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Rolling with my Stepbrothers
Sylvie Haas
Copyright
Blurb
1. One
Commando
2. Two
Cheri
3. Three
Cheri
4. Four
Stonewall
5. Five
Taz
6. Six
Cheri
7. Seven
Cheri
8. Eight
Stonewall
9. Nine
Commando
10. Ten
Cheri
11. Eleven
Taz
12. Twelve
Cheri
13. Thirteen
Stonewall
14. Fourteen
Cheri
15. Fifteen
Taz
16. Sixteen
Cheri
17. Epilogue
Cheri
More from Sylvie Haas
About the Author
Blurb
Commando
“Nothing like sliding into my favorite booth at my favorite diner.” I don’t bother looking at the menu the waitress set down. The
thought of a double cheeseburger, extra pickles, and steak fries have my tastebuds eager for civilian food. The diner’s changed
over the years, but the burgers and the name, Keep Yer Belly Full, remain the same.
Taz offers a fist bump. “A big hell yeah to freedom.”
“Same, bro. I love fighting for it, but I’m overdue for sleeping in and not having a schedule.”
“You’ll get tired of it before our leave is over.”
“That last undercover op got to me.” I drag a hand through my hair and take a deep breath, deciding not to belabor the point.
Taz was there, he knows. It’s the first time I’ve considered getting out of the military, and with my reenlistment date rapidly
approaching, the possibility is unnerving.
Serving my country with honor has been my life goal. No distractions allowed.
What would Taz and our other brother, Stonewall think if I got out?
“Don’t bring that shit home with you.” Taz nods at something behind me. “Get that ray of sunshine in your head instead.”
I turn, unsure what he’s referring to. My mind is instantly cleared when my eyes land on one of the other waitresses. A smile
that’s as wide as it is bright red. Long brown silky hair. A petite figure that would have been underserved by the frumpy
uniforms the waitresses used to wear. Her denim short-shorts offer a full view of her toned legs. What does she do to stay in
shape? I’ve heard waitressing is exhausting.
I’m consciously advising myself to let go of the crude thoughts about giving her a workout, and how good those thighs would
feel wrapped around me, and that I should stop staring. I’m also ignoring myself.
The patrons at the table she’s serving break out in laughter. She does too.
It’s the biggest, heartiest laugh, and then she snorts. Unabashedly. My dick is instantly hard.
Chances are it was already headed that way, but it’s the fact that she snorted, no apologies, just pure joy, that takes a
sledgehammer to my hardened heart. There is good in the world. And apparently, I want to fuck it.
She responds to a woman at the table. “No kids for me. I can’t be trusted with keeping another human alive. I barely manage
myself.”
She snorts again and pre-cum spurts from my tip. What’s gotten into me? I shift while watching her walk to the register. My
jeans aren’t tight, but there’s not enough room for a full-fledged erection.
She turns. Our eyes lock. I’m busted.
“You boys ready to order?” Our waitress snaps me back to reality. How did I not notice she’d returned? Her belly is big
enough she rests her notepad on it.
I stutter to place my order, the effects of that young waitress leaving me shell-shocked. Not wanting to come across as a perv
staring at someone who has to be more than ten years younger than me, I direct my attention to Avery, politely addressing her by
the name I learn from her nametag, and complete the same order I’ve been placing since the diner opened.
Now that I’ve acknowledged her, I notice that she doesn’t look old enough to be pregnant. Or have I hit that point where
young adults look like kids? That would make my reaction to the other waitress even less appropriate.
I have enough sense not to ask either of their ages. My brothers and I haven’t spent much time in mainstream society the last
thirteen years, and they were a hard set of years. Maybe we should sit a tour out, and get in touch with the people we serve.
The president of our motorcycle club, aptly nicknamed Prez, comes in and detours in our direction.
Taz makes room for him, and Avery adds his order to our tab. The MC is full of fellow military so they understand our
schedules. Prez is older than me and also single. His whole life is dedicated to the MC now that he’s out of the military. Is that
my path? All MC?
My gaze shifts back to the waitress who makes me feel things I’d written off. Things that need to stay written off. I’m not the
family-guy type, no matter how much I want to put a baby in her.
And she’s happy. I could learn from her.
No. That wouldn’t be fair to her.
My internal discussion makes me feel psychotic. Physically angling my head away, I look out the window. She’s at an
entirely different place in life than I am. She deserves to live it without my burdens.
The tapping of Avery’s pen on her notepad draws me back. Avery has a gleam in her eye. “Are you guys single?”
“Whoa!” I hold both hands up in front of my chest. “Not interested.”
Taz brings his fist to his mouth and coughs the word, “Asshole.”
I force my eyes from Avery’s belly to her face. “I’m sorry. I don’t mean because of that.” I awkwardly motion toward her
elephant-sized midsection. “I’m single, but I’m not dating.”
She rubs a hand over her belly, triggering my brain to think of how little Miss Snorts-A-Lot would look pregnant. Fuck. I fail
to stop myself from scanning the restaurant for her, but she’s gone.
