Stepbrother Forbidden (Stepbrother, Where Art Thou? Book 2) (3 page)

To be honest, Sophia was relieved she could no longer hear what was being said at the next table. In the last few days she'd already come to hate herself for snooping on Ryan's Facebook messages, and she didn't think she could ever face him again if she listened to yet another private conversation. It would all be just too much.

She turned back to her phone and made an effort to mentally close her ears. The occasional word still found its way through the wall of noise from the jukebox, but Sophia blocked it out.
None of my business, none of my business, none of my business...

"I noticed you didn't have a drink," came a voice beside her. "Mind if I sit?"

Sophia looked up from her phone as a guy slid into the booth without waiting for an answer, then pushed a fresh bottle of beer across to her and smiled. "I'm Robbie. What's your name?" He looked to be in his mid-twenties. Maybe a little older, but it was hard to guess his age with the thin, patchy blond beard he was trying and failing to grow. It seemed like he was going for the thick, luscious lumberjack full face growth popular with hipsters, but it really wasn't working for him.

Guys need good, clear skin to pull of the lumberjack look, and the beard has to draw attention to full lips and nice, warm, welcoming eyes. Robbie had none of those. In fact, he looked like the much less cute younger brother of Neil Patrick Harris after a couple of months in the throes of a nasty meth habit. His jaw was too sharp, and the line of his beard cut across it in a way that made his narrow face look pinched and cruel. The ridiculous beanie he wore wasn't helping matters.

She realized she was staring, and had yet to speak. "Umm... I'm Sophia. Look, umm..." she hesitated. She really wanted to tell him she wasn't in the mood for company, but a mixture of the alcohol already in her system and the welcome distraction from the conversation going on behind her stopped her from telling the guy to take a hike. "Never mind. Thanks for the drink." She took a big gulp, draining a third of the bottle in one go.

Robbie grinned and took a sip of his beer. "I don't think I've seen you around here before. You new in town?"

"Yeah," she replied. "I mean no, not really. I'm from Queens, but I just just moved to a place a few blocks from here."

"That's cool, that's cool." Robbie stared at her a little too long for comfort. "I'm here all the time. Got a cool little studio just around the corner. It's expensive, but hey, you gotta spend money if you wanna live in the big
cit-ay
, right? That's what I always say."

"Uh huh, I guess." Sophia was already wishing he hadn't sat down. It wasn't so much the conversation that was the problem, though that wasn't exactly sparkling, but the way he looked at her. He just stared, unblinking, like some kind of creepy reptile. She was almost certain he was trying some shitty pick up technique he'd read in a book or learned at a seminar. Maybe it worked on some girls, but Sophia really didn't enjoy being the focus of anyone's attention. He looked like he was weighing her up, and it was creeping her out.

"You know," he said, finally, "that outfit is really nice, but I'm not really digging your pants. I think girls with big thighs should wear something a little looser."

Oh Jesus,
she thought.
I was right. He's a fucking pick up artist.
She'd read about one of these guys just a couple of weeks earlier. Some creep who gave seminars to teach guys how to score with women had been barred from the UK (or Australia, she couldn't remember the details) because his techniques amounted to borderline sexual assault.

"Are you serious? You're not trying to neg me, right?" she asked, incredulous.

"Ummm... no, I'm just... y'know, I'm just making conversation." Robbie looked suddenly uncomfortable, as if it hadn't occurred to him that a girl might have heard about the fucked up tactics used by pick up artists. He was 'negging' her: making a negative comment in an effort to knock her confidence and make her more susceptible to his advances. She'd read all about it, but she'd never imagined it would feel so fucking
creepy
to hear a guy try it for real.

"Just making conversation?" She was going to enjoy this. "OK, my turn. Your beard is really nice, but I think it'd look better on a real man. Oh, this is
fun.
You wanna go again?"

Robbie shifted awkwardly in his seat, uncertain how to go on. "No! I mean, I don't know what you're talking about. I don't even know what negging is."

Sophia took another swig from her bottle. She could tell the alcohol was going to her head. She knew she should probably shut up and just tell Robbie to leave, but she needed this. She desperately needed to let off some steam and distract herself, and this creepy dude made the ideal vessel to pour her frustration.

"OK, you don't want to play? Then I'll go again. You're alone in a bar on a Friday night, trying to hit on a woman with techniques you learned from creeps who think that women are objects to be used at their leisure and thrown to the gutter when they're done. I'm guessing you don't know how to have a
real
conversation with a woman, how to treat her like an equal fucking human being. You don't know how to talk to a woman without your little Internet-assembled bag of tricks to fool her into bed, and without them you'd end every night the same way, alone in your apartment, playing with yourself until you come into a dirty sock. Am I right?"

Beneath the patchy beard Robbie's cheeks glowed red, and he looked like an animal caught in headlights. "I'm sorry," he mumbled, staring at his beer. "I didn't mean anything by it."

"Yeah. Here's a tip: if you have to destroy a woman's self esteem before she'll sleep with her you're doing life wrong, and you'll keep dating your right hand until you stop treating us like idiots. Now, I'm waiting for my boyfriend to arrive," she lied, waving her phone in the air as if it was some sort of proof she had a connection to other humans. "He should be here any minute, soooo..." She left the word hanging in the air.

"No, I get it, I get it," Robbie said, holding up his hands. "It's no big deal, I'll go back to my table. It was... ummm, it was nice to meet you. Sorry to bother you."

