Stepbrother Billionaire(8)
Author: Colleen Masters

“Hey,” I call to him, taking the stairs two at a time to catch up. “Emerson, wait.”

“What. Did I steal your afternoon snack?” he grins over his shoulder, holding the chips up over my head. His favorite game. “If you can grab ‘em you can have ‘em!”

“Yeah, no. I’m not interested in your chips,” I say, standing before him on the landing. “I just wanted to know if we’re on speaking terms again now or what.”

“What do you mean, Sis?” he asks, ripping open the bag and popping a chip into his mouth. This boy can even making chewing sexy. Goddamn him.

“I mean…are you done giving me the cold shoulder?” I press him. “You’ve been avoiding me since that party the other night. When we—”

“Whoa, whoa,” Emerson chuckles. “You are way paranoid. I haven’t been avoiding you. I just haven’t noticed you. There’s been other shit going on. And you’re pretty easy to miss.”

“Bullshit,” I snap, taking a step toward him. “I know you’ve been going out of your way not to see me ever since that stupid game in the closet. Something…happened between us, and—”

“I don’t know what you’re talking about,” he says, the joking laughter fading from his voice. “But I do know that I don’t want to hear another word about it out of you. OK?”

“You can’t just pretend that nothing happened!” I cry out, exasperated.

“Keep your voice down,” he growls, glancing down at the kitchen where our parents are still talking in hushed tones.

“I won’t. Not unless we can have a real conversation about this,” I say at full volume, crossing my arms. “You owe me that, at least.”

“You are so fucking impossible,” he says, shoving a hand through his chestnut hair. “OK. Fine. You wanna take a drive or something? Will that shut you up?”

Despite the context of his offer, my stomach still does a thrilled somersault at the idea of being alone with him. “Sure,” I say, “Let’s hit the road. Bro.”

“I hope you know I’m just using you as an excuse to get out of this house again,” he grumbles, dropping the chips onto the floor and storming off down the stairs. I follow right behind him, wondering whether or not he’s fucking with me. At this moment, it doesn’t much matter. I’m just happy that he’s speaking to me again at all.

You’re just pathetic, I berate myself silently. Berating myself is something I’m pretty great at—I have a lot practice.

“Are you leaving again already?” Deb cries from the kitchen as we try to make our exit. “You just got home!”

“Yes Mother,” Emerson sighs, in his most over-the-top cordial voice. “Abigail and I are going to take a spin around town. Take in some fresh air. Cheerio!”

“Oh. Well. Good. You guys are spending some time together,” Deb says uncertainly. “Um. Be back…sometime?”

“Will do!” Emerson says, tipping an imaginary hat to our parents.

I step out the door after him, shaking my head in amused befuddlement.

“And I’m the weirdo, right?” I laugh.

“Haven’t you figured it out yet, Sis?” he says, striding over to the beat up Chevy parked in the driveway. “We’re both weirdoes, you and me. Get in the car.”

I trundle into the front seat, trying not to gawk as I settle in. I’ve never been allowed in Emerson’s car before. True, he and his mother have only been living with us for a few weeks. But still. Being admitted into this “sacred vessel” of his feels pretty significant. It’s all I can do to keep myself from caressing the worn out leather seats, the dusty dashboard, as if this car were a shrine to the boy I’m crazy for.

“So. What kind of shit do big brothers do with their little sisters?” he asks, rolling down his window and lighting up a smoke. “Want me to take you to the playground or something?”

“No. But you could bum me a cigarette, to begin with,” I say lightly.

“You don’t smoke,” Emerson scoffs, looking over at me sharply.

“Not anymore. But I did,” I inform him.

“No fucking way,” he says, narrowing his eyes.

“Yes fucking way, I assure you,” I reply. “Come on. Gimme one.”

“If you don’t mind my saying,” he goes on, passing me his pack of Camels and a lighter, “Smoking doesn’t really seem like your kind of thing.”

“There are lots of things you don’t know about me, Emerson,” I reply, plucking out a cigarette and lighting it up. “But if you’re real nice to me, I might just tell you a couple.”

He stares at me for a long, silent moment. The same look he trained on me the night of the party—in the closet when I handed him my panties, when he caught me in his arms after I fell—is there in his eyes again now. I do my best to draw deep breaths, hoping he can’t read my thoughts. My desires. But instead of giving me any sort of clue as to what he’s thinking, he just starts the car and drives off toward town.

We zoom along in silence, unsure of what to say. Or at least, I’m unsure. Maybe he just doesn’t care to spare any words on me. After a while, he flips on the car radio. A song by the Foo Fighters comes on, and I sit up a little in my seat. They’re one of my favorite bands—just heavy enough for my taste. I start singing along, nodding my head with the beat. Emerson lets out a short, surprised laugh.

“Would have taken you for more of a Taylor Swift kind of girl,” he says over the music. “But I’m not supposed to make assumptions about you anymore, right?”

“That’s right,” I smile.

“Can I at least assume that you’ll want dinner at some point tonight?” he asks.

I have to fight hard from letting a dopey, love-struck look escape across my features. He just wants to grab food. It’s not a date. I just happen to be along for the ride. But still.

“Yeah, I’m starving,” I tell him.

“Great. Me too. Let’s swing by the Crystal Dawn,” he says, turning off onto a main road in town.

Chapter Three

The Crystal Dawn is our local diner, frequented by just about everyone in our relatively small town. High school kids, senior citizens, working class parents—no one can resist the Crystal’s Dawn’s greasy spoon appeal. Emerson rolls up to the silver diner and swings into a parking space, cutting off another car with a laugh.