Stuck On My Stepbrother (17 page)

A thing? A month ago?
My heart was racing.

‘So, what… he’s fired her?’

‘No, no, at least I don’t think so. She’s angry with him, as far as I can tell. At least, that’s what everyone can gather. She said something about him being a “pervert”. That’s all I know.’

‘So is it still going on? The thing between them?’ I could barely get the words out, I was so pumped with adrenaline.

Tegan shrugged. ‘Beats me. If they
are
together, it’s not going very well. And it’ll be going even worse if any of the shareholders find out. This sort of information is dynamite in the wrong hands. Adam Cooper, screwing his PA? If NewsBiz get hold of that, they’ll screw
him
for all he’s worth.’

I swallowed nervously, then stood up. ‘I have to go get lunch,’ I said.
 

‘Remember! Half three!’ Tegan called as I walked off.

 
I marched, quickly, into the staff toilets, and locked myself inside the safety of a cubicle. Then I put my head in my hands and began to weep.
 

What a fool I’d been.

‘I’m having such a nice day, Patrick,’ I said, lying back on the grass, the sun beating down on me. ‘It really feels like the start of summer.’

Patrick and I had come out for what Patrick called a ‘liquid picnic’ in Central Park. Unfortunately, alcohol isn’t permitted in the park itself, though, so we’d been to a bar beforehand, and now we were lying on the grass with a lemonade. We agreed we’d do this for an hour, and then we’d head to another bar again. Seemed like a reasonable plan.

I was wearing a baby blue picnic dress. It’s something I’d worn when I first started university, four years ago, and finally, now that I’d put on a bit of weight, it fitted me again. It no longer sagged at the bust, and I even had hips now, making its pretty A-line shape actually look like an ‘A’, and not just an ‘I’, which is how it looked when I tried it on a few months ago. It felt good to be returning to my old self. It felt good to be hanging out with Patrick, too.

‘I have to admit, Rose,’ said Patrick, lying on the grass beside me, ‘I didn’t think you were interested in spending time together. You’ve acted a bit weird with me a couple of times now. I’m glad you got in touch.’

‘I’m sorry, Patrick,’ I said. ‘It’s the stress of starting a new job. My head hasn’t been screwed on properly. It’s all okay now, though.’ I wasn’t sure if I was telling Patrick this because I actually meant it, or because I wanted to mean it.
 

Was it okay? I hadn’t spoken to Adam all week, although he’d been continuing to email me my food requirements. He hadn’t bothered to suggest meeting up this weekend, though, and, to be honest, I was glad of that. I needed some time to process this Nisha thing. I couldn’t believe he’d been fucking Nisha just a few weeks before what happened with me and him. Maybe he still
was
fucking Nisha. And the fact she’d called him a ‘pervert’. What did that mean? Had he tied her up too? Spanked her with a birch rod, and then given her a nice, healing hotel bath? And if so, how come he’d agreed to fuck her and not me? What was wrong with
me
?

I’d been having all sorts of messed-up thoughts since Tegan had broke the news to me. I’d been so distracted that I’d
completely
flunked my shorthand exam. I just knew it. I didn’t get the results until Tuesday, but I already knew how badly it had gone. I didn’t get an ounce of revision done after I’d spoken to Tegan.

I looked up at the light, fluffy smattering of clouds in the blue sky, making out shapes like Rorschach Test splatters. I could see a teddy bear, a whip, an erect penis…
 

‘So,’ said Patrick, lying down beside me, ‘how did your exam go? That was this week, wasn’t it?’

’It went great,’ I lied. ‘Can’t wait to be a full-blown journalist.’ I stopped looking at the clouds and rolled onto my side. I picked a handful of grass and sprinkled it on Patrick’s pant leg. I smiled mischievously and he smiled back. ‘How’s The Chronicle?’ I asked him. ‘Have they found a replacement for me yet? How about Jen?’

‘There’s a newbie in the office. Richard. He’s about forty, teetotal, likes golf… As you can probably imagine, we get on like a house on fire.’

‘And Jen?’

‘She never came back. Didn’t even collect the stuff off her desk. Christina has heard from her though. Apparently she’s got a job as a recruitment consultant in Queens. Making far more than she was at The Chronicle, no doubt. She’ll be just fine.’