Avery tears a piece of paper out of her notepad and sets it on the table with a pen. “Don’t worry. I’ve had enough of men to
fill me up for a while. I saw you looking at Cheri, and it’s entirely possible that I saw her looking at you two earlier. If you
want me to pass your number on, I will.”
My fingers twitch. I ball my fists, pressing them into my thighs. “Do you realize how old we are?”
Taz sets his hand over the paper and pen. Adrenaline courses through me, sparking possessiveness. What right do I have to
tell him no?
Avery drags a finger over her belly. “Boys our age do this and run. You look like you have your shit together. Cheri’s a hard
worker, the best baker in town—cherry desserts are her specialty—and she fills in as a waitress for extra cash. Works here and
at Sugar D’s Donut Shop. It would do her good to have some fun if you know what I mean.”
Fun… cherry… I shouldn’t be having these thoughts.
Prez wrings his hands. “Fun? Don’t look at me unless Cheri wants to get married. My twin brother and I just found out we
have to get wifed-up or Grandma rewrites her will.”
The mention of his grandma reminds me that our dad flew into town to scatter his mom’s ashes. I steal a glance at Cheri,
who’s returned, and let her sunshine blast the thoughts of death from my mind.
“I think marriage would be a deal breaker for Cheri, which brings us to you.” Avery winks at Taz, stroking his ego, and he
sits taller. Avery has no idea how easy it is to flatter him. I love my little brother, but he never passes up a chance to have fun. I
don’t know how he compartmentalizes his life so easily.
Taz scribbles his info down, then slides the pen and paper toward me, raising an eyebrow. It might ruin me to see him with
Cheri, but I’ve sworn off distractions. I shake my head.
“You want to think about it?” Avery asks me.
“Like I said, I don’t date.”
“When the right woman comes along, don’t be afraid to let your guard down, big guy.” Avery picks the pen and paper up,
shoves them in her apron pocket, and walks away.
What does this pregnant teenager think she’s doing, matchmaking thirty-somethings with her barely-out-of-the-cradle friend?
And why am I considering walking over to Snorts-A-Lot and showing her how hard she’s making me? Absolutely not. I don’t
date. And I certainly don’t fuck a teenager just because she’s the cutest thing I’ve ever seen.
Two
Cheri
The mischievous smile on Avery’s face as she enters the break room causes my hand to stop midway to grabbing my coat. “I’ve
got to get to roller derby practice, but what are you up to?”
She hands a small paper to me while biting her lower lip.
I read what appears to be a name and phone number, but the name is Taz. Not a good sign. Avery needs someone stable, not
someone nicknamed after a devil. “What’s this?”
“A favor.” I try to hand it back to her, but she cradles her belly with both hands.
“What kind of favor?” I shrug my coat on, still holding the paper.
“I saw you staring at the guys who rolled in on the motorcycles. I also saw them staring at you. It’s my last day of work and I
wanted to do something nice for you.”
Was I that obvious? Is this why she was at their table so long? She was talking to them about me? The world sways a little
before I gather my thoughts, but they’re too fleeting to stay in my grasp. A strange feeling works its way through me. It’s light
and giddy and tingly.
“Avery…” I draw out her name. She’s been on my case about working too hard. She’s not wrong, but her pregnancy is proof
of how quickly life can take a detour. That’s why I’m using my time to bake my heart out while saving up money so I can move
out of my mom’s house. Living on my own seems scary, but I need to learn to take care of myself.
And not just financially. My mom and I have possibly gotten too used to hanging out with each other. Someday I might want
to get married, and I don’t want to be worried Mom will take it too hard.
“Taz is the smiley one with the five-o’clock shadow and a shit-ton of casual-sexy.” She taps the paper that’s still in my hand.
“And I don’t want to jump to incorrect conclusions, so I’ll let you know that the guy who came in last is looking for a wife. I
told him you weren’t interested.”
“What is wrong with you?” I ask, with too much excitement.
She raises her shoulders. “Should I have left the wife option open?” She motions over her shoulder. “I’ll let him know.”
I grab her hand. “No! I don’t have time to date… or get married.”
“You need to do something other than work.”
“I love my work.”
The back door flies open. My mother parades in looking way too happy, which is saying a lot coming from me.
“Cheri.” My mom draws out my name with her fake French accent, and wraps her arms around my shoulders.
“Is everything okay? I need to get to roller derby practice.” I hoist the strap of my gear bag over my shoulder when she lets
go.
She reaches into her Gucci-knock-off purse, pulls out a small packet of papers, and slaps them at my hand that’s holding the
phone number. I reposition the paper Avery gave me so I can see what my mom added.
Airline tickets? I’m processing that they contain my name when she says, “I’m getting married! We bought your flight, paid
for your room, and all of your food is covered.”
“To who… you don’t… how?” I’m certain that she said she’s getting married, but she’s not dating. I would know. I live with
her. When neither of us is working, we play Scrabble and binge Netflix.
As that thought highlights the stagnation of my life, I’m grateful that Avery got a guy’s number for me. My entire life revolves
around work, derby, and hanging out with my mom. I’m twenty—not a teenager anymore. I need to grow. And maybe, I need a
man, or at least a good time with one.
