Kicked: A Bad Boy Sports Romance (42 page)

“Out?” I asked, and was glad I actually managed to keep my voice in check. I sounded normal, or relatively normal for me anyway. My voice always sounded kind of husky, like I was trying too hard. “What do you mean
out
?” I looked at him looking at me and tried to figure out that enigmatic smile of his.

“You know, because your birthday was so goddamn fucking lame.” I raised an eyebrow at that, but he wasn't done, finishing his beer and taking a step towards me. “Your dad still hasn't gotten it through that thick skull of his that you're not a kid anymore. Cake and frigging ice cream is fine when you're six, but eighteen? Come on. Tell me that family dinner didn't suck some serious ass.”

I tried to smile, but what was I going to say? That my birthday was six months ago, that this was a little late, or that I'd snuck out of the house afterward and partied until dawn (at my friends' behest, of course)? None of that seemed appropriate, so I held my tongue and smiled instead.

“I guess so. What did you have in mind?” Flor raised his hand like he was going to touch my hair, but then he snatched it back, running his tongue over his lower lip and turning away from me. I may or may not have focused on his ass again.

“I don't know,
nee-chan,
let's figure this shit out.” He glanced over his shoulder at me and I died a little inside.
Nee-chan.
That's basically Japanese for 'little sister', made even worse by the fact that
chan
is an honorific usually reserved for little kids and people you're too close to to ever consider throwing over the couch and fucking until they scream. It also irritated me because I knew that Flor spoke little to no actual Japanese despite three years of high school classes. My dad pretty much forced me to take them, too, so I could tutor Flor and hopefully keep him from flunking out. Since he managed to graduate high school, I considered it a great feat on my part. “We live in the greatest city in the world; there's always something to do.” A slight exaggeration when it came to Eugene, Oregon, but I wasn't about to burst his bubble. I'd have much rather lived in San Francisco, in some tiny little apartment in the Mission, but there was something other than the beautiful scenery and the microbrews that kept me here, and I'll give you a hint – it wasn't the Ducks football team.

I nibbled on my lower lip again, realized I was doing it and promptly snapped my mouth shut. The sudden silence in the room seemed even louder than before.

Flor dug into the pocket of his jeans for a light and lit up, putting a boot on the window seat and leaning forward to push the window up and out of his way. He must've grabbed the lighter when he'd gone back down to his car. I didn't know what his mother would think of him smoking in here, considering this entire building actually belonged to her. And I could only imagine what she'd do if she realized I was crushing on her son. Kick me out? Banish me from family gatherings?

I lifted my gaze away from my stepbrother's ass and came to sit next to his foot on the cushioned seat. He maintained his vigil of the neighborhood and hooked up the left half of his mouth in a grin.

“Naked dude,” he said, and I smiled. Despite an ordinance banning nudity (don't ask about our sister city to the north and its infamous World Naked Bike Ride), it wasn't impossible to catch a glimpse of a brave soul every once in a while. “And he's got a pierced dick, would you look at that?” I scrambled to look out the window and catch a glimpse of this mystery dude while Flor roared with laughter. “Look at you, so desperate to see some guy's metallic junk. Do you know how bad that shit hurts?” I glanced back at him with a raised brow, my eyes dropping low … lower. Flor caught me looking and leaned down, whispering in my ear. “Wouldn't you like to know.” And then he stood up, took his foot off the window seat and flicked his cigarette in the sink. “Pick something to do or I'll pick it out for you,” he added, taking out another beer and chugging it.

My mind went immediately to all of the things we couldn't do together – like rip each other's clothes off – before it spiraled back down into the realm of the everyday and I was suddenly flooded with vapid indecision.

“Um.” This was the only word capable of escaping my suddenly parched lips.
Go to dinner? No. No. That's either too lame or too much like a date. A movie? Definitely boring. A club? Did I really want to go to a club and watch a hundred other girls rub all over Flor? No. The answer was hell freaking no I did not.