‘Oh. Okay. Well that’s good,’ I lied again.

Don’t get me wrong, I was having a nice time with Patrick. A nice, wholesome, fun time. I just felt like – for some reason – something was missing. Perhaps it was the booze.
 

‘Hey,’ I said, ‘it’s gone five. We should go get another drink soon.’ I held up my half-full lemonade bottle in front of Patrick and swung it around over his head, pretending I was about to pour it. ‘A real drink.’

‘Sure.’ Patrick hoisted himself up onto his elbows. ‘If you don’t mind missing the recital.’ He nodded towards two Hispanic-looking guys, who had started strumming their guitars a few meters away.’

‘I think I’d gladly give the recital a miss,’ I smiled, hearing the beginnings of a corny tune starting up.

‘You know, we don’t always have to meet up to drink,’ Patrick said, shielding his eyes from the sun, and looking at me intently. ‘It’s not like I need to get drunk to spend time with you or anything.’ He laughed, and prodded me. ‘Hey, Rose, what happened to your leg?’

I looked down to see my skirt had ridden up my thigh. There was a red rope burn halfway up the thigh. It was the only burn I’d got; I must have been leaning on the rope in a way that put a lot of pressure on that particular part of my skin. It had healed a lot since last week, but still looked quite sore and fresh.

‘That?’ I stalled. ‘Oh, I ran into a table.’

‘You ran into a table?’ Patrick frowned.

‘Yeah. On the way to my exam. Was running late. Really stupid.’ I looked at the sore, pink line across my flesh. I thought perhaps you could make out the pattern of the rope on there too, the twists of jute, having pressed their marks into me, but no – I was just being paranoid. Patrick would never be able to tell that was rope burn. Besides, most ‘normal’ people probably didn’t even know what rope burn looked like, right?

I pulled my dress back down over my legs.
 

Just then, I felt a buzz in my handbag beside me. My cell was vibrating. A text message.

Thinking about where we were this time last weekend. Making me horny. A.

I felt the blood rush to my cheeks and pushed my cell back deep inside my bag.
How dare he text me like that? And how dare he tell me he’s horny? That’s his own problem. It’s inappropriate.
 

‘You alright?’ Patrick asked, seeing my obvious discomfort.

‘I’m fine, Patrick, I’m fine,’ I replied, in a tone that gave away the fact I obviously wasn’t. ‘Some people though, eh?’ I tutted, and Patrick nodded his agreement out of politeness.

This was the first I’d heard from Adam since the weekend, except for my emails containing dietary instructions. I assumed he’d been with Nisha the whole time, and had forgotten about me. Maybe he was with Nisha now. Maybe he slipped out and sent the message to me when she wasn’t looking, or found the opportunity to send a quick text while she was in the bathroom, or something. Well at least Nisha would be able to ‘help out’ if he was getting ‘horny’. Ha.

I looked at Patrick, filled up with anger. ‘Patrick,’ I said. ‘You’re a good one.’

He shrugged modestly, and at that moment I thought he’d never looked more perfect. His cute boyish looks. His messy, blonde hair. Patrick was fun. Fun was sexy.

I felt myself wriggling a little closer to him on the grass, and saw his eyes widen. He wriggled a little closer to me.
 

‘You’re gorgeous, Rose,’ Patrick said quietly.

‘Shut up,’ I said, blushing. ‘I’m not.’

‘You are,’ he replied. ‘You’ve got something no-one else has got. A real understated beauty. Elegant and natural. There’s no-one else like you in the whole of New York. Or anywhere. I mean it.’
 

We looked into each other’s eyes while we listened to the sound of the Hispanic guys playing their corny love tunes behind us. And within seconds, Patrick’s lips were on mine, his hands were on my neck, running down my spine, around my hips… His tongue delved into my mouth as he pulled me closer, and then, suddenly I could feel him. The hot, hard, bulk of him, pressing against my groin, trying to find a way into me, yearning for me. ‘Patrick…’ I gasped, pulling away for just a moment, and then locking my mouth hard onto his again.

Another Monday morning. Ugh. I just didn’t feel like going in this morning. I’d had a lovely weekend, in the park with Patrick and then with my mom, visiting a new art exhibition on Sunday. I’d just about managed to get Adam out of my head by the end of the weekend, and then: BOOM. Monday morning was back once more.