Still confused, I turn my attention back to my mom who is absolutely glowing. She says, “It’s shocking, but I met the perfect
man. One thing led to another and he’s whisking me away for my dream wedding. I’ll still make time for you sweetie, but I’ve
wanted a man in my life, and I found him.”
This is getting sadder by the minute. Skeptical of how she went from meeting a guy to having a destination wedding, I ask,
“When did you meet him?”
“Yesterday. It’s crazy. But it’s love at first sight, and we’re not getting any younger. He’s here on vacation to visit his sons.”
She squeezes my hands. “Please be happy for me. And please be on your flight tomorrow.”
“Tomorrow?” My question comes out in a shriek. I lower my voice to address the other problem. “How can you afford this?”
“He’s filthy rich, but that’s not why I’m marrying him. He’s the kindest man, and good in—”
“Stop, Mom. I have work and roller derby. I can’t just leave.” I try to shove the plane ticket back at her, but she doesn’t take
it.
Avery clears her throat. “I could fill in for you.”
I’d forgotten she was there. “I couldn’t ask that.”
“You didn’t. I offered because that’s what friends are for. I can delay my last day one more week. And I’ll talk to the girls at
Sugar D’s. We’ll make sure your shifts are covered.”
Avery’s already sending a text message, so I return my attention to my mom. “Why the rush?”
“The resort had a last-minute wedding cancellation. They’re booked out a year in advance. Cheri, this has to be the universe
telling me it’s the right thing to do.”
“I’m happy for you.” At least I’m trying to be. I paste on a smile and hope it looks sincere.
“So, it’s a go? Surely you can miss a few roller derby practices,” Mom says.
“No.” I can’t ditch them on a whim. Plus, Avery hasn’t been able to participate in months and Angel is out with a suspicious
ankle injury.
“She means yes. Everyone misses once in a while,” Avery says.
“Great! We can talk when you get home.” Mom exits so quickly, my head is spinning.
Avery plucks the packet from my hands, leaving me staring at Taz’s number. Could I be so lucky? All I have to do is put
myself out there and the universe will handle the rest? My mom seems to think so. I’m not so sure. I’m happy, not lucky.
Avery gasps. “This place looks incredible.”
I angle my head to see the paper my mom printed about the location. A luxury resort with private hot tubs on every balcony
and a crystal blue and aquamarine ocean on one side. The other side gets the ornate pool and cabana view.
I haven’t made it halfway down the list of amenities when Avery says, “Plan B. Wait to call Taz. Go on this all-expenses-
paid vacation to support your mother and hook up with a cabana boy first.”
“Plan B. It sounds perfect.” As long as I don’t leave my coworkers in a bind, I’m going. Maybe I’ll even consider the
cabana-boy thing. I’ll happily accept this stroke of luck.
“It is, Cheri. Don’t pass up an opportunity like this. Go have fun.”
“There has to be a catch.”
“Do you want me to make one up? Fine. One word of caution regarding the cabana-boy hookup. Whatever you do… don’t get
pregnant. It’s a vacation fling. What happens on the island stays on the island. All of that good stuff. Focus on fun.”
I can’t believe this fell in my lap. I can’t believe my mom is getting married.
Avery cocks her head to the side. “Do it for me.” She takes Taz’s number from my hand and tucks it into the papers. “I’ll let
him know that you won’t be calling right away.”
“Or should I be the one to let him know I’ll be gone for a few days?”
“No. Erase him from your brain. Don’t let anything stop you from letting loose, and please, so I can live vicariously, come
back with a better first-time story for yourself than I have.”
“That sounds like a challenge.” A challenge I’m willing to take.
Three
Cheri
I consider myself a happy person. I laugh freely. I love my jobs. And I have the best friends—my coworkers and teammates.
I’m successfully crafting the life I want.
But after the whirlwind of Avery getting Taz’s number for me, the panty-melting gaze from the guy sitting with Taz, and my
mother’s surprise wedding, doubt crept in. By the time I’d made it from the diner to roller derby practice, I was questioning
everything.
Should I skip the last-minute trip and be responsible? Or did my desire to stay home have more to do with Taz’s rugged
jawline, muscles, and sex appeal? His phone number was the only one on the paper but the other man in his booth, the older
one I’d caught staring, would serve as an acceptable alternative.
With my head still spinning, I’d done the only rational thing I could think of, and went to roller derby practice to hash out my
existence.
My teammates agreed… Take the trip! There would be time to sort out the other options when I got home.
Two plane flights later, after a whole lot of flying over the ocean to get to the private island, it’s good to have my feet on the
ground again. However, it’s not so wonderful to have rain drenching me as I hurry across the tarmac.
Thankfully the limo driver says it’s fine if I get the seats wet.
And in no time at all, he drives me to the resort where the bellhop delivers my bags to my room and makes sure I don’t need
anything. How could I? There’s a basket of snacks and he showed me the drinks in the fridge. There are fluffy towels and plush
blue-and-white bedding. A partially private balcony. And a gorgeous view of the ocean.