I raised my head and found those eyes of his boring into me, cutting so deep I was pretty sure I was seconds away from bleeding out all over the wood floors. My breath remained trapped in my throat, choking back the words I really wanted to say, the questions I wanted to ask. Once, several months back, I'd braved the school therapist and I'd told her all about my problem, spilled my secrets to a stranger and sat back waiting for judgment. Instead, all I got was an understanding smile and more questions. Lots of questions.
How does your attraction to your brother make you feel? Have you ever talked with him about it? Have you and your brother ever acted out on your feelings?
I'd wanted to snap back at her, remind her that
step
brother and brother were two entirely different things. In some ways, though, she'd been right: I should tell him. Maybe, just maybe, if we talked about it together, if I was honest with Flor, I could get past this.

Instead I swallowed hard and blurted out the first thing that came to my mind.

“I want a tattoo.”

I don't think he'd have been anymore shocked if I really had confessed my undying love.

“You
what
?” he asked, scratching at the side of his head with those long, strong fingers I'd always admired. I knew how good those fingers could feel, how they could skitter across my skin like bits of coal, burning a trail of pleasure that stained the spirit and the soul.

I steepled my own hands together like a prayer and pressed them against my lips to hide my equally stunned expression.

“A tattoo, huh?” Flor asked again, sitting next to me on the window seat. I turned slowly to look at him and nearly exploded out of my skin when he bumped me playfully with his shoulder, just like he'd done when were kids – just like he
hadn't
done since we'd kissed each other that night three years ago. That simple touch, the slight brush of his skin against mine, was like an electric shock, waking me up inside, making me melt, paralyzing my heart for several beats.

“Yeah, a tattoo.”

I glanced over at my stepbrother, Florian, the boy who'd grown up practically alongside me but was still, somehow, a virtual stranger, like a long lost childhood friend that I'd once known but would never know again. I nibbled on my lower lip in thought and turned away, focusing on the kitchen instead of on his face. He seemed surprised still, but pleased. I mean, why wouldn't he be? Tattooing was his art, his passion, and his career.

“Only if you trust me,” he said, drawing my gaze back to him. Already I could see gears turning behind those green eyes of his. He blinked once and suddenly his entire focus was on me, on my face, my body. I could
feel
him looking not just at me, but into me. An involuntary shiver worked its way down my spine. “Let me decide what and where, Abi,” he continued, his voice dropping an octave, making me shift uncomfortably. I could feel things happening between my thighs that only Flor could do to me. Even my last boyfriend, the one I'd lost my virginity to, hadn't made me feel like this.

I kept my gaze locked on his and for a split second there, I saw indecision and secrets. They fluttered behind his eyes like shadows and then were gone, buried deep down God only knows where, somewhere inside of Florian that nobody was allowed to see.

I wished desperately that he'd let me in.

Instead, I smiled, nodded and stood up.

“Okay, Flor,” I told him, trying to keep my voice light. “Okay, I trust you.”

His smile then was positively wicked.

“Hey Abi,” he said as I raised my eyebrow and forced myself to appear nonchalant, taking another sip of my beer, “do you have any of those side-tie bikini bottoms in that conservative little closet of yours?”

“Why?” I asked, feeling a certain amount of heat suffuse my face. Sometimes it felt like Flor's opinion of me hadn't changed in three years, like he still thought of me as that innocent little fifteen year old, sneaking off to a party. I did, in fact, have the type of bikini bottom he was talking about, the kind with the ties on either hip.

“Because,” Flor said, standing up and getting way too close to me for comfort. I looked up at him and traced the scar on his chin with my eyes, wishing I could touch it with my fingers instead. “You're gonna need it.”

CHAPTER THREE

Florian drove us both to his tattoo shop in downtown Springfield, an up and coming neighborhood that I'd once never even considered visiting after dark. Now, the historic buildings on either side of Main Street had more than just
for sale
signs in the windows. Across the street from Flor's studio, there was an old brick building painted a cheerful yellow that housed a café, and on the opposite corner, two previously empty shop fronts had been turned into a busy restaurant/brewing company. With the city of Springfield (Eugene's neighbor across the I-5) onboard, decorative posts, light fixtures and crosswalk improvements were being added block by block along the seven mile corridor. Flor's shop,
On Bent Wings
, was smack dab in the middle, still open and filled with people even at this hour.

