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“The practical matters I’m referring to are your relationships with your clients. The practical matter of needing clients to buy your app, to support your app, to promote your app. If word gets out that it’s run by a bunch of sex-starved, inbred idiots, you’ll be the laughing stock. You must always think of your customers.”
Mark’s and Sean’s expressions indicate their patience is wearing as thin as mine. We love Bianca and we’d rather spend time with her than with her father. “We only needthe rightcustomers.”
“And who are those?”
I’m going out on a limb with Mark. “The ones that aren’t assholes.”
“You may be older than Bianca, but you’re still younger than me. You don’t understand the way the business world works.”
“You don’t understand that times are changing, old man.” Shit! I might have gone too far.
I rush out, needing to get to Bianca. My mother shrieks something about watching myself, and Frank yells something I tune out. I can’t deal with them anymore.
But when I get next door, it’s silent.
“Bianca.” I’d understand if she yelled at me or was crying. What I’m not prepared for is for her to be gone. Her room is in disarray as if she packed quickly and left.
She was worried she would ruin everything, but she didn’t ruin it.
She had an unexpected lesson for us. One we should have handled years ago so she wouldn’t be subjected to such scrutiny. Mark, Sean, and I need to become fucking adults. We’ve got to man up for what we want.
We want Bianca.
Eighteen
Bianca
Haulingmyselfupthestairs to Aurora’s apartment, I’m not sure I’m cut out for working in a diner. I’m merely a messenger passing orders in one direction and plates and cups in another. I’m not doing the fun part of food, the creation, or sharing in the excitement.
But it’s a job. It’s also less temporary than being Santa’s helper at the mall and stocking shelves for last-minute shoppers at the department store. I’ve been working myself to the bone now that I have to pay my own bills.
I’m almost dead after one week.
Dropping onto the couch, I open my phone. It’s safe to do that now that I’ve blocked my family. I sent them messages letting them know I needed time to myself but my brothers kept calling and messaging anyway. They want to make sure I don’t forget about the Christmas dinner. I let them know I’m not going and that they should arrange for someone else to cook.
There’s an opening for a nanny in the local jobs listings. That would be perfect. I’d get to try out all of my cooking skills and take care of kids. I rub my belly, remembering how good I looked simulated-pregnant.
My period should start in another day or two. Unless I got pregnant already. I still can’t believe how caught up I was in the moment.
My fantasy stepbrother game was strong. Have unprotected sex with all three of them. Everything will be fine.
I’m exhausted. I could use a foot rub.
I try to think if there’s any way to mimic one. I toss my phone aside and head to the shower. If the showerhead’s cord is long enough, it would work. Anyway, I need to get cleaned up, rest for a couple of hours, and then head to the department store to stock shelves.
The warm water steams up the bathroom before I’m naked and enjoying the warmth running over my body. Grabbing the showerhead, I lean against the shower wall so I can lift my foot, but the enclosure is still cold.
Not a fun kind of cold like the ice cubes.
Using the water to warm the wall, I lean again. It’s awkward. I’m tired. I’m pissed that everything reminds me of my brothers.
Letting my foot return to the floor, I drift the showerhead to my sex. An orgasm would be better than a foot massage anyway.
The pulsing water is a distant second or is it a fourth to the guys? My orgasm builds slowly, almost too slowly. I close my eyes, remembering how their hands and mouths felt on me, and their cocks inside of me.
I had to guess sometimes since we used blindfolds, but it seemed Sean’s touch was usually the gentlest. Carl was more likely to try to excite me. Then there was Mark. His grip was firmer, more controlling, and that’s what kicks my orgasm into gear.
I lean forward, bracing my free hand on the shower wall. I’m almost good enough at pretending to imagine that this mimics the position of the rooftop. My orgasm builds a little faster. It’s still not the same. Nothing will be the same as them. I’m probably ruined.
