Read Stepbrother Untouchable Online
Authors: Colleen Masters
Stepbrother Untouchable
Copyright © 2014 Hearts Collective
All rights reserved. This document may not be reproduced in
any way without the expressed written consent of the author. The ideas,
characters, and situations presented in this story are strictly fictional, and
any unintentional likeness to real people or real situations is completely
coincidental.
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STEPBROTHER UNTOUCHABLE
by
Colleen Masters
I bounce from foot to foot as I try my mom's cell phone one
more time. I'm practically bursting at the seams wanting to tell her my good
news, and she's not answering. I hang up the call as it goes to her voicemail
again. She's been a little more unreachable ever since she started dating this
new mystery man. She'll have to break down and tell me about him soon—we've
never been able to keep secrets from one another for long.
I give up and hold down the number 2 button on my old
flip-phone to auto-dial my best friend Allison. Thankfully, she picks up.
“I got it! I got a Lawn Room!” I shriek as soon as she
answers, my excitement overflowing into a wild jig around my tiny dorm room.
Allison screams on the other end in response—she knows what a huge deal this is
for me.
There are only fifty-four Lawn Rooms at the University of
Virginia, where I'm just finishing my junior year. They were a central part of
Thomas Jefferson's design for the school, and spread out under white columns
from his famous Rotunda. They might be small and drafty, but living in one is a
high honor. There's a rigorous application process, and they are given to only
the most academically-deserving rising seniors. I worked my nerdy butt off in
preparation for this moment, and I can barely believe it's actually happening.
“Wait, wait, I'm putting you on speaker. Miriam's here,
too,” Allison says when she finally takes a breath. Miriam is the third member
of our little group that I met freshman year, and has both supported me and
sheltered me through the first three years of college.
“Brynn, I'm so proud of you! I mean, think of how many
hundreds and hundreds of hours you worked for this moment!” she gushes.
I laugh. “Don't remind me!” I wince, thinking of how much of
college life I've missed while huddled in the back stacks of the library. Not
that Miriam and Allison are academic slouches either, far from it, all three of
us could probably draw you a map of the library from memory.
“And if it gets too cold in the winter, you can always come
crash with us,” Allison adds. She and Miriam have been roommates since
sophomore year, and will be again next year. They've always invited me to apply
for housing with them, but after freshman year, I decided I was too much of an
introvert for roommates.
“The fireplace is probably the best and worst part of the
whole thing,” I laugh. The Lawn rooms have almost no trappings of the modern
world, so in the winter all you have to keep yourself warm is your own personal
fireplace. It sounds romantic now, but come next January, I imagine I might
feel differently.
“Are you working tonight? Or can we celebrate?” Miriam asks.
I work in the cafeteria as part of my work-study program to offset the cost of
my tuition. “Maybe we could go to dinner together, then see a movie?”
“Well, I'm not working,” I admit, guilt already bubbling up
from my stomach, “but I was thinking I might go out with these girls from my
Poli-Sci class.”
There's a short silence before Allison speaks. “Oh,
cool…Sounds fun. What are you guys going to do?”
“Um, they invited me to this party at the crew house,” I
say, beginning to tug on the ends of my dark blonde hair—a nervous habit that
only really gets out of control during finals.
“The crew house!?” Allison exclaims, and I can't help but
roll my eyes at her theatrics. “Brynn, you know as well as we do that those
parties get insane! I heard that last semester NINE of their varsity members
got alcohol poisoning in one night!”
“Well, there are only eight on a team, so I think that might
be an exaggeration,” I murmur. “Though I suppose maybe an alternate—”
“Brynn, the point is, those parties are notoriously crazy,”
Miriam cuts in.
“I just want to see for myself,” I say, trying to keep the
frustration out of my voice. “I'll call you guys tomorrow morning.”
“OK…” Allison says warily.
“Bye!” I say quickly, before Miriam can renew her argument,
and hang up.