The sounds of crashing waves wash away my concerns.
Avery was right. I need this. I need to experience life.
The rain stops and the light breeze brings the salty air to my nose. I lean over the balcony rail, looking side to side and
below. No one’s in sight. Feeling bold, I step into the sheltered part of my balcony with the hot tub. I peel my wet clothes off
my body and wrap myself in the luxurious white robe.
I won’t judge my mother for marrying a sugar daddy as long as she’s happy. She’s one lucky woman to marry into this kind of
money. I correct my thinking. He’s one lucky guy to marry a woman as amazing as my mom.
Grabbing the folding drying rack that’s tucked into a corner, I place it on the balcony and drape my drenched clothes over the
dowels.
I leave the sliding door open when I head inside. What do I do with myself? No mom to play Scrabble with. No derby
practice. No work schedule. Who am I and what do I want?
It’s a short-lived problem since I called ahead to make special arrangements to prepare cake pops for my mom. They’re her
favorite. But the kitchen space won’t be available for another hour.
I stand in the middle of the room admiring the mermaid décor, truly at a loss for what to do. I grab my phone and turn music
on. For a fleeting moment, I consider dancing, but when I lift my arms and sway my hips, it hits me that I’m tired.
Wow! Am I always tired and don’t know it? I love my life. I love being on the go. But maybe I need a change.
With only six hours until the wedding, I unpack my bags to make sure the rain didn’t get inside. All good.
A lightness washes over me. Avery’s right. I should live my life while I can.
There’s no telling what will happen, when I’ll have unexpected responsibilities pop up, or whether I’ll wake up one day to
discover I’ve become a withered old hag, working my fingers to the bone, and I’ve let my life pass me by.
With my arms wide, I spin, carefree, then throw myself onto the bed, face first. If this is how the upper-class lives, I’ll have
to take tips from Mom on how to snag a rich guy.
In the meantime, after lounging, I get dressed and head to my comfort place, the kitchen, where I do what I do best—bake.
Stonewall
With only an hour before the wedding, Commando, Taz, Dad, and I have the driver take us from the cliff overlooking the ocean
back to our rooms.
Grandma made it widely known she wanted her ashes scattered in the mountains, mingled with the majestic beauty. But with
Dad’s unexpected wedding, he decided we’d bring a portion of her ashes to the island and spread the remainder of them from
the cliff overlooking the ocean to honor her younger days when she spent all of her free time on the beach.
A weight is lifted from my shoulders that we’ve finally finished toting Grandma around in an urn and sprinkling her ashes. I
just want to be done.
Her death hit me hard. All the lives I’ve taken in my military days—those people had loved ones too. Thinking like that is
dangerous. I shift my thoughts to when we were younger and she was always there for us. Not being able to make it back in
time to say goodbye shook me.
We’re here for Dad though, so that’s good. Though none of us ever thought a wedding would get thrown into the mix.
Everything that’s happening right now casts shadows on the already dark part of my soul. Are all of our missions blotting out
the positives in life and dragging me down?
It only takes a few minutes to throw my board shorts on. And even though my hair’s longer than the typical military cut, since
we were running undercover ops, it doesn’t take much to run my fingers through it and get it back in place. We’re going to be
standing on a windy beach anyway.
Embracing the time I have left to relax, I step on to the wooden deck outside of my room. Something bright red catches my
attention. With each inch I move closer, I absorb another detail. The fabric is silky. It has a lacy edge. It’s lightweight. And
when I lift the small piece of fabric, the shape becomes undeniable.
I’m holding somebody’s panties. If I’d met someone, I might consider this an invitation. But no, I’ve been with my dad,
brothers, and dead grandma’s ashes.
I glance around, finding no one, then reel my hopes in. My brothers are probably pranking me, trying to get me to break free
from my nickname for once.
Clinging to the hint of fun the panties offer, fully knowing I won’t do anything about it, I shove them in my pocket and watch
the waves.
I’m scanning the beach, watching a few surfers, when I catch sight of a woman in white walking down the beach, but not by
the water. Up by the dunes. Her dark hair trails behind her in the breeze. Her path is oddly close to the decks. Does she not
understand privacy?
Or… My dick gets hard. Is she the owner of the panties in my pocket?
She’s scanning the dunes, so I duck into the room, wanting to observe her for a moment longer. I’m pretty sure the resort’s
robes are meant for indoor use. But hey, I gotta give it to her. Be yourself.
It’s something I don’t have much experience with since I joined the military when I was twenty years old. I barely stepped
out of my family’s shadow when I took on a military family. My brothers joined at the same time.
The dark-haired beauty shifts her attention from the dunes to the top floor, points, and appears to be counting rooms. The
wind picks up and catches the edge of her robe, throwing it open, exposing one long leg, with a sinful tuft of hair covering her
pussy.
She isn’t wearing panties. My heart quickens. Could she be the owner of the bright red silk? The odds were slim when I
originally had the thought, but they just improved dramatically.
In a nonchalant move, she grabs the edge of her robe and holds it closed.
