Camilla
Waves crash onto the rocky shore in front of the beach house I’ve rented for the weekend. The soothing sounds and colorful sunset will soon be replaced by tense conversations with my new stepbrothers—three of them, which leaves me decidedly outnumbered.
I pluck the maraschino cherry from my Sex On The Beach and slurp the juicy fruit from its stem. Underage drinking might not be the brightest idea but I can’t think of any other way to take the edge off.
Somehow my mom’s trip to Vegas for a business convention resulted in her getting married. And if that’s not bad enough, she didn’t mention it until after the fact. We’ve spoken all of six minutes about it and she assures me that everything’s fine.
Her lighthearted laughter as she’d told me filters into my brain. It would have made sense if she’d just said that she decided to take an impromptu trip to the Maldives. But as ahoneymoon? With a guy I’ve never met? A guy she hadn’t even known forty-eight hours earlier!
The six-minute phone call squeezed in between the ceremony and their trip to the airport was enough for me to get the guy’s name. From that, I tracked down that he has three sons, who all seem to be around thirty.
I found a working phone number for one of them. He was as shocked as I was and agreed to meet so we could decide if we need to stage an intervention or something.
Will my new brothers be able to hear my concerns or will they gang up on me? Instinctively defend their dad? I suppose that would be fine if it results in a prenup. My mom has worked hard to build her business and their dad’s company has a reputation for gobbling up smaller companies.
A gust of wind catches my hair and throws it across my face. I tuck the wild strands behind my ear and turn into the breeze, just like I’m facing the bizarre situation my mom’s presented, head-on.
I want her to be happy. I just worry she’s getting scammed. There’s not much else I can do, so I’m rallying my nineteen-year-old fearlessness and plan on assessing whether my stepbrothers seem like good people. If all goes well, I’ll feel better about being one big happy family. But if they seem fishy, I’m going to beg my mom to consider an annulment while it’s still possible.
A car’s tires crunch on the gravel below the elevated beach house, but my stepbrothers aren’t supposed to be here for another two hours.
I dump the rest of my beverage into my mouth.
A single car door opens and closes.
Could it be someone at the wrong address? Most of the beach houses are used as rentals.
The stairs from the ground lead to the street-side balcony, so I rush through the house. Leaning over the railing, I can’t see far enough, so I call out, “Hello?”
“Hey, Camilla.”
“Hi,” I say nervously. First of all, my name has never sounded so sexy as in this stranger’s deep voice. Second, am I getting turned on by my stepbrother? Please don’t let me be that cliché. Or please do, if his looks match his voice. Diego is the only one of the brothers I’ve spoken to so far and this is not his voice.
“It’s just me, Austin. Diego and Phoenix missed their flight. I’ll be up in a second.”
I silently beg the universe for him to be… not my type. Crossing and uncrossing my arms, I try to appear casual as he makes his way up the stairs.
But as he becomes visible, his dark, tousled hair might as well join his voice in sending warning flares inside my body. A few more steps and he glances my direction.
Swoon.
His five-o’clock shadow and sultry bedroom eyes set off an entire twenty-one-flare salute. Okay, that’s not a thing, but whatever’s going on inside of me is a mix between a warning shot and fireworks. He has my full attention.
Suddenly my bikini and cover-up don’t seem appropriate. A chastity belt might be safer. If his dad looks and sounds anything like him, I can see why my mom fell hard and fast. Ugh, that is so wrong.
He steps onto the landing and strides in my direction. All six-foot-whatever of him. Broad shoulders, narrow waist.
I’m ill-equipped to handle a brother who looks like this. Stepbrother—nah, doesn’t matter. One side of his smile hooks higher than the other. I’m a goner.
“Hey.” He stops a few feet in front of me. His light-blue dress shirt sets off his light-green eyes. The black slacks remind methat he was coming straight from work. Too bad he already took his tie off or I would have happily backed him onto the couch, straddled his lap, and done it for him.
Taking air in through my mouth like a dreaded mouth breather, I snap my lips shut. I never thought much of breathing through my mouth since I have allergies, but ever since Stranger Things, I’m self-conscious. Allergies are the least of my current problems though.
I manage to force a breath in and out. “Hi.”
“Mind if I set my stuff inside?” He adjusts the shoulder strap of the duffel bag.
“Sure, the bedrooms are all on the second story. Take whichever one you want except mine.”Or we could share a bedroom. I pray that I didn’t say the last part out loud.