As he snagged a lucky parking space directly in front of the studio, I twisted my hands nervously in my lap and tried to hide the sheen of sweat building on my forehead. I knew my dad was not going to be happy when he found out Flor had tattooed me. He'd been terrified of it since the moment my stepbrother had gotten his first piece of ink and he'd seen how his eyes lit up. If it were up to my father neither Florian nor I would ever have a piercing anywhere other than our ears and tattoos would be out of the question. Already, I'd managed to piss him off by getting my nose pierced and Flor … well, my stepmom and my dad had always agreed to disagree on Florian. It had prevented a lot of fights between the two of them as they had drastically different parenting styles, but I could see the way my father looked at my stepbrother. He might love him like a son (
might
), but he wasn't exactly always ready with a smile and a hug either.

Flor parked the car and shut off the ignition, turning to look at me with one raised brow. I focused on the three piercings there and refused to look into his eyes. Enclosed spaces like this only seemed to trap the sexual tension between us, lock it inside a bubble that threatened to drown me with its intensity. Sometimes I wondered if I was crazy, if I was the only one that felt these things when we were together.

“You look like you're about to puke,” he said with a smirk, like he found the entire situation hilarious and was trying to hold back his laughter. I'd have been annoyed with him if the lights from the shop hadn't fallen across his brow just so, revealing the natural blue-black highlights in his hair. “If you've already changed your mind, we can go grab some dim sum or something. Besides, your dad's going to fucking kill me when he finds out about this.”
Dim sum. Exciting. I'm sure all of Flor's other dates are this entertaining.

I dropped my gaze to his as I reached out and opened my door to release some of the pressure that was building inside the car.

“I can do this, Flor,” I told him, squaring my shoulders and straightening my spine. “I
want
to do this.” Flor shrugged like he didn't care either way and climbed out of the car. I followed after him, aware of all the eyes that swung our way when we entered into the shop. I knew some of these girls by sight. They hung out here a lot, flirting with Flor and some of the other tattoo artists that worked alongside him. What I really wanted to do was tell them all to get a life and stop clinging to my brother, stop touching him, stop going home with him.

Instead I smiled and tried to soak in the campy, eclectic atmosphere that felt even more like Flor than his own house did. With a black and white tiled floor, pale blue walls, and a black chandelier hanging over the counter, there was a surprising chicness to the place that seemed to draw people in. With the couches in the front, the beverage station stocked with tea and coffee, and a TV playing nonstop horror films, it felt less like a tattoo studio and more like somebody's living room. My dad said the whole place looked and felt unprofessional, but I liked it.

As curious (and overtly jealous) gazes started to swing my way, I refocused my attention on Flor's back as we moved around the counter and he greeted his friends by bending over their pieces and commenting on the designs.

“What the fuck are you doing back here today?” his best friend, Max, asked, coming out of the back and acting like seeing Flor here after-hours was the most shocking thing he'd ever witnessed in his life. When he spotted me, he raised his eyebrows and let a smile come across his full lips.
Crap.
I looked right back at him and pretended not to give a shit that he was here. Only I did. I really, really did. Max was the last guy I dated, and we dated behind Florian's back. I think we both were under the impression that if he found out, he'd kick Max's ass and at least verbally, he'd have kicked mine, too. Max was one of those guys that you just know is an asshole. Know it, and can't help yourself from going after him anyway.

“Hey Abi,” he said, and I didn't like the way his voice dropped, like he was really,
really
excited to see me. This was exactly why I avoided stopping by the shop when I knew he was working. Flor had gotten under my skin tonight, made me forget. Damn it. “What brings you here?”

Flor stood up, pulling his eyes away from a killer black and white rose that graced the elegant shoulder of a beautiful twenty-something. Her gaze found Florian right away and stayed there.