I kissed Mom goodbye, and then headed out of the house towards the bus station. It was so warm that I didn’t even need a cardigan today. What a day to be cooped up inside. I took a big, deep breath, enjoying my last few moments of freedom.

Then my cell phone buzzed in my handbag. That’d be Patrick. I smiled, remembering our kiss, remembering the feeling of how much he’d wanted me. I was going to meet him tomorrow, after work, to celebrate my shorthand exam results. Except that I knew it was going to be a commiseration. Still, we’d arranged to go out for dinner and a movie – not just our usual childish drinks, and I was kind of looking forward to it. I’d even spent yesterday daydreaming about how our kids might look together. His boyish, blond and distinctly Irish looks, and my brown hair, pale skin and green eyes. Our children would look quite European. Scandanavian, maybe, or Dutch.

Not that anything much had happened between us yet. There’d been the kiss in Central Park. And then another one in the bar we went to for drinks afterward. And then another when we said goodbye. Okay, there’d been a
lot
of kissing. But nothing inappropriate. Not yet. It felt like it was building that way though. Sex. And maybe it wasn’t so inappropriate after all. Patrick was a similar age to me, with some similar interests. He had a decent job and a sense of humor. What more could a girl want? At this point, this morning, I was ninety-two percent sure I was going to lose my virginity to Patrick. The eight percent was factored in to make things more interesting. You didn’t want to be too cocky about these things.

I looked at my cell, grinning.

And then the grin disappeared. Adam.

Come and see me in my office today, Rose. I’ve missed you.

Oh god, what a jerk! This guy had no idea how to conduct business professionally. Sitting there at the top of his glass tower, fucking all his staff, telling them what to eat and then requesting that they go to ‘visit’ them when they’re meant to be at work. Forget it. I typed out my reply.

Not interested. Besides, I’m sick. Must have been something I’ve eaten.
 

I hoped he’d realize the last part was aimed at him. He’d been telling me what to eat. I, for some reason, was
still
following his orders. Well not any more. Fuck it. This was it. I was cutting loose. Time for a sick day!

I stopped walking towards the subway station, called reception, and coughed. Putting on my best sick voice, I told the (no doubt extremely gorgeous-looking) receptionist that I had suspected food poisoning, that it was hopefully just a twenty-four hour thing, and I’d be in tomorrow. The receptionist said ‘Get well, sweetie,’ and, feeling slightly guilty, but nonetheless relieved I didn’t have to face Adam today, I began walking towards the subway steps, and headed for my old place of work.

I wasn’t actually heading for The Chronicle office, though. Of course I wasn’t. I hardly wanted Patrick to see me ‘pulling a sickie’. There was nothing big or clever about it. I’d never faked my way to a day off in my life. But sometimes mental health came first, and today was one of those days. Adam Cooper was not going to bully me into going to visit him today. I was
just
starting to get over him. This was a delicate time for me.

So, for fear of getting caught somewhere fancier, I decided to go and browse the mall by my old work.
Nobody
I knew would be seen dead around there. Even my old boss, Christina, called the place a dump. It was the perfect retreat from the world.

By the time I stepped off the subway, I had let the guilt drain clean out of me, and I felt sure that I was doing the right thing.
 

The mall was deserted at this time in the morning, which suited me just fine. I had nothing to do in here anyway – just be myself for a while. I walked past the store fronts, some of them not even open yet, and the more I walked, the angrier I felt.
 

What had happened to me?

What had I let Adam do?

Would I ever be able to have a normal relationship after this?

Was I going to ask Patrick to hit me, or tie me up?
 

What if I didn’t enjoy sex without those things?

The store windows were full of summer dresses, miniskirts, pink vests, and all manner of floaty, girly things. If clothes could speak, they’d have cried out:
Hey there!!! Isn’t life great? You can dress up soooo pretty if you buy me! You will have such a magical day! You will be a reeeeal princess!

I walked past each window, bubbling with vitriol. Maybe I’d never feel like a princess again. Princesses didn’t let their bosses see them naked. Princesses didn’t agree to get tied up and spanked by their stepbrothers in warehouses. Princesses didn’t let their stepbrothers bathe them, running a sponge between their legs, making their nipples go hard and their pussy get wet…
 

No. I certainly wasn’t a princess.