As wonderful as my two best friends are, I do get tired of
how uptight they can be sometimes. Not that I don't understand where it comes
from. The three of us weren't exactly popular during high school, and when we
found each other during our freshman year orientation, it was such an amazing
relief to be with like-minded girls. We were all serious students, driven, with
a penchant for fantasy books that might star Viggo Mortensen in the movie
adaption.
But now, I'm beginning to chafe at the boundaries of our
friendship. Particularly when it comes to going out to parties, and boys. On my
early morning trips to the library, I see girls doing the walk of shame across
campus, their makeup smeared across their faces, hair rumpled, and first I feel
pity, and then intense jealousy. That post-sex glazed over look…if I’m honest
with myself, I want that too.
And I promised myself that if I got my Lawn Room, I'd go to
a party. A real college party. The kind Miriam and Allison roll their eyes at
as they wonder how many brain cells its attendees are killing by the second.
This crew party is the perfect opportunity. I'm trying not to get my hopes up,
but it remains a possibility that I might actually get to talk to Nate
Thornhill tonight.
Just the thought of his name is enough to send tingles down
my spine, though I know the real-life man could probably never live up to the
fantasy I've built up in my mind. I still remember the first time I saw him,
walking across campus the second weekend of fall semester of freshman year. I
would’ve bet my life then that he was a senior. Compared to the boys I had just
left behind in high school, he was already a full-grown man. He wore a navy
blue polo like it was a second skin as he strode across the grass, Jefferson's
Palladian architecture spread out behind him like it was built as a set for a
movie he was starring in. He wore his wavy brown hair on the long side, and pushed
back to keep it out of his dark blue eyes. His nose was perfectly straight and
ended over a pair of soft, full lips and a chin with an actual dimple in it. If
it were possible for Ryan Gosling and a Kennedy to have a baby, the result
would be Nate Thornhill.
I later learned that he was a double major like me, and
since one of mine is Political Science and one of his is History, we overlapped
in a few of our core courses. I expected him to sit in the back with the rest
of the jocks but he was always in the front row, quick to raise his hand with
intelligent answers. I always hide right in the center of the halls; my shyness
overwhelms me in those big lecture classes. I’ve never got up the courage to
actually talk to him, and besides, he always has a different girl on his arm.
With his looks, money, and being a star of both the lacrosse and crew teams, he
draws women in like a magnet.
But tonight? Tonight I have promised myself that if he's at
the party, I am going to introduce myself.
I shoot off a quick text to Cara, my new friend from class,
to confirm that I'll join her tonight, and then turn to my closet. I really
only have one option to wear tonight: a simple, slinky black camisole with a
lace inlay that I bought at the mall in spite of Miriam and Allison's
naysaying. I didn't know what I was buying it for then, but it's the kind of
shirt I've seen other girls wearing to parties. I slip on jeans and a pair of
heels that are probably a little low to be cool, but they'll have to do. It's
not like I have extra money to be adding to my wardrobe.
I take out the drug store makeup that I bought and sit at my
desk. I never usually wear anything but Chapstick, but I watched some YouTube
tutorials and feel confident I can mimic some of the techniques. With a compact
mirror, I carefully put on a little concealer, blush, brown eye shadow, and
black mascara. I bought an eyeliner, but I don't use it. I think it's a little
beyond my skills. With a swipe of some sparkly lip gloss, I'm done.
I close the closet door and study myself in the full-length
mirror. With a start, I recognize myself in the reflection. I turn my face side
to side, searching for all its imperfections. With a little makeup on, my
resemblance to my mom is more pronounced. Everyone always says she is
beautiful, so maybe it’s possible that I might be pretty, too. The shirt is
more low-cut than I remembered, and I touch my breasts self-consciously. I get
my large C-cups from my mom also, but I've always kept them covered up. I see how
men get distracted by them, like they're some tractor beam pulling them in.
One more quick glance to check my mascara application, and I
nod at myself, satisfied. It's been a long time coming, but I think I'm finally
ready to party.