.

“
So, what do you think for tonight?
”
he asks me now, his arm thrown over my shoulders,
“
Every single frat is throwing some kind of party.
Would you prefer togas or a tiki party? I
’
m pretty sure both will manage to
be offensive, but
—”

“
Ugh. I don
’
t want to ruin this day with a crappy frat party,
”
I groan,
“
You hate those things as much as I
do. Why bother?
”

“
Do you have a better idea?
”
Danny asks,
“
We could go watch shitty Disney
movies with the drama freshmen, if that
’
s more your speed.
”

“
Why don
’
t we go somewhere off campus?
”
I suggest.

“
Off campus?
”
Danny gasps theatrically,
“
What a novel idea!
”

“
I
know
. But believe it or
not, there
’
s an entire world outside of
Sheridan,
”
I reply,
“
Why don
’
t we explore it a bit?
”

“
Do you know a place?
”
he asks.

“
Not really,
”
I shrug,
“
But I
’
m
sure we can find something. Come on. Be a grownup with me!
”

“
All right, fine,
”
Danny sighs,
“
But if we accidentally end up in a
serial killer
’
s basement or a furry convention or
something, it
’
s on you.
”

“
I can live with that,
”
I assure him,
“
Nothing could be worse than another
undergrad party.
”

Danny
and I part ways to go change for our big night out, each of us heading off to
our own dorm rooms. If our school had co-ed dorms, we
’
d definitely be roommates by now. But I guess that
’
ll have to wait until we
’
re
living the dream in New York City together. And by
“
dream
”
I mean sharing a tiny shoebox
apartment, working four restaurant jobs each, and maybe getting to audition for
something once a month, of course.

My
actual roommate, a very quiet bio major named Kim, doesn
’
t seem to be home
—
which means I get to blast my music
as I get ready for tonight. I plop down in front of my laptop and put on some
MGMT, singing along as I give my social media pages and email a cursory
once-over. Just as I
’
m about to close my laptop and get
dressed, a new message pops up in my inbox. It
’
s
from an address I
’
ve never seen before, and the
subject line simply reads:
“
Re: Our Conversation
”
. I click on the email absentmindedly and begin to
read
…

Hey
Sophie,

I
wanted to follow up with you after our conversation yesterday afternoon. It
wasn
’
t my intention to discourage you. I do think that you
’
re a very
promising student, but I also feel that it
’
s my responsibility as your teacher to hold you to
the standard of excellence, I
’
m sure you can meet if you put your mind to it. I
know that your heart is set on performing at this point in your life, but I
urge you to keep an open mind. Based on the assignments that you actually
turned in for my class, and your contributions to our classroom discussions
(however rare they may have been), I can tell you have a sharp, entrepreneurial
intellect. Don
’
t let it go to waste.

Best,

Lukas
Hawthorne

I
sit back in my desk chair, fuming as I stare at Luke
’
s message. How can one person be so simultaneously
aggravating
and
encouraging? So condescending while voicing a vote of
confidence? One thing is for sure. I don
’
t have the time to parse Luke
’
s intentions for writing this little note before happy
hour is over. Instead of replying to my esteemed professor, I forward his note
to Danny, including a few thoughts of my own:

Can
you believe this prick?  I may have spent every one of his lectures fantasizing
about him
nailing me to the wall and
fucking me dirty, but this is too much. Someone needs to finally leave Sheridan
and get his ass handed to him in the real world before doling out life advice,
am I right?

Satisfied
with my retort, I crank the music up even louder and get down to business. It
isn
’
t often I get excited about going
out around here, but I have a feeling tonight
’
s
going to be one for the books. And I, for one, intend to look awesome for it.

***

“
Here it is,
”
I breathe, grabbing Danny
’
s arm as our cab rolls to a stop.

“
Are you kidding me?
”
he says flatly, squinting through the car window.

“
What? So it
’
s a little edgier than the places we usually go
…”

“
A butter knife is edgy,
”
Danny hisses,
“
This place looks fucking dangerous.
”

Our
cab is idling in front of a long, low building, with a rough-hewn wooden
exterior and corrugated tin roof. A sign above the door proudly proclaims that
the establishment is called The Bear Trap. A quick internet search of nearby
dive bars led Danny and I to its door, though one of us seems far more
enthusiastic about this little plan now that we
’
re
here.

“
I
’
m
sure it
’
ll be fine,
”
I assure Danny, handing the cab driver his money and
stepping out onto the curb.

“
Maybe for you,
”
he mopes, standing beside me as the car pulls away.
“
You
’
re a smoking hot babe. I get the
feeling that this place may not be as hospitable to pretty boys like myself.
”

“
Then you
’
ll just have to stick with me, won
’
t you?
”
I smile, lacing my fingers
encouragingly though Danny
’
s.

His
outfit for tonight does skew a little more glam than usual, though mine is more
in the grungy direction. While Danny rocks his black skinny jeans, I
’
ve chosen a vibrant red miniskirt and white crop top
for tonight
’
s festivities. My caramel blonde
hair hangs long and tousled down my bare back, and I
’
ve got my best pair of black stilettos on to boot. I
’
ve spent of my time at drama school wearing nothing
but leggings and tee shirts, so any excuse to dress up a little is one I
’
ll gladly take.

“
We can stay for a couple rounds,
max,
”
Danny relents, turning toward The
Bear Trap,
“
But then it
’
s back to our safe little Sheridan bubble, OK?
”

“
How the hell are you going to
survive New York if you can
’
t even handle a little Montana dive
bar for one night?
”
I laugh.

“
Are you kidding? I
’
ll be among my people in New York,
”
Danny replies,
“
It
’
s
the good old country boys that worry me.
”

“
Relax,
”
I tell him, heading for the door,
“
Everything
’
s gonna be just fine.
”

A
wall of sound slams into us as I wrench open The Bear Trap
’
s door. For a moment, I
’
m
almost too stunned to take another step. The bar is full of rowdy locals,
clustered around scuffed tables and along the long wooden bar. Hard country
rock blares over the sound system, and the crowd is a sea of denim and leather.
The men sport baseball caps and bulging muscles, the women rock tight jeans and
bottle blonde hair. Danny rolls his eyes as he surveys the patrons.

“
Well, at least there
’
s enough leather for my taste,
”
he remarks flatly.

“
A bar
’
s
a bar, right?
”
I yell back over the rollicking
music,
“
Let
’
s
make like the locals and pound a few back.
”

“
I
’
m
gonna need more than a few to get over this music,
”
Danny replies, making for the bar.

“
What? You don
’
t like country?
”
I grin.