Seemingly satisfied with counting the upper rooms, she lowers her attention to the first floor, to my room, or rather the space
outside of my room.
She hasn’t noticed me since I’ve retreated further, hanging near the edge. I’m fascinated by her, and desperately trying to
think of something clever to say. All that comes to mind is, Surely you can spare this pair of panties.
Better to keep that to myself. I’m reclusive, not a perv. Although the panties in my pocket call that into question.
The first floor is elevated a few feet above the beach and the dune grasses offer a buffer above that, obscuring my line of
sight as she approaches.
Then suddenly she’s crawling on the dune toward my deck, and my suspicions are confirmed. I chuckle quietly with the
knowledge that this beauty’s pussy has been in the panties I’m harboring.
I feel guilty for keeping them, but what am I supposed to do? Wave them in the air and say, Are these yours?
It’s a sad fucking day when I decide that I’m even more set on keeping the panties now that I see who they belong to. My dark
heart needs a glimmer of hope. She can give up a pair of panties for the team. I’ve given up years for my country.
The woman extends a hand forward, parting the grasses at the edge of my deck, and mutters something I can’t make out. But
it’s damn cute.
I’m torn. Offering her panties seems like the right thing to do, but I love the idea of considering them a sacrifice. I make
sacrifices all the time in service to the country. No hype, no news stories, just confidential missions. That helps me feel slightly
less selfish about what I’m choosing to do.
I step outside. “Can I help you?”
“Oh! Sorry!” Her head pops above the grasses like a meerkat. She grips the top of the rail and stares up at me.
Am I so in need of a woman that I can’t focus on the moment at hand? All I can think about are her manicured fingernails
gripping my cock while her plump red lips drag back and forth over it.
She wipes wisps of hair from her face as she stands, struggling to keep her robe closed. My pulse is pounding in my ears.
“Perhaps you can help me.” She points up. “I’m on the third floor and the wind blew my panties down. I saw them right
about here, but now they’re gone.”
My fist tightens around her panties as realization sets in. She could be one of the brides getting married here, which would
mean I’m holding a married, or soon-to-be-married woman’s panties. Fuck!
“Wait… Are my panties in your pocket?”
“No,” I answer too quickly and immediately realize I’m gripping them so hard, my forearm is in pain. I relax my fist and
glance down. Shit! Red lace is sticking out. I yank it down, hoping she didn’t see it.
Too late. “What the hell is wrong with you? Give them back.” She thrusts her hand at me.
I’m not only trained to perform under pressure, but I’ve spent years face to face with national threats, never once losing
composure. But staring at this ray of sunshine who has enough energy to make up for her small size, I’m incapacitated.
It’s terrifying.
“You know what? Never mind. I don’t want to know what you plan to do with them. Enjoy.” She turns around, scurries off
the dune, and marches down the beach, leaving me to wonder what just happened.
I’ll be lucky if she doesn’t turn me in to security.
Five
Taz
Yesterday, my brothers and I were ready to kick back and have a BBQ with Dad at our mountain home in the Cherry Ridge
foothills. Today, we’re standing on the beach on a private island, lined up as groomsmen for our dad’s wedding.
I’m at a loss for how a lifelong commitment can transpire this fast.
We haven’t had time to talk to him about the woman he’s marrying since we had to scatter grandma’s ashes, pack, and get on
an airplane. Plus, he didn’t want us trying to talk him out of the first seemingly irrational thing he’s ever done.
He arranged a brief meeting with his fiancée, and she seems great, but we haven’t met our future stepsister. She was busy
making some kind of special treat for her mom. That’s cool, I suppose. Does that mean we should be doing something for Dad?
Nah.
That seems like girly shit anyway, and Dad’s entire focus is on his future bride. This is the happiest I’ve seen him in a long
time. Mom got sick and died when I was little. I have very little memory of her. My older brothers remember more, but that
was ages ago, and he’s been single for way too long. We’re all glad to see him happy again.
A small band plays reggae versions of wedding music. It’s an intimate affair since no one else is invited. And at our
stepmom’s request, we’re all in beachwear. One point to her. I’ll take boardshorts over a penguin suit any day. Of course,
riding gear is my preference when I’m not on a mission.
Worn, white, wooden planks delineate the path from the bride’s private staging area to the altar.
We’re positioned for a perfect sunset backdrop, and the photographer’s already taking pictures.
A woman steps out from behind the privacy screens. The tiny red bikini top leaves more breast uncovered than covered. It’s
hard for me to see anything else. Then her toned leg makes an appearance through the slip in the matching wrap-around skirt.
Fuck.
My eyes trail upward to her dark hair that the wind insists on blowing over her face.
Her red lipstick matches her bathing suit. She tucks a hair behind her ear and her huge smile falters. Her mouth drops open.
And she stutter-steps as we recognize each other.
It’s Cheri from the diner. No. Fucking. Way. Am I hallucinating?
I elbow Stonewall, but remember that he wasn’t at the diner. I lean forward to catch Commando’s attention. Keeping my
voice down, I urgently whisper, “Is that Cheri?”