Sophia cringed as Robbie slid out of the booth. She knew she'd probably been a little too cruel, but worse than that she'd lied about having a boyfriend
.
Now she had to worry not only about escaping unseen from Ryan, but also the embarrassment of leaving alone before this imaginary lover arrived.
You're really swinging for the fences today, aren't you?

She returned to her phone and stared at the screen as Robbie slunk back to his seat by the pool table, trying to distract herself with the random status updates of the half-friends and vague acquaintances that filled her feed.

TGIF, bitcheeeees! This one's gonna be off the hook!

Ugh, summer jobs suck the most. Remember when summers used to be fun?

Boracay is awesome! Guys, the Philippines is just the most beeeeautiful place in the world! Shout out to my Filipina home girl Malari!

Sophia clicked 'like' on the last update, wishing the button would somehow teleport her across the world to somewhere warm, sunny and simple. She'd give her right arm to be relaxing on a beach a thousand miles from anyone who knew her, with nothing on her mind apart from the warm sun and a cool drink.

She clicked through to the attached photos, sighed, and spent a blissful few minutes imagining herself just out of frame: island hopping on little sail boats; zip lining through the treetops; driving a quad bike along dusty tracks, kicking up a trail that carried all her worries far away.

As she tapped the screen to return to her feed she noticed she was struggling a little to focus on the words. She could make them all out just fine if she stared at each one in turn, but it seemed as if something in her brain had just gone... kinda fuzzy? It was hard to line the words up in a row, as if the first was slipping out of her mind before she reached the end of a sentence.

OK, now you're really drunk,
she realized
You gotta get home to bed.
She'd already had about five or six bottles before Remy had brought her the last one. That must have pushed her over the...
Wait, was his name really Remy? That doesn't sound right. Robbie? Ronnie? Captain Blond Beard? Jesus, how drunk are you, girl? He introduced himself like five minutes ago.

The table in front of her began to swim in and out of focus. The sides of the booth seemed to be moving in and out like the walls of a breathing lung, and she barely noticed as her phone slipped out of a hand that didn't feel as if it belonged to her. She felt as if she was no longer in her body. Everything kinda tingled, and she almost laughed out loud at the idea that her spirit was pulling out of her body like she might pull off a pair of gloves, one finger at a time.
I never knew being drunk felt like this.

Suddenly there was an arm beneath her, like a comfortable cushion she could lay down on and close her eyes. The voice in her ear was muffled and distant, but it sounded soothing. She could just rest here a moment. It was OK. People would take care of her.

She felt herself being lifted gently out of the seat. Her eyes felt heavy and she didn't really want to keep them open, but through the haze she could see, close up, a thin, patchy blonde beard.

Suddenly the voice became louder, and was joined by another, loud enough to pierce through the soft, comfortable cotton wool that seemed to surround her.

"Hey, man, relax, my girlfriend's just had a little too much. Chill the fuck out, OK? Man, what's your problem?"

The other voice sounded like Ryan.
Oh, I love Ryan. He's so nice. I wish he could take me to bed with him.

"What the fuck do you mean, your girlfriend? This is my stepsister, you fucking creep!"

Sophia felt like a pinball bouncing around a table. The arm beneath her vanished and another one replaced it, but not before she felt something hit her head, hard. I didn't really hurt, but she could hear the bang. She struggled to open her eyes a little, and found she was looking up from the floor. Everyone seemed like giants looming over her. Ryan looked mad, and the guy with the beard and the beanie looked kinda scared. He started running for the door, but Ryan reached out with a long, muscular arm and grabbed his jacket by the collar.
Why doesn't everyone just chill out? Relax, Ryan, relax.

There was some kind of struggle, but she couldn't really make out what was going on. It was like watching a Japanese game show or something. The stage looked familiar, but the language was all kinda messed up and confusing. Nothing made much sense, but it was fun to watch.

Ryan's friend reached into the beard guy's jacket as Ryan held onto his shoulders, and when his hand came out he was holding some little things, showing them to Ryan. They were white. He looked just as mad as Ryan.

"Hey, I have a prescription for those! Put 'em back, you crazy fuck!" The beard guy was yelling now, but it wasn't like Ryan's yelling. His voice came out all high pitched and squeaky, and his eyes were real wide like saucers. He looked funny.

"Are you fucking kidding me? How much did you give her?" Ryan's face was all red, and he shook the beard guy like a doll.

"Sophia, can you hear me honey? Come on honey, wake up." There was a pretty blond girl looking down at her. Her hair tickled Sophia's nose. She liked it, but the girl was too loud, and she was shaking her too hard. Sophia just wanted to sleep.

Ryan was hitting the beard guy now. His friend jumped in and tried to pull him back, but Ryan was too strong. The beard guy fell to the floor next to Sophia. His eyes were closed real tight and he was curled up in a ball, but Ryan didn't stop until the big barman jumped in the way.

"I'm sorry! I'm sorry!" The beard guy started yelling, with spit spraying from his lips. Blood was pouring out of his nose and mixing with the beard. Sophia thought it made it look better. She liked big, jolly red beards. "I just gave her one, OK?! She'll be fine!"
He must be talking about the beer.
She felt bad for the beard guy, because she knew she'd had more than just that one beer. It wasn't his fault she was drunk.

The barman pulled the beard guy from the ground by his hair and dragged him to the door. The beard guy tried to grab at the barman's arm, and he was screaming. Maybe he was upset about losing his hat.