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“That’s what I thought,” he says. “You feel it too. There’s something more here. Stay, and let’s figure it out.”
I consider the option, but it would just be walking down a foolish path. They burn through women almost as if on a schedule. For the first time ever, a thought of a schedule isn’t comforting. I let that sink in. I’m fun, new, and taboo.
The answer is clear. “I have a life to get back to.”
Jeff follows me to the kitchen. “Here’s the deal. If you’re done with us, you had your dates, you committed your four hours, you did everything you said you would, then we understand and respect that.”
“We?”
“My brothers and I talked while you were in the shower.”
“Okay.”
“But if you want more, we have a plan. Think about it. The storm has blown in and by the end of the day, the roads are going to be messy. I don’t want you driving in that car back here.”
He’s right. The roads up to their house can get sketchy.
“We finish practice and will leave the arena at seven. It’s not far from the accounting firm. If you show up, we’ll bring you back here. If you’re done with us, drive straight home. We’re siblings, nothing more. You have all day to think about it.”
When I get to work, Wendy’s there—not a total surprise since her brothers are part of the local motorcycle club that runs it. We’ve crossed paths, but I’m always working so we haven’t chatted much.
What’s surprising is that she’s upset and all alone in a meeting room. I slip in.
“What’s going on? Is everything okay with your brothers?” I’m not sure how to phrase it after what I just went through.
“I can’t blame them.”
“What happened?”
Her eyes flash a desperate plea. “Is it terrible to have sex with our stepbrothers?”
I wish I could answer definitively. My head’s too much of a mess. “I took two wrong turns driving here. I might not be the best person to ask for advice.” Sitting next to her, I take her hand. “Are you concerned about the act of sex, or is your heart the question?”
“Have you told your parents yet?” Her avoidance of the question makes the answer clear.
“No.” I decide not to explain that my stepmom is oddly accepting of things. Didn’t blink when her boys all wanted to be professional athletes. She’s uber supportive, but I need boundaries to feel safe. My dad lets her run the show. I think some of my need for structure comes from their lack of providing it.
“My dad was upset that I walked out of my wedding, which he’d carefully crafted as a business deal. And when he found out I hooked up with my stepbrothers, he no longer had my virginity to offer.” She tosses her hands up. “Who wants tarnished goods? He was so mad he wrote me out of the will and said I better hang up my roller skates and get a real job.”
“There are so many things wrong with that. You’re far from tarnished. You only do roller derby for fun. And who—” Her brothers file into the room. We wish each other well and I head to my desk.
Numbers, my safe haven. I turn my computer on, sharpen my pencil, position my sticky notes in their designated space, and open the account I’m working on.
I followed my routine. So why when I poise my fingers over the number pad, don’t they spring into action? I stare at the digits. I stare at the columns. I stare at the rows.
Forcing my fingers to move, I input in a few numbers and watch the automatic calculations trickle through the page. Not even a hint of excitement.
As I enter more dollar amounts from the invoices I’m supposed to process, a bright red number populates a cell at the bottom of the screen. Oh no, what did I do?
I undo the last entry and hold my breath, waiting for the red number to turn black again. It changes, but is still red.
Shit! I scan the screen for the error but my mind drifts.
The number of ways I’ve been given orgasms since hooking up with my brothers is phenomenal. It’s like I’ve been doing it wrong all this time. But it’s more than sex. I enjoy how free they make me feel, like everything will be okay, and I don’t have to worry about making decisions.
How ironic that I’m facing the biggest decision of my life. Or maybe I already made it. My hand slides off the keyboard onto my belly.
They took a risk with me. They’re very adamant that they never have sex without a condom, yet that’s not true with me. Every paternity claim that’s come against them has been proven false. Do they really consider me special enough to chance making a baby? Or as they called it…to breed me?
