Good Stepbrother (Love #2) Read Online Free Page A

I pushed him away to save him from my darkness. He loaded his books up into his backpack and blinked back tears. It killed me to know I’d hurt him, but it was what I wanted, or so I thought. I had to protect him from me. “Talk to me, Carter,” I begged. I wanted to know what was going through his head. Did he hate me yet?
    He shook his head and darted out of my room. I heard him open the front door and tell my mother to find another tutor. He was gone. I gently closed my bedroom door and leaned against it. I squeezed my eyes shut and warred with my emotions. I hated hurting him but I couldn’t take him down in the undertow. I was the reason storms were named after people. Hurricane Brielle, Category Five. The destruction would be massive, and I only wanted to wreck myself.
     
    ***
     
    “Come on, babe,” Jameson whispered against my neck. “Let me feel you.” His hands pawed my chest and I struggled against him.
    “I don’t wanna. I’m gonna be sick.” Bile skittered up my throat and I shoved it down. I’d had too much punch at the dance and I couldn’t think.
    “God dammit, Bri! I’m tired of this. You’re such a prick tease!” I wasn’t prepared for his beefy hand coming across my face. The sharp slap jolted me out of my alcoholic haze.
    “You hit me,” I whispered, nursing my cheek with my hand. “You hit me.”
    “I’m tired of this!” he growled, pushing me back against the bleachers. “You want to act like a slut, you’ll be treated like one.”
    Again, you’re being spared from some details, because I don’t want to relive the memories. I wish I could say I left Jameson Keller the second the pimply-faced dick dared to slap me in the seventh grade. But I didn’t. I stayed with him for a little while longer. Boys are assholes. I did what I thought he wanted me to do, what would make him happy, because if he was happy, I was loved.
    I met my next boyfriend, Toby McLean, at a football game, where I was supposed to be cheering on Jameson. My eyes strayed repeatedly to his tall form as he leaned against the fence, cigarette smoke circling his head. Streetlights danced on his black leather jacket. He was hot.
    By halftime, I had scrambled from my position on the bleachers to the dry grass of the field so I could talk to him. I sashayed to him like I was a supermodel. He was a lot older, I could tell that, and I wanted to see if I could get him interested in me. “Hi,” I breathed, sidling up to him under the light.
    “Hey, babe,” he offered, inhaling deeply on his cigarette stub. He flicked the butt into the grass and blew out a cloud of smoke. “What’s your name, baby girl?”
    “Bri,” I cooed, running my fingertip down the sleeve of his jacket. “Yours?”
    “You’re awful young to be over here flirting,” he chuckled. “I’m Toby.”
    “Age ain’t nothin’ but a number,” I giggled, tossing my hair over my shoulder.
    “Tell that to the cops. You’re jail bait.” He smiled and ran a hand through his shaggy brown hair. “You’re hot, though.”
    “I know,” I replied. “And if you play your cards right, Toby, I could be yours.”
    His eyebrows shot up into his hairline and he licked his lips. “Who says I want you, baby girl?”
    “You do,” I told him, squeezing his bicep. “But you can’t have me…yet.” I turned to go back to the bleachers and gave him one long, sultry look over my shoulder as I strolled away.
    Looking back to the bleachers, I saw my best friends sitting there with their mouths open in shock. I was flying high. I felt so gorgeous, so sexy, so wanted. I knew Toby wanted me. Everyone wanted me.
    Except my father. My smile faltered and I blinked back tears as I climbed into the seat between my best friends. Things weren’t the greatest at home anymore. I blinked a couple of times and tuned into what the chatterboxes next to me were going on about.
    “OMG! He could be an axe murderer!” Britney squealed. “You don’t know