Score: A Stepbrother Sports Romance (49 page)

“
R
eagan
! Ray! Do
not
make me late!”

“What? I’m here,
jeez
.” I stomp down the stairs from the second floor landing with a scowl on my face, a scowl that only deepens when Quinn and my Aunt Kelly coo and aww and gush over the frilly, stupid pink dress I’m wearing as I make my appearance.

“Oh Reagan, you look
adorable
, honey!” Aunt Kelly gushes; clutching her hands together eagerly before digging in her purse for her camera.

I groan; “No!
No
pictures!” I make a face as the flash goes off regardless, setting my jaw even harder as I stomp the rest of the way down the stairs. I am fourteen years old, still very firmly in the grasp of my anti-dress tomboy phase, and I absolutely
hate
that I’m dressed up like a freaking cabbage patch doll.

“Well I
love
my dress!” Chelsea comes bounding down the stairs, and even Quinn rolls her eyes at the exuberance. Chelsea is ten and firmly believes she’s
actually
a Disney princess.

“Well you look
very
pretty young lady!” Aunt Kelly can’t help herself  as she snaps another couple of pictures, the flashes making me turn away and shield my eyes.

“Well I look stupid, stop it.” I groan, pushing her fussing hands away from the dress; “Why do I have to wear this dumb thing?”

“Because it’s
my
graduation,
that’s
why, Ray-Ray.” Quinn giggles and sticks her tongue out as I make a lunge at her, only to be held back by Aunt Kelly.

“Reagan!” She scolds, looking at my firmly. Aunt Kelly is one of those sweet motherly types who is incapable of looking mad no matter how hard she tries, and even at thirteen, I think I’m aware of this fact and impressed with her attempt anyways.

“She started it! I
hate
that name!”

Aunt Kelly turns and gives Quinn another equally as unimposing stern look; “Be nice to your sister, she
is
wearing the dress after all.”

“What’s the point? It’s not like Dad’s going to show up anyways.”

The silence that descends over the bottom of the stairs is palpable, and I instantly regret opening my mouth as Chelsea’s face falls and the tears start to well up in her eyes. Even always-cool Quinn looks like I slapped her in the face, and my Aunt’s face goes a shade whiter; “Now Reag-“

“Fuck you, Reagan.” Quinn spits at me as she turns and storms out the front door.

I don’t know it yet, but me and my big mouth have a long, illustrious future ahead of us.

H
udson gets
weird when I mention my Dad, which only drives the wedge that’s already between us even deeper; the wedge being that I didn’t know my own Father half as well as he did.

“Look, let’s go get a drink or something and I’ll explain.”

He can
not
be serious.

“I’m not going anywhere with you.” I remember the last time with him when drinks were involved, and immediately regret it as I feel my face grow hot.

“Will you fucking relax?” He snaps, looking irritated and still holding out his jacket to me even though we both know I’m not going to take it; “Look, this isn’t about us-“

“There
is
no ‘us’, Hudson,” I sneer. I know I’m covering for my own embarrassment with this bitchy act, but I can’t seem to stop myself. Besides, what other way is there to act towards Hudson?

“Yeah, no shit, babe.”

I glare at him.

“Listen, Red,” He scowls at me, his blue eyes somehow looking even hotter when they’re fierce like that. I make a conscious effort to look at his chin instead.

“Believe it or not, this is about your campaign, which people are actually interested in seeing work out for you.” He shakes his head at me, as if I’m some petulant child; “Get over it being your Father’s compan-“

“Are you shitting me?” I can feel the fury rising inside as I cut him off and stare at him in disbelief; “You think this is just about me trying to act out or snub my Dad? Do I look like I’m fucking
twelve
years old?”

“Twelve year olds are better behaved, Princess.” He grins at me.

“Don’t
call
me that!” I snap shrilly; “I don’t want the money because I am
not
taking campaign donations from a
gun
manufacturer!” Half my damn platform is about cleaning up the streets and keeping firearms out of the hands of kids; how the
hell
did Donald OK this?

Hudson purses his lips - those perfect, totally kissable-

“We got out of all that, it’s nothing we do anymore.” He says evenly, his eyes staring into mine.

“Sure.”

He sighs loudly, rolling his eyes at me; “Jesus, have you always been this ridiculous? Look, just come have a fucking drink with me and I’ll explain everything.”

I know the sneering face I make at him plays
entirely
into his calling me childish but I just don’t care. I turn back to the doors and see Donald standing behind them back inside the museum, giving me a scowl and shaking his head, and I can practically feel his disapproval from here.

“
Fine
; let’s go.”

* * *

“
T
his
is your car
?”

He looks up from the passenger door he’s opened for me with a smug expression; “Yep”

Of course it is
; I roll my eyes, wondering for the ninth time since we walked out of my own fundraising event why on earth I said yes to this.

The sleek black vintage Charger is sexy as
hell
, but it’s just
so
overtly masculine and absurdly macho that I just shake my head as I slide into the passenger side of the bench seat.  A car like this, of course, usually says that you’re making up for something else. I instantly feel my face flush scarlet with the memory of that one moment and the size of that thickness pressing against me as he kissed me.

Hudson Banks isn’t making up for
a thing
with this car.

