Mia
The first thing I register when I wake up is Garrett’s familiar scent. I’m surrounded by warmth, and I open my eyes to find my face pressed firmly against his chest. He’s wearing a T-shirt, but it’s riding up enough that my hand is draped over his bare stomach.
He’s still asleep, his head tilted to the side as he breathes quietly. So I admire him for a moment, the sharp lines of his cheekbones and jaw, and the perfect slope of his nose. The fullness of those lips that I now know are amazing to kiss. Especially with the scratchy texture of his five o’clock shadow.
How long have I dreamt about kissing Garrett? Since I was old enough to even know what a kiss was. And now that he’s finally treating me like he might actually be attracted to me, I’m terrified that it’s all one elaborate joke. Any moment, he’s going to pull the rug out from under me, and I’m going to feel like a fool. I’m not normally so apprehensive to let my guard down, but with Garrett…the stakes are just too high.
Resting my head back on his chest, I run my fingers softly over the tuft of hair running down his tight stomach. He shivers and fidgets in his sleep.
I know I really shouldn’t, but I can’t help myself. So I trail my fingers upward, sliding under his shirt and along the ridges of his abs to touch his pecs.
He moans and squirms again. I’m getting too bold, but then again…he’s admitted to peeping on me in the shower, so he owes me. Getting a little too daring, I move my hand down, past the hemline of his pajama pants and over the swollen ridge of his cock. My fingers only lightly brush the hard surface before he wakes up.
With a loud moan, he grabs my hand in his and pulls it away from his pants. I panic for a minute, afraid I’ve been caught, but when I glance up at his face, he’s staring down at me with wild lust in his eyes.
“We’re not drunk anymore,” I say in a sultry tone, and for a moment, he lets my hand rest against his morning wood, grinding his hips upward into my palm. Then, before it can go any further, he yanks my wrist away and drops it.
“But you still are a virgin,” he replies, and I sink into the mattress with disappointment.
Then he runs his hands through his hair with a stretch. It takes him a few minutes to wake up before he turns toward me. “Jesus, Mia. How on earth could you get to twenty-three without having sex?”
“Have you met men?” I reply with a laugh. I lie on my side, my head resting on my hand as I stare at him. “Honestly, it just always felt like whoever I was with only wanted to be with me for one thing. I wanted to have sex, but I wanted to connect with that person too, you know? I wanted to feel so comfortable with them that I could tell them what I want and not feel like I was just being used as something to stick their dick into.”
He grimaces.
“Not every guy is like that,” he says, turning toward me.
“I know that…” I say, letting my voice trail off. I never felt that way about Garrett. If only I could tell him about all the naughty fantasies I had about him as a teenager. Sneaking into his bed at night and climbing under the covers so we could touch each other in secret. “That’s why last night would have been perfect.”
“Why?” he asks. “Because you were drunk?”
“Because I trust you, you idiot.”
When he turns his head toward me again, there’s a strange sense of sincerity in his expression, something real that I don’t normally see when I look at Garrett. Nothing between us is ever serious, but telling him that I trust him seems to have triggered a genuine response. Like he might actually be taking me seriously.
Then he quickly rolls out of bed. The stiffness in his pants is gone along with all the fire between us. “Mia, I’m not the one you want, I promise. Not for your first time. You want a guy who’s going to give you more than a one-night stand, who’s not fucked in the head, and who’s not your goddamn stepbrother.”
I can’t believe what I’m hearing. For the past two days, Garrett has been driving me crazy, teasing me and making me want him, but now that I’ve opened up and admitted that I’m a virgin, I’m practically repulsive to him. Was he just messing with me again? Teasing me to the point of having me begging him for sex.
I’m an idiot.
“Oh my God,” I say, jumping out of bed and staring at him with a smug expression. I quickly grab my phone off the floor, where it must have fallen in our frantic make-out session last night, and I shove it into my back pocket.
“What?” he asks.
“I just realized what this is.” He’s staring at me, waiting to hear what I’m about to say. “This was all a joke to you. Some elaborate prank. Just to get me wet and begging for you, only so you could turn me down.”
“It wasn’t a joke,” he replies, looking offended. “I’m trying to protect you, Mia.”
“Do you have any idea how humiliating it is to be turned down by your own stepbrother because you’re a virgin? Let alone turned down at all!”
“Mia—’
“No!” I snap, putting my hand up toward him. “You didn’t want me with other guys like Reese, but then you don’t want me because I haven’t been with other men. It makes no sense, but the only thing that does make sense is you torturing me, and I’m officially done letting you.”
I storm out of his room and rush up the stairs, praying that our parents aren’t on the second floor waiting for me. Luckily, the house is empty as I continue up to my room, slamming the door behind me as I crash on top of my bed and scream into my pillow.
I hate him. Why are my emotions such a joke to him? I want to cry and yell and just vent about all of the angry things I’m feeling, but I can’t talk to any of my friends back home about this. It’s too embarrassing to admit that I was turned down by my own stepbrother. Plus, none of them are all that great at listening. They’re great friends to have fun with, but I don’t have anyone to really talk to, to share things with, and confide in.