His expression serves as confirmation.
Stonewall says, “How do you know her name?”
“She works at Keep Yer Belly Full.” I wrap one hand around the other fist. If Dad expects us to be chill about him marrying a
woman he’s only known for one day, it can’t be that weird that I want to fuck my stepsister.
Dad clears his throat. He doesn’t seem to have heard what we’re saying, just wants us to be respectful.
Cheri has regained her composure and made it down the wooden walkway. As she reaches the altar, her gaze wanders
between the three of us and our dad.
She takes her place on the bride’s side and hones in on Stonewall. He fidgets, shoving his hand in his pocket, and her gaze
follows.
The music shifts to a reggae Bridal March. I glance at the bride, then back at my brothers.
Stonewall whispers, “I’ve got her panties in my pocket.”
Six
Cheri
Timing is critical as the photographer arranges us in front of the gorgeous sunset. Dutifully stepping into place beside my mom,
I smile. Will the photos reveal the chaos in my mind?
I can’t figure out if this is perfect or a complete nightmare.
There’s not a cabana boy or any male on this island as swoon-worthy as my three stepbrothers. Can ‘what happens on the
island, stays on the island’ apply to people who are returning to Peach Bottom Valley as my new family? I’m pretty sure Avery
would say yes. Time to pivot on the fabulous plan she laid out.
The photographer has our parents step to the side so he can take pictures of the siblings. My heart races and my feet wiggle,
burying themselves in the sand as I stare straight ahead, trying to ignore the three gorgeous men I’m contemplating a fling with.
Standing close to my mother and touching her was fine. Touching my stepbrothers is the starting point for a ridiculous number
of fantasies that have already clogged my gray matter.
“Three of them and one of you.” The photographer rubs his chin. “Let’s start with the three brothers in back and little sis in
front.”
When I fail to engage my feet, the photographer points. “You, right here.”
My legs grow wobbly and a knot forms in my core. “Yes, sir.”
A tortured groan, I believe from Taz, comes from behind me. The sound tips the scales. Who needs a cabana boy when I have
these three? Or at least Taz. Who knew how important Avery getting his number would turn out to be?
I glance over my shoulder and my eyes catch on his chest as he takes in a deep breath. The intensity of his gaze paralyzes me
when I finally look up that far.
He brushes a finger against the back of my hand. Whatever witty comment I planned on saying is gone. He says, “Yes, sir?
Are you always so polite?”
“Yes, sir.” Alarms go off in my brain. The sand under my feet, the whisps of hair streaking across my face, and the lingering
touch of his skin on mine… every sensation lights up my body with desire.
A flash causes me to blink and reflexively turn to the photographer. “Great shot, looking up to your new big brother. How
about you guys pick her up so she’s laying across the three of you?”
Taz’s voice is too low for the photographer to hear. “You want to lay across my front?”
He tucks his finger around my hand and guides it to his hips. My eyes go wide. Taz’s erection is huge. Would I be better off
finding a cabana boy for my first time?
Next thing I know, hands are all over my body, my feet are out from under me, and my brothers have done as the
photographer asked.
“That’s adorable,” Mom says, so I presume Taz’s arousal is no longer evident. Or it will be one of those things no one
notices until we’re looking at the photographs with Aunt Edna. I make a mental note to go with mom to review the proofs.
Aside from being conscious of every single point of contact from fingertips pressing into my skin to my backside spanning
the three hottest men I’ve ever met, I compose myself and survive the remainder of the family photos.
And with only three days on this island, I can’t waste any time approaching my new brothers about my plan.
Pose. Smile. Rethink my sanity. Repeat.
Seven
Cheri
Because our parents didn’t have time to invite extended family and friends, they opened their reception in the party palapa to
everyone at the resort. The dance music started while we were taking photos.
By the time we walk over, people are swaying and twerking on the dance floor in a way that indicates they found the open
bar. Others have lined up at the buffet, and many are already seated at the tables.
“Have fun,” Mom says to us as she drags my new stepdad onto the dance floor. She drapes her hands around her new
husband’s neck, presses her body tightly against his, and they sway, oblivious to the fast beat of the music.
My brothers and I have lined up near the dance floor, like it’s hot lava and none of us are ready to take the next step.
Stonewall plops into a seat at the nearby table.
“What are you waiting for? Come dance.” My mom motions toward us then returns her attention to my new stepdad. That’s
going to take some getting used to. I don’t know anything about him. I’m dumbfounded that I was worried about meeting a guy
someday and leaving her alone. I sure didn’t see this coming.
I shriek as Taz grabs my hand, then spins me onto the dance floor. My free hand landing on his bare chest is the only thing that
stops my torso from slamming into his. Bummer.
My assumption that we’d dance like most of the other couples, with hands in the air, is wrong. His hands wrap around my
waist, pulling my hips into his. Somehow that makes it impossible for me to breathe.
Angling my head to the side, I use a giant concrete tiki statue as a focal point and mentally talk myself through breaths. In.
Out. In. Out.
“Feel free to move your hands.” His comment makes me painfully aware of how awkwardly my arms are squished between
us.
“I was catching the beat.” The profoundly lame excuse gives me a second to reposition.
I opt for my hands on his shoulders. Big mistake. I’ve now measured the width of his shoulders, and the muscular curve of
them. Where’s that tiki statue? Dang it. Taz turned us and I can’t see it.
“No need to be nervous,” he says with all the calm charm he looks like he’d possess.
“I’m not nervous.” Another excellently lame lie. “It’s just weird how fast our parents went from meeting to marrying. And
now I’m touching my stepbrother’s nearly naked body.” Oh shit, that’s not what I meant to focus on, or say.
Taz laughs and tightens his embrace, which flattens my breasts against his chest. I seriously need somewhere else to put my
hands, but I’m not wrapping them around his neck. Shoulders will have to do.
He says, “Must be destiny.”
“What?”
“Our nearly naked bodies touching. Were you going to call?”
Call? I laser-beam focus on the tiki statue as we turn again. Right, it was his phone number Avery got for me. A nervous
laugh escapes me. “Did you want me to?”
“I don’t give my number out too often.”
I meet his gaze for the first time. Not my best choice, but his deep green eyes lock me in. “So why give it to a pregnant
waitress who says she’s getting it for a friend?”
“Because she told me which friend.”
“Oh.”
Can he feel my heart pounding?
“Your smile and laugh had already won me over. That’s what I need… when I’m on leave.” His tone shifts after his pause,
like he catches himself. Is that how he delicately underscores that anything that came from me calling him would have been
temporary?
“Don’t hog your sister,” a male voice calls out from a few feet away. It’s my new stepdad. “Let your brothers get to know
Cheri too.”
“We’re not done,” Taz whispers.
I almost collapse as he steps away. Whether my motivations are right or wrong, I can’t tell anymore. We happen to be next to
where Stonewall is sitting. I extend a hand and wonder if he’s still harboring my panties. “Shall we?”
His hands ball into fists. “No.”
I’m pretty sure I visibly flinch but my embarrassment is short lived as Commando takes my hand. He’s taller and thicker than
Taz. I’m slightly more prepared this time and position my hands on his waist as we sway to the music. It turns out that’s not a
great choice either. He’s thicker, but he’s solid muscle. No amount of staring at tiki statues can help. It might be making matters
worse as I’m wondering if his body is as hard as the statue. And not just his body, my mind wanders to particular parts.
“I didn’t mean anything by not giving you my number when your friend asked.” His defensive comment breaks into my
thoughts. It’s cute that he thought about that.
“You didn’t want me to have your number?” I say playfully.
“It’s not like that.”
“It’s okay. You don’t have to explain.” It’s prudent to leave out that his dismissal didn’t stop me from fantasizing about him.
“It’s just that we’re not home for long.”
“Taz mentioned that you’re on leave.”
“Yeah, so it didn’t seem right.”
Are the island breeze and reggae music getting to me, or is the whole scenario of having ridiculously hot stepbrothers
breaking my brain? Avery said to have a good time. I go for it.
I say, “So you’re not the one-night-stand type?”
He coughs. “Is that all you want?”
I’m not sure what I want. Before I can sort it out, he continues, “I’m sorry. You’re my stepsister. We shouldn’t—”
“I was also a total stranger to you up until thirty minutes ago. Don’t make a big deal of it. I’m twenty—more than old enough
to…” What am I about to say? I temper the rest of my statement. “…have fun.”
Taz is sitting next to Stonewall. “Is our stepsister a little tease?”
Was I supposed to hear that? Excitement bubbles through me. Why do I like being called a tease? Isn’t that sexist? I scramble
for sanity. “If a guy said he wanted to have fun, would you call him a tease?”
Taz smiles. “Does he plan on making good on his insinuations?”
“Knock it off.” Commando stills and glares at Taz.
“With the right person, yes.” Am I hypothetically answering for myself?
“Then being a tease is a good thing.”
What just happened? Why are my nipples beading so hard I fear I might poke Commando? And the tingles dancing over my
body, they’re settling between my legs.
The song ends and a band member says they’re going on break. Commando pulls away before the recorded music is piped
through the PA system. The song is slow. Not a great distraction.
I still can’t get a read on Stonewall. That makes me want to dance with him even more. This time, I don’t give him a choice. I
take his huge hand, lift it, and when I realize it will be impossible to move him, I grab his other hand and pretend he’s dancing
with me.
He doesn’t stand. Doesn’t pull away. Doesn’t relax.
His dark green eyes meet mine briefly, but long enough for me to see a brokenness. I squeeze his hands.
Commando and Taz look surprised that Stonewall’s cooperating. I’m grateful they don’t interrupt.
Another random document with
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Povo portuguez! A tua rainha diz que quer paz, mas
consente que os janisaros assassinem e roubem, como o
estão fazendo.
Povo portuguez! Ás armas! Senão serás fusilado ou
deportado! Viva Portugal! Ás armas! e seja o novo grito de
guerra: Viva D. Pedro v! (ap. Livro azul; corr. 11 out.)
