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Chapter One
James
“Home sweet home.”
Shit. As much as I tried to rebel against this suburban, cookie-cutter, white picket fence house back when Mom and I first moved in, now it is home. Usually, it is familiar, even comforting. Not tonight.
Tonight, I can’t even park on the damn driveway; a catering, or florist or party planner is taking up the whole thing with their train-sized van.
“Every fucking year.” I fix my sunglasses on my nose as the sun hits the snow just at the right angle, turning the front lawn into a mirror. I hate winter – snow specifically – as a rule. The dire monotony of white. The thick clothes covering arms, shoulders, collarbones, legs. The need to keep the top of my car closed for months at a time. Driving a convertible in winter, it is almost pathetic. Almost. I make it work.
I manage to dodge the crew of people that are setting up for tonight, frantically running around, now that the time is getting near. I wonder if Mom got the ten-year plan and gets some sort of discount. It wouldn’t surprise me.
“Archie? Oh good, you’re here early.” Fuck. Mom’s floating head pops into the hallway. I hoped to make it to my bedroom undetected. “Come in here. I could use your opinion. What do you think, honey, should we switch things up a bit and set up the bar over by the fireplace this year? Smokers kept leaving the sliding door open last year, and the poor bartender was as cold as his drinks.”
“Yup. Great idea, Mom.” I keep walking and yell my reply from the stairs. “Sorry, I want to get ready first. I’ll come down after, ’kay?”
I hear Mom give the instructions for the bar placement before I close my bedroom door, silence ringing loudly in my ears.
Still looks, even smells, exactly the same. Mom and Dad haven’t moved a single thing. Car collectibles and models, posters of all my favorite vintage vehicles, everything exactly as I left it eleven years ago when I moved out for college. Even Nicolas Cage is still hanging behind my door, sitting on his precious Eleanor – a nineteen-sixty-seven Ford Mustang Shelby that held the dreams of a ten-year-old boy, and the reality of a thirty-year-old man. It’s always good to be back.
I decide to go ahead and soak for a bit. I love my modern walk-in shower, but a bathtub has its perks. I hang my suit for tonight on the hook behind the door, and put away my clothes for the week.
I don’t mind house-sitting while the folks go away on their yearly honeymoon. My eyes roll at the thought. I can’t begrudge them the celebration or the trip, those two are head over heels thirteen years in. Yes, they love throwing dinner parties, but they alsoactuallywant to celebrate another year of being married to each other. I just wish it didn’t have to be a themed Valentine’s Day party. Year. After. Year.. After damn year.
I strip in my bedroom out of habit. Sharing a bathroom with a sibling as a teenager taught me that much. The Jack and Jill bathroom was always a source of conflict. I loved it, instigated it, really. It was a constant race to lock it from the inside to keep the other one out. I was the undefeated champion. That isn’t an issue anymore, the former occupant of the adjoining room only shows up for the actual party. Usually fashionably late.
I check the time on my phone, turn the knob and walk inside. I think the rest of my body registers the sight before my mind can. Fucking heaven on earth, in the shape of a sin so immoral, it will send me straight to hell. But who the fuck cares?
Rose Valentine is leaning over the tub, one hand under the running faucet while the other holds her upper body in a perfect arch, her ass pointing to the Almighty.
“James! Get the fuck out!” Rose is scrambling to grab a towel and cover herself. She’s flustered and fumbles, it takes her a good five seconds to hide her fucking gorgeous body. I’m staring, taking in as much of her as I possibly can and not even trying to hide it. Fuck. She is absolutely stunning.
The little unexpected peep-show gets my blood warm and flowing, and it is all going straight to my cock. I’m also not trying to hide it. I mean, it is only fair. She showed me hers, albeit unwillingly, so I’ll show her mine. I am still wearing boxers, but the visible tent in them definitely catches her eye.
“James!” She shouts again.
“Relax, would you, Rosy? You have nothing I haven’t seen before.”
“Not on me, you fucking creep!” I smirk at her. It is not easy to pull off wrath in a fluffy pistachio-colored towel, but she is doing it. “What the hell kind of reaction is that to have for your sister?” Rose points at my crotch. I stand on the balls of my feet to swing forward and bring even more attention to it.
Bingo.
She’s staring too.I see the dry gulp of air she swallows as she does.
“Like what you see?” My voice shakes her out of the reverie and I watch as she closes her eyes tightly, regaining composure.
“What? I’m your sister, you pervert!”
“Step-sister,” I correct her. “I am a man. I have eyes.”
“That’s not all you have,” she scolds indignantly. One of her perfectly manicured hands is clasping the terry cloth, the other one, pointing at my groin. “And if you want to keep it attached to your body, you will get the hell out!”
She doesn’t wait for me to move, she charges at me and pushes me out, closing the door on my nose. I go for the knob as a reflex, but she’s faster this time. I’m locked out. She won this battle.
I hear her grab her things and storm down the hall. A door slams. Just like the good old days. Teenage Rose slammed doors at least twice a day.
Since she locked me out, I have to access the bathroom from her side. I tuck my hard dick in the waistband of my underwear and walk down the hall, not caring if anybody sees. Let them feast their eyes.