Unless…
I fish my phone out of my back pocket and notice my battery is at two percent. After I plug it in, I stare down at the FlirtyGirl app. I’ve never done this before, reached out to a client like this, but something about Drake tells me that he wouldn’t mind. I believe he really would listen. And maybe it’s just attention I want, but I have a good feeling Drake is more genuine than the rest.
I swipe open the app and find his username. He’s offline. But I could send him a message. If he has his notifications on, he’ll receive it. It’s a long shot, but I’m desperate—and hungover, maybe even still a little drunk, which might explain why I’m actually doing this.
Hey.
I hit Send and then immediately start to panic. That message looks way too creepy, so I quickly back it up with, Any chance you’re online?
If he sees this, he’s totally going to think I’m just fishing for another paid hour of video sex. Shit.
No charge. Just want someone to talk to.
“Ugh,” I moan as I let my face fall into the pillow. “I’m pathetic.”
But then my phone buzzes in my hand.
I’m here. Talk to me.
I stare at his words in shock. Then I quickly reply, You probably think I’m crazy. I just need someone to talk to.
You’re not crazy. Talk to me, Kitten. Tell me anything. I’m listening.
He’s not real. This can’t possibly be a real, human man. None of them have ever responded to me like this. Not without some hint at wanting to see my tits in the process. Just to be safe, I keep our chat in the messages instead of going into a video chat. I look like hot garbage anyway.
Are you ready for a ridiculous confession? I ask.
Yes, he replies.
I think I’m in love with my stepbrother.
The line is silent for a while, and I start to panic that he does think I’m crazy. Why did I lead with that? And to a client? What’s really strange is that I feel comfortable enough to talk so openly about my private life with a client. I wish I knew why, but I honestly have no idea.
It’s taking him too long to reply. There are no typing bubbles on the screen. Just silence.
I told you I’m crazy.
Does he know how you feel? he says, ignoring my ‘crazy’ remark again.
I laugh as I read his question. No. Garrett thinks I hate him, and although I think hate is a strong word, he definitely has no idea how I really feel. I call him cocky and obnoxious, and he calls me annoying and bratty, and even if he is flirting with me now, he’d much rather keep our relationship as stepsiblings-with-benefits than try to make it anything else.
I could never tell him. He would laugh in my face if I ever told him that.
I highly doubt that, he responds.
Do you think he has feelings for you?
I laugh again. No. I thought maybe he wanted to sleep with me, and we almost did last night but then…
Then what?
Then he turned me down. It was humiliating.
I’m sorry.
It’s not your fault, I reply. It was stupid of me to be so vulnerable. For years, I thought he hated me. He always saw me as the annoying little sister, so I could never be honest about my feelings. I figured that if he saw me as a pest, then that’s what I would be.
Wow.
Letting out a sigh, I stare at my own messages, letting this sink in. I can’t believe I’m telling him all of this, but then again, he’s just a guy on the internet. It feels good to finally get it all out, though.
I’m sorry for unloading all of this on you. I guess I just needed to talk to a guy who really sees me. I can’t believe after only two chats, I feel this comfortable with you. This is crazy.
He types for a while, the little bubbles bouncing on the screen as he puts together his next message, and I wait not-so-patiently. Finally, his message pops up.
I do see you, Kitten. And your stepbrother is an idiot. He clearly doesn’t see the real you, and that’s a shame. Sounds to me like he doesn’t deserve you. But you can talk to me anytime. And I won’t ask for anything in return. I never want you to think I only like you for one thing.
My jaw literally drops. How does he seem to know all the right things to say?
You’re making me forget him completely right now.
Good, he replies.
I still feel like a jerk for unloading all of this personal stuff on you. I’m really sorry, I say.
Stop apologizing! he replies. Look, I’ll tell you something personal about me to make you feel better, okay?
I bite my lip, waiting to hear something, anything, personal about Drake. It feels like a window into a world I’m not supposed to see into. And I have my suspicions for what he’s about to admit. Like him admitting to fucking a teacher back in high school or having a threesome once or something mildly embarrassing. I do not expect the message that pops up next.
I haven’t had sex in almost ten years.
My eyes nearly pop out of my head. Ten years? I’ve seen his body on camera, and yeah, it was a little dark, but it was definitely in shape and absolutely nothing to keep hidden from women for a decade.
Wow, I respond.
You’re speechless, aren’t you?
A little bit, I reply. Wait…are you a priest?
LOL. No. I’m not a priest.
Then…how?
The typing bubbles bounce on the screen for a moment as I wait for his response.
I don’t know. I just found sex to be so unfulfilling. There was never a real connection, no spark. So after a while, I just stopped trying. And time got away from me.
It feels like he’s pulling these words directly from my own brain. Feelings I’ve felt before. And, obviously, I can’t relate to the sex part, but I know the lack of connection part very well, as if the sincerity in people is gone and nothing feels real anymore.
I know exactly what you mean. It’s like…no one really sees you.
Exactly.
So wait… I say. You clearly do other things, right?
Ha ha, like masturbate? Yes, I still do that.
You’ve seen me do that, remember?
Oh yeah.
Duh, I reply. I almost forgