Threat (13 page)

“Manners, sis.”

I reach across the bed and snatch it from his hand.

“Damn, someone's hungry,” he remarks.

“Can you really blame me?'

I rip open the bag to find two double-decker burgers and two orders
of golden, crispy fries inside. All from In-N-Out. I inhale the
fragrance for a moment, basking its glory. How did he know?

“So are you going to eat it or sniff it?”

“I'm just enjoying the moment,” I say as I reach into the
bag and pull out my French fries. “It's a part of savoring my
meals.”

“You have a weird-ass relationship with food.”

I plaster on a fake smile. “Thank you for that.”

“Here we go again,” he mumbles as he picks up his own
burger and takes a big bite.

“I'm serious though, savoring each bite helps. I read this book
a few years ago called
French Women Don't Get Fat.
”

“You have to be shitting me.”

I shake my head. “No, I'm serious, the advice changed my life.”

“And even better, you made some uppity French chick rich,”
he mocks.

“Would you shut up and listen? The book said that Americans
consume more because we don't appreciate each bite. Whereas the
French do, and therefore, they're compelled to actually eat less.”

“You could have paid
me
$14.95 to tell you that.”

I roll my eyes. “Whatever. It was $14.95 well-spent. It
worked.”

His eyes trail down me. “Indeed it did.”

“Stop.” He grins, that dimple of his appearing beneath
his stubble again. Oh how I hate that stupid dimple.

“Anything good on?” he asks as he grabs the remote.

“Not a single thing. Believe me, I've checked.”

He flips through the channels and eventually switches to in-room
movies. I guess I shouldn't be surprised when he goes directly to the
adult movies.

“Don't even think about it,” I warn him, as he sits there
staring at the screen with his mischievous lopsided smile. “I'm
serious, Threat!”

“What?” he replies. “Don't be such a prude.”

“You are not going to sit here and watch a porno while I'm in
the room.”

“Feel free to leave, sweet cheeks.”

My eyes dart back to the screen. He's flipping through each title and
they're even showing previews of each one! What the hell? Is that
even legal? There could be kids in these rooms! I reach across the
bed, my hand darting toward him as I attempt, and fail, to snatch the
remote from him.

“Good God, it's just sex! Don't act like you've never seen a
fucking porno before.”

I'm silent, and I'm pretty sure I'm blushing.

Threat is staring at me like I'm a zombie. “You've never seen a
porno before?” It's more of an accusation than a question. And
when I don't answer he bursts into a fit of laughter. “Fuck,
now I understand why you're so damn uptight all the time.”

“I am
not
uptight.” God, I hate it when he calls
me that.

“You are uptight as all hell,” he says. “And that's
exactly why you need this.” He aims the controller at the TV
and pushes a single button. Next thing I hear is that cheesy porno
music and moans.

I scream. It was probably loud enough to wake up whoever was next
door, and it was certainly loud enough to startle Threat.

“You
cannot
play that in here! Turn that off now!”

“Damn, calm down,” he replies. “And no, I just paid
twenty bucks for it so I'm not turning it off.

I sock him hard in the shoulder. “Dammit, Threat! What the fuck
is your problem?”

“You're my problem right now! And stop hitting me!”

“You cannot play this! It's inappropriate!”

“
It's inappropriate
,” Threat mocks like a school
child.

I accidentally glance at the television, and already some woman is
slipping out of her dress. Ugh! I automatically avert my eyes and
reach for the remote again but he pulls it away. “I'm serious,
turn it off!”

“Nope, I'm watching and so are you,” he says.

Disgusted, I scoff. “Like hell I am,” I mumble as
I
slide off the edge of the bed.

“Seriously? It's just sex, what the hell are you so afraid of?
Everyone fucking does it. Well, except you, obviously.” He
takes me by the wrist and pulls me back towards him. Does he
try
to be the worst human being, like, ever?

“I don’t have any problem with sex,
asshole
. I
just don't want to watch this...this degrading shit with
you
!”

I yank my wrist from his grip and dash into the bathroom.

“Come on, sis, it's just one little porno!” he continues
hollering at me as I barricade myself behind the door. “You're
fucking missing it!”

I feel like screaming, especially when Threat hikes up the volume on
the TV to the point where
I
can't even drown it out by covering my ears. I swear, he is the most
infuriating, obnoxious person I've ever met! If he gets us kicked out
of this place, I'm going to kill him. And to think, for a second this
afternoon I thought he was maturing—boy was
I
wrong. He's back now with a vengeance.

I'm not afraid of sex or sexuality. I might not be the most
experienced when it comes to men, but a prude I am not. And it ticks
me off that him calling me one ticks
me
off—since when
do I care what Threat thinks? Is it really that hard to believe that
watching that shit with a guy is uncomfortable? And watching it with
a hot guy is
doubly
uncomfortable.

Wait... did I just admit to myself that I find Threat hot? God,
what's wrong with me? Did he put some sort of voodoo hex on me?

I pull my knees in against my chest, covering my ears tighter as the
loudness of my own thoughts slowly and eventually drown out the noise
behind the door.

LEAH

I think I almost dozed off in a motel bathroom. Does anything else
scream 'I just hit rock bottom' more than that?

“Hey open up, I need to piss!” Threat demands, his voice
accompanied by loud, continuous thumps against the door.

I groan as I unravel myself, hesitant to actually open it. Not
because he's still watching a fucking porno—that ended ages ago
and I’m not sure I really registered it. But after coming to my
recent realization, I'm not entirely sure how to act around him.

I find my stepbrother hot. I'm attracted to my God damned
stepbrother
. I'm officially one of those people you see, and
mock, on Dr. Phil.

He might be the biggest tool in the shed but he's not stupid, despite
how much I rag on him for being so. He's intuitive, he'll smell it on
me for miles and he'll mock me relentlessly for it. Or worse, he'll
keep taunting me by dangling himself like a carrot in front of me.
Because that's what Threat does. He exists to make my life a
nightmare.

“Are you dead in there, Leah? Did you slip and break your neck?
Come on, open this shit up or I'll break down the fucking door.”

He is the absolute
worst
. Remind me why I'm attracted to him
again?

I swear I am not fucking attracted to him.

I march toward the door and throw it open in a huff. Only to find him
standing there, shirtless and pantless, wearing nothing but a tight
pair of boxer briefs.

Yes. Yes. God yes, I am.

He's got one arm perched on the door frame, and his lips stretch into
that same stupid, cockeyed smile of his.

“You missed the show,” he says.

“Get out of my way, please.”

“Ladies first.”

I turn sideways, and he turns sideways, our bodies brushing as I
attempt to slip past him.

His thick brows shoot up against his forehead. “Guess what I’m
going to do in the shower?” he says as he grabs himself,
adjusting his package.

Argh!

“Please spare me the details.”

The door closes as I flop back on to the bed. Hopefully, he takes
just as long in the shower as I did. Hell, let him take even longer—I
could use the alone time now. I’m back to flipping aimlessly
through channels, not registering a single thing that's on them, but
wishing I could find something that would distract me from thinking
about Threat.

I don’t budge when he finally reemerges from the bathroom,
bringing a big puff of steam with him. I keep my eyes locked on the
TV, but it's kind of hard to miss him when he walks past, still clad
only in those tiny boxer briefs, slung low on his hips, and not
leaving much to the imagination.

But boy do they do a lot for my imagination…

“Is that what you're wearing to bed?” I ask as he climbs
in beside me. I try my hardest not to look
there
.

“It's hot as fuck.”
I'll say.
“Got a problem
with it?”

“Whatever,” I mumble.

I have to force myself to snap out of this. Threat is rubbing off on
me in the worst possible ways. And I don't want to become a sex
obsessed fiend making crude remarks about my step sibling. He's
already got that down on lock.

Thankfully, there's a pretty simple way to ignore him at this
point—by going to sleep. Yes, that's probably my whole problem,
I'm sleep deprived. I'm already drained, mentally and physically,
from the day; I'm sure I'll fall asleep easily. Tomorrow is a new
day—I'll wake up with more perspective and less unreasonable
thirst.

“Goodnight,” I mutter as I roll over and switch off my
light.

“Night, sis,” he replies.

I toss and turn before falling into a deep sleep.

*

It's not yet morning and I realize that before I'm fully awake. I'm
not even sure I was asleep longer than an hour.

Threat must not have been able to sleep either because the TV is
on—thankfully, he was polite enough to mute it but I can still
see the dim hue of Technicolor images dancing across my pillow as my
heavy lids slowly open. The bed sinks below me, moving as Threat
shifts beside me. I hear a low pitched sound in the background—it's
a deep, muffled groan that sounds a hell of a lot like the porno he
played earlier in the night. I start to get angry, thinking he's
playing yet another one after I scolded him the first time. But then
I realize the sound isn't from the TV at all, it's real and it's
coming from inside of the room. It's coming from him.

My eyes adjust to the low light and my whole body stiffens when I see
him, lying just inches away from me, with his entire hand shoved down
the front of his shorts. His legs are wide apart, his body slouched
low against the headboard. The gray-blue light reflects off of those
washboard abs of his, and the admittedly sexy Adonis lines below
them. The waistband on his shorts are pulled dangerously low by his
own wrist, and beneath the fabric I can see the outline of his hand
as it bobs up and down, stroking his stiff cock.

Fuck.
My breath is caught in my chest. My better judgment
tells me to shut my eyes and pretend to be asleep because this is so
ridiculously rude and invasive. Hell, I should be angry that he would
even jack off in the bed right next to me. But god damn if it isn’t
the hottest thing I've ever seen.

He throws his head back against the pillow, his tongue darting out
over his lips before his mouth falls open. His hips shift against the
bed again, and I find myself squeezing my thighs tighter together.
I'm a terrible person for watching him, for invading his privacy like
this. I'm no better than Threat himself, and yet I give him so much
shit. Maybe we're not so different after all, because I sure as hell
can't tear my eyes away from his form. And if I could slip my fingers
inside myself right now, I would.

“Enjoy the show, sis?” he asks, out of nowhere.

My eyes shoot open even wider and I make the weirdest shrieking sound
from my throat. I roll flat on my face, grabbing my pillow and
holding it tight over my head, feeling absolutely mortified. How the
hell did he figure out I was watching him? I was quiet and still as
the dead.

But in typical Threat fashion, he isn’t done torturing me yet.
He takes the pillow and yanks it off of my head, but not without a
fight.

“What the hell, Threat?” I shout as I grab hold of the
other end, only to have it ripped from my hands. The heat radiates
off his body as he hovers over me his chest brushing against my back,
and his fist planted in the mattress beside me.

“Care to help me out this time?” he whispers in my ear.

My whole body goes rigid, his words sending a shiver down my spine.
“I...no,” I stutter.
That wasn't particularly
convincing.
I attempting to push him away, but as usual, he
barely budges. Instead he chuckles and wraps his arms around my
waist, pulling me back against his chest.
The hell?

My first instinct is to kick and squirm out of his arms—and
that's exactly what I do. “What are you...stay on your fucking
side of the bed, asshole!” I shout. The sheets rustle and the
bed squeaks beneath us. Even though I fight him there's something
about his touch and being against his body that's obnoxiously
intoxicating. Being in his arms feels fucking right, and I absolutely
hate it.

He runs his hand lightly up and down the length of my arm. “Or
better yet,
I
could help you out,” he says. I lie silent and tense in his
arms, waiting for his next move, and wondering if my omission is
actually an invitation.

When I can manage to speak, my voice comes out as a tiny whisper. “I
didn't say I needed help.”

“You didn't tell me to stop yet either,” he says. He
trails up over my shoulder, his fingers finding the sensitive crook
of my neck and brushing my skin like tiny feathers. My lips part to
protest but instead only a whimper comes out. How is it possible that
he has this effect on me with just a simple touch? I shift in the
stronghold of his arms, and wrap my fingers tight around his wrist. I
should be pushing him away. Hell, I've convinced myself that I'm
doing exactly that. But truth be told, I'm not. I
can't.