Series: Peach State Stepbros Series by Riley Hart
Total pages in book: 95
Estimated words: 92311 (not accurate)
Estimated Reading Time in minutes: 462(@200wpm)___ 369(@250wpm)___ 308(@300wpm)
Estimated words: 92311 (not accurate)
Estimated Reading Time in minutes: 462(@200wpm)___ 369(@250wpm)___ 308(@300wpm)
Glen: You’re expected at home for Ellie’s birthday this weekend.
Fuck my life. How could I have forgotten her birthday?
I hate playing nice with them. And why would they want me at Ellie’s party anyway? But I know the answer. As always, it’s all about appearances. He wants to parade us around so he can pretend he doesn’t think I’m a fuckup. That he supports my choices—any of them. He’ll do the same with Troy, though he actually does support more of his.
Glen: And you will be on your best behavior.
Me: Will I, though? I’m not sure about that.
My phone rings, and I drop my head back against the seat. “What?” I answer.
“I’m not playing, Atlas. I know you don’t care about anyone other than yourself, but Ellie loves you and considers you her son.”
“I’m not,” I snap. She’s not my mom and never will be.
“When will you stop punishing everyone? Your mom wouldn’t want this for you,” he says, which is like he’d just ripped my heart out and stomped on it. That’s the one thing he’s right about. She was a good person, and eventually would have forgiven him. She would have forgiven Ellie, and she would have wanted me to do the same.
While I can’t manage forgiveness, I do say, “Fine. Whatever. I’ll be there. I know how much you miss me.”
He does not, in fact, miss me. And I’m only going because he’s right about Mom.
He sighs like he’s had enough of me, and since I’ve had enough of him too, I end the call.
It looks like I’m only going to be able to avoid Troy for a few more days.
I fidget the whole drive to my apartment, changing songs, tapping the steering wheel, anything to get my frustration out. The second I’m on my couch, I text Troy.
What does it say about me that annoying him makes me feel better?
Me: How’s the studying going?
Lil Stepbro: So you just got the call reminding you about Mom’s birthday too, huh? Then decided to take your annoyance out on me?
Goddamn it. It irks me that he knows me so well.
Me: I don’t know what you’re talking about.
Lil Stepbro: You’re the most closed-off person I know.
Me: Thank you! Best compliment you’ve ever given me. Now back to Thermo…you regretting this yet?
Lil Stepbro: Regretting the fact that you’ll be gagging on my dick soon? Not at all.
I look down at my crotch as my dick does a little twitch. Okay, now this is just pissing me off.
Lil Stepbro: Unless you chicken out. Because I’ll be acing that test. And you will be on your knees for me.
And somehow, the little asshole just got the upper hand.
Me: Nah, I don’t think so. But hey, if so, it will be the best head you ever received. I wonder how that will make you feel. The fact that I’ve never had a dick in my mouth, yet I’ll be better at it than you.
Lil Stepbro: Never gonna happen.
Me: Yeah, because you won’t ace the test.
Lil Stepbro: I meant, you’re never going to be better than me!
And because I know it will bother him, I leave him on read and don’t reply all night.
9
Troy
Mom and Glen’s friends pack the yard.
Leaves are still falling, and it’s a warm October day with a cool breeze, the sort that suggests we’ve got much colder days in the near future. But it’s a good day for an outdoor party.
Neighbors, coworkers, and old friends crowd the place, and it’s hard to believe Mom could have meaningful relationships with even half of them. But the way she stands at Glen’s side, among the group congregated around them, tossing her head back for a laugh, it’s like she’s never known any other way. Like those days of celebrating at a table for four with a cake that Dad, Brandon, and I baked and iced together are fantasies I’ve made up in my head.
Since guests started arriving, I’ve done the whole song and dance, chatting with the people I recognize, meeting new ones. It’s the expected chatter:
“Oh, you’re so much taller than the last time I saw you, Troy.”
“What year did you say you were?”
“Are you still playing football?”
Most conversations are trivial enough to small talk my way through, and a few I have to dodge because some of Mom’s friends are downright creepy with the way they ogle me, especially since I’ve known some of them since I was fourteen.
I check my Apple watch: 1:15 p.m.
Atlas is only fifteen minutes late.
Normally, I’d have suggested we ride together to ensure he didn’t arrive late, but I wanted to help out with the food and decorations.
About ten minutes later, he steps out onto the back porch and heads down to the pool. A few of Glen’s friends approach him, and he makes small talk, forces a smile, but I know it’s fake, and I know how much he hates faking.