Colt

 DEDICATION

For Suzie,

just like we always dreamt, right? ;)

xx

I fucking hate him. He’s such an arrogant prick.

That’s what I’m thinking as I stand at the foot of the wide staircase in this mansion I guess I now call ‘home’, looking up in the direction of my stepbrother’s bedroom. 

My stepbrother is called Colt. Colt Grayson. Even his
 
name
 
is stupid.

Who the fuck is called Colt, and why do we have to spend the rest of our lives in the same family?

And that’s exactly what was going through my head, that morning my mom first told me she was gonna marry Alexander Grayson, CEO of Grayson Finance.

I guess I’d had an okay life growing up, but there were a few bumps in the road. First of all, my dad had took off when I was little, so that meant Mom had to work all hours of the day and night just to support us both, taking on any job she could find. Often waitressing in three different joints at once, going from dive bar to fancy restaurant. And it was in one such fancy restaurant that she lucked out and met Alexander: he was entertaining business clients at some expensive dinner, and I guess Mom and he must have hit it off. I mean, talk about a whirlwind romance! They were married that very same summer, and before I knew it we’d moved from our cramped little duplex in a totally shitty neighborhood into this gigantic freaking
 
mansion
.

Rags to riches fairytale? Poor girl from the wrong side of the tracks ends up living in a mansion? Everything a girl dreams of, right?

Wrong.

I’m not saying I wasn’t grateful for everything Alexander’s money gave me; music lesson, extra tutoring, fancy holidays, expensive computers ... It’s just that Alexander came along with a catch. And that catch was his son, Colt.

Colt Grayson.

Tall, blonde, with this infuriating glint in his eye and – I hate to even say it, but I’d be lying if I left it out – he had
 
the
 
best god-damn body I’ve ever seen on a guy before, outside of TV.

And how do I even know what his bod looks like, you ask? Because he’s always strutting around the house with his shirt off, almost as if he’s doing it on purpose, challenging me to look at him – at that toned, tanned muscular body, which is already as big and defined as any fully-grown man’s, even though he’s only just turned eighteen ...

I’d only met him a couple of times before we all started living together and playing ‘happy families’, and each time it was like he was on his best behavior – well, at least when my mom and his dad were around. He’d been perfectly polite at the wedding too. Gave this cute little speech about how excited he was to welcome Mom and me into his family. But then, once we’d moved
 
in
, well, that’s a whole other story.

Talk about arrogant!

This guy is the absolute dictionary definition of the word. And just because he’s
 
handsome
 
(did I mention that already???) well, he just seems to walk around like he owns the goddamn place. Which I guess he does, kind of. He’s Alexander’s only son, and all of this will be his, one day. On top of that, he’s always giving me these dismissive little
 
looks
, too, like I’m just some pesky teenage nuisance, even though I'm exactly the same damn age as him. And it's not just looks either. When we’re around our folks it’s all sneaky comments about how I’ll need to study twice as hard to keep up with him
. But when we’re alone, he’ll be even crueler; making some comment about how he doesn’t want to hang out with a kid, watching Dora the Explorer, then walk off. And the worst thing is, he gets me so angry I can’t even think of anything to say back to him! I always just stand there, exactly like the dumb kid he thinks I am ...

So anyway, where were we?

Well, here I am, standing at the foot of the stairs, my heart pounding, wondering if I’m really about to do what I’ve been planning ...

I’m home early from school, you see, and for once I think I’m actually totally alone in the house. Normally Mom is already home, not to mention the housekeeper Maria, but today is Maria’s day off and Mom’s left me a note in the kitchen, letting me know that she’ll be out at the gym.

And normally Colt is home by now, too, either watching TV in the lounge, with his stupid size 13 feet up on the coffee table, sprawled out inconsiderately right in the very middle of the huge leather sofa, not leaving room for anyone else to sit down, or caring that they might want to watch something else other than football, or else he’ll be up in his room listening to ear-splittingly loud music.

But no, today, it seems like he’s out somewhere as well, maybe at track practice (he’s the star of the team, of course) or hanging out with his friends, the huge crowd of ‘popular’ kids, and you guessed it,
 
they
 
all look up to him like he’s some kind of god, too.

So I stand here at the foot of the stairs, hearing how empty the huge house sounds – echoing all around me, as I think again about stupid arrogant Colt Grayson and his annoying entitled attitude and the way he never seems to put a foot wrong –
 
ever
 
– even winning my mom
 
over to him so freaking easily and quickly. I can already tell she’s wondering why
 
her
 
daughter can’t be so popular and smart like him. Well, it just gets me angrier and angrier with each passing second.

Because, deep down, I just
 
know
 
that
 
he’s trouble. I can sense it. He’s a fraud and there’s got to be something he’s hiding behind that squeaky clean exterior. Maybe I can’t be everyone’s favorite daughter. But I can expose Colt for what he is. So I take a deep breath, and tell myself
 
now’s the moment. I’m going to find out once and for all
 
just what it is that Colt Grayson’s hiding ...