Em Coimbra, Loulé, governador civil, ao saber do golpe d’Estado,
rebella-se, proclama, reconstitue o batalhão academico. Foi isto a 8;
no dia seguinte Aveiro segue o exemplo. Campos, no Grito nacional,
dizia claramente:
Ha poucos dias arrojámos dois (traidores sc. Cabraes) pela
barra fóra: pódem ir mais alguns. Marche todo o paiz a
Lisboa e esmague a cabeça da hydra (a rainha?) se quanto
antes a facção parricida não esconder a sua vergonha nas
ondas do oceano.
A guerra estava formalmente declarada: chegava o momento de
appellar para as prevenções tomadas. Saldanha, então, officiou,
pedindo a intervenção aos governos de Londres, Paris e Madrid,
segundo o tratado de 22 de abril de 34, allegando que os
miguelistas saíam a campo. (Relat. do min. neg. estr. em 48) De
Madrid estava certo, e os hespanhoes mandaram logo um corpo de
observação para a fronteira; (Ibid. off. de Isturiz a Renduffe) mas a
Inglaterra, não vendo miguelistas, queria impedir a intervenção
hespanhola e forçar a rainha á paz. Em toda esta historia ver-se-ha
a funesta consequencia de uma tal politica, protrahindo uma guerra
desoladora; porque, se a Inglaterra não queria consentir na
intervenção da Hespanha para dar a victoria á rainha, tampouco
intervinha para impôr uma conciliação. Nós, em casa,
evidentemente não tinhamos força para nos governarmos: e depois
de doze annos de liberdade, o Portugal novo achava-se, como o
antigo se achára, dividido em duas fracções sem que nenhuma
tivesse poder bastante para submetter a contraria.
Palmerston ordenava para Madrid ao seu delegado que não
consentisse na intervenção; (Livro-azul P. a Bulwer, 5 nov.) e para cá
mandava-nos um coronel, o Wylde, afim de negociar uma paz entre
os belligerantes. Melancolica situação antiga em que nos
achavamos, de que a liberdade nos não tirava ... Costa-Cabral já
era nosso embaixador em Madrid, e a Hespanha, de accordo
comnosco, procedia bizarramente, apezar de soffreada pela
Inglaterra. Mandara para a fronteira um exercito, e enviava para
Lisboa trezentos contos: (Ibid. Southern a Palmerston, 22-3 de out.)
assim podesse trazer a Lisboa e ao Porto os seus soldados!—
suspirava Cabral em Madrid, e na capital Saldanha.
Porque a insurreição lavrava, e para peior, o miguelismo não no
pronunciava bastante para justificar a intervenção extrangeira. (Ibid.
22, 3, 9 de out.) As noticias que lhe iam de Lisboa mantinham
Palmerston na sua reserva. «Era uma revolução como outra
qualquer: o inverso de 42; a propria junta batia os miguelistas,
raros e sem importancia». E tudo ardia! as guerrilhas surgiam de
todos os lados. O Galamba e o Batalha com 500 homens corriam o
Alemtejo; José-Estevão estava em Alcaçovas com 600; (Ibid. 22-3)
Taipa e Sá-da-Bandeira no Porto; Aguiar em Coimbra; Mousinho-
d’Albuquerque e Bomfim tinham desertado do Lisboa; Antas vinha,
caminho da capital, já em Leiria, com 2:500 homens, fóra guerrilhas,
devagar, aggregando gente todos os dias. (Ibid. 29) Que seria de
Lisboa, a que o inglez não deixava o hespanhol acudir? O governo,
entretanto, preparava-se, lançando mão de tudo. Arregimentavam-
se os empregados-publicos. Havia rusgas; nas boccas das ruas os
cabos de vigia prendiam. Todo o homem de 18 a 50 annos tinha de
pegar em armas. Formara-se um batalhão das Obras-publicas, outro
do Commercio. Fortificavam-se, artilhavam-se as linhas. O Banco
dera 300 contos para acudir ás urgencias. Prendiam-se os suspeitos
nos navios no Tejo: todo o setembrista fugia, e Palmella em pessoa
estava homisiado.(Ibid. 22-3). Embargavam-se as cavalgaduras e as
pessoas, obrigando-as a trabalhar nas linhas.
Mas apesar de tão grandes esforços e de meios tão violentos, o
rei D. Fernando, commandante em chefe do exercito, não podia
passar revista a mais do 3:000 homens. (Ibid. 29) Que ia ser da
rainha, alvo de todos os tiros? Que resultado, o d’essa guerra
encetada? Se a Inglaterra não havia de vir a consentir que os
vencedores acabassem de vencer, que singular escrupulo a
embaraçava?—E se os sublevados não fossem afinal agrilhoados
pela intervenção, que teriam feito? Depôr a rainha? É natural.
Proclamar uma republica? Provavelmente. Mas nenhum d’esses
dois actos destruiria os males constitucionaes do paiz, causa da sua
desgraça: nem a anarchia das doutrinas, nem a penuria universal.
3.—O ESPECTRO