I jump from my naughty daydream when his hand brushes my knee as he reaches for the shifter; “Easy there, hands-y,” I quip, shooting him a look.

“Oh, relax and put your seatbelt on,
Senator.
”

I’m about to respond when he roars away from the curb fast enough to take the breath from my lungs and send a surge of adrenaline right through my core as we tear off into the cold city night.

* * *

T
he place
we end up going is
way
fancy; like, the kind of bar that’s got so much class you can hardly get away with just calling it a “bar” anymore at all. As we’re ushered in, I’m suddenly glad we’re dressed the way we are, with him in a tuxedo and me in my gown. Although something tells me when I see the Benjamin that Hudson palms the maitre-d that he’d be seated wearing nothing at all.

Images of Hudson’s chiseled, shirtless torso, and the
big
hint of what’s hidden lower flood my mind as we take a seat at the far end of the elegant bar-top.

“What are you drinking?”

“Huh?” I shake my head, feeling my cheeks burn as I try and clear my head of the dirty fantasies throbbing and undulating through my brain involving the man sitting next me. This is the man I need to loath and despise on pretty much every principal I have,
not
the man whose cock I should be fantasizing about. I don’t really drink much, and I can actually still feel the half-glass of champagne I had back at the fundraiser buzzing through me, but I shrug apologetically at the bartender anyways; “Oh, uh, wine I guess? Something white?”

He smiles and turns to Hudson with a curt nod before he moves down to the other end of the bar.

“He knows what I want,” Hudson says with a wink. He lets his eyes linger down the neck of my dress as he grins; the subtext that
I
should know what he wants
too
isn’t exactly lost on me. I clear my throat and look away.

I let my eyes wander around the demurely lit, sleek and modern-looking room that reeks of money, taking the place in; “Come here often?” The place is full of gorgeous women; all young and hot and digging - and Hudson looks like he’s made out of solid gold.

“Often enough, sure.”

Yeah I bet
, I think, eyeing the trio of skanks giggling and batting their eyes in Hudson’s direction from the other end of the bar. The jealousy takes me by surprise, and find myself shaking my head; confused by it. Why on earth am I so heated about this? There
is
no
‘Hudson and I’
; it was
one
night, five fucking years ago, and we basically just kissed.

Well, kissed with his shirt half undone and his hand on my skin, teasing across my hip and sliding down across the wetness at the front of my panties. I cough again to clear my throat and my thoughts as the bartender returns with my wine, and something that looks like it jumped off the kids menu at a chain restaurant that he sets down in front of Hudson.

“Uh, what the hell is that?”

Hudson shrugs as he takes a sip out of the straw; well, after he pushes aside the ridiculous little bouquet of thin orange slices and maraschino cherries adorning the top of it; “It’s a Shirley Temple.” He says matter-of-factly.

I snort, a grin teasing my lips; “Are you serious?”

He looks at me like I’m an idiot; “Of course I am, they’re delicious.”

I grin in spite of myself, seeing the glimmer of his own in return as his blue eyes flash at me; “Right, if you’re seven years old.”

“I don’t really drink anymore.”

I laugh, and it comes out harsher than intended; “Since when?”

“Since-” He wags his head side to side as if weighing something; “I just don’t anymore.”

I stare at him and then the glass of wine I didn’t really want anyways; “Well why are we at a
bar
to talk then if you don’t drink?”

He turns and winks at me, that smug smile totally back and spread across his face; “Because you looked like
you
needed one.”

I take a big slug from my glass, certainly as an excuse to tear my eyes away from him, but also because the way he looks at me really
does
make me need a drink.

“You know you’re sunk without the money, right?” It’s hard to take the guy seriously - no matter how fucking sexy he looks in that tux with the tattoos peeking out - with that stupid straw in between his lips and the cherry stems tickling his nose, but his words jolt me back to our reason for being here just the same.

“Fine.”

He looks surprised; “Fine?”

“I said
fine
, OK?” As much as I
hate
to admit it, I know he’s right. I know the whole run is over without the campaign money from Archer Holdings, I just hate giving him the satisfaction of hearing me tell him he’s right. He looks impressed with himself; like he’s “won” and I’m submitting to him, and not in the way that just
won’t
get out of my thoughts being this close to him. “I just don’t see why
you
had to be here though,” I glare at him; “Don’t you have interns, or fucking servants or whatever to do this sort of thing for you?”

He smirks at the ‘servants’ line; “Well, there’s a
bit
more to it than that.” I raise an eyebrow and his eyes sparkle as he winks at me; “It’s not just the money.”

Oh really.

“Well, what then.” I’m getting tired of feeling like he’s playing with me, especially since in my head he’s playing with me in a
very
different way and it’s distracting me to the point of anxious.

“You’re pissing a lot of people off with your platform.” He says the words carefully, as if choosing them as he utters them.

“I’m making a lot of people
happy
with my platform, which is why I’m way ahead in the polls, actually.” Now it’s my turn to be smug as I sit back and sip on my wine.

He turns to face me fully, his face the most serious I’ve seen from him yet; “Let’s just say that there are things out there that you don’t see that I do,” His eyes drop to the front of my gown and he grins for
just
a hair of a second; just long enough to tell me he can see how erect my nipples are before he drags his eyes back up to mine