I just need to work up the courage to go snoop in his room. So, before I can change my mind, I quickly stride up the stairs, in the direction of his bedroom. I’ve got maybe thirty minutes max before Mom gets back from the gym, and I need to have my evidence firmly in the bag by then. Maybe I’ll find some pot, or coke even, or maybe a stash of weird icky porno mags or something like that. Just
 
anything
 
at all to get him into trouble.

I know, I know.

It’s not exactly the most grown up or the nicest thing to do to your brand new stepbrother, but come on – give me a break! I just totally
 
hate
 
him, okay, and I need Mom to realize that he isn’t quite the golden boy that everyone seems to think he is around here.

So anyway, I reach the top of the stairs and head down the corridor until I’m right there, standing right outside the door to his room.

Am I really gonna do this?
 
I think, my heart pounding, wondering if I should back out of it after all.

But instead, I take a final deep breath and then push open the door to his room, stepping inside and looking around for God-knows-what. With shaky hands and shallow breaths, I begin searching around the whole room. But damn it! I just can’t seem to find
 
anything
 
out of the ordinary. It’s just a totally typical messy teenage boy’s bedroom – rumpled sheets on the bed, huge TV and Xbox in one corner, posters on the walls, dirty socks on the carpet, and of course a gigantic full-length mirror so that he can spend hours checking himself out in it, no doubt.

In a final last-ditch attempt, I slide open the drawer to his bedside table, hoping to find some stash of illegal study drugs or something. But the only thing I can see that’s at all out of the ordinary is a package of condoms –
 
extra large.
 
For a moment I wonder if this would be worth telling his Dad about. But then I remind myself that Colt
 
is
 
eighteen and if anything, condoms actually make him seem even more
 
sensible
,
 
let alone the bad boy troublemaker I’m so desperate to uncover ...

I’m about to leave the room empty handed, when I remember that there’s one other place left to search: the large walk-in closet on the far wall, where I guess he keeps all those designer clothes he’s always strutting around in.

I head over to it, nervously pulling open the doors and taking a hopeful peek inside. But again, I’m disappointed. Just rows upon rows of shirts and jackets, and the longest line of box-fresh sneakers and shiny leather dress shoes. No secret stash of pot. No icky stash of porn. Nada.

And I’m just about to turn and leave his room entirely when all of a sudden I hear something that makes me freeze stock-still in place.

It’s a voice.

A
 
girl’s
 
voice, giggling about something – a girl’s voice I even
 
recognize
 
from somewhere.

What the hell?!

Then I hear Colt speaking, too – that unmistakably low confident tone of his voice as he says something to her in reply.

And on top of their voices, I hear
 
footsteps
, coming right this way.

No fucking way. I can’t believe I was so engrossed in looking for some dirt that I didn’t listen out for the door ...

My heart lurches and my stomach flips three hundred sixty degrees and I just 
know
 
I have to hide, quick smart. I mean, I’d rather
 
die
 
than have him catch me in here, snooping about in his room like this. So I do the only thing I can think of. You guessed it. Total freaking cliché that it is, I actually hide in the closet, pushing myself in amongst the shirts and pulling the doors closed and holding my breath, just before Colt and this girl whose voice I
 
know
 
I recognize from somewhere, come waltzing into his room, both laughing about something.

I freeze, rooted to the spot, my heart hammering, just praying to God that they don’t discover me in here. I mean, how the hell am I gonna explain this? He’s nearly two feet taller than me. I can hardly say I was looking for a shirt to borrow, can I?

“So, Colt,” the girl says in playful, teasing tone, “now that we’re finally alone, I wanna see it. C’mon,
 
please?
”

And when I hear her voice again, closer now, this time I know without a doubt who it is – it’s Kelly Rogers, the pretty blonde girl in my English class. I guess I kinda knew she hung out with Colt and his friends sometimes. After all, she is one of the cheerleaders. Of course he'd be into her. But much more importantly, what she could possibly be talking about?

Does
 
Colt actually have something secret stashed in his room after all?

I hold my breath, listening, and wishing there was a spyhole or some other way of peeking out of the closet just to satisfy my curiosity and find out exactly 
what it is
 
that
 
Kelly wants to see so damn badly.

“Oh you wanna see it, do you?” Colt replies playfully, in that exact same arrogant tone he always speaks to
 
me
 
in. “Tell me, Kelly. Just
 
how
 
badly do you wanna see it?”

At this, Kelly giggles shyly. “
Please
, Colt,” she whispers. “Like
 
really
 
badly, okay? Don’t make me any more embarrassed than I already am. I’ve heard so much about it. I’ve just gotta see it for myself ...”

“Well, in that case ...” he replies, as if he’s doing her some kind of huge favor.

And then I hear an unmistakable sound – the sound of his zipper – and all of a sudden I know just
 
what it is
 
that Kelly wants to see so desperately.

Even so, I still can’t quite believe it.

Holy shit
, I think.
 
Is Colt actually showing Kelly Rogers his dick?!

I feel my heart begin to pound even harder in my chest and my face flushes with heat, as the sound of that zipper seems to go on for ever, before all of a sudden I hear Kelly gasp, as if she can’t believe her eyes:

“Oh ... my ...
 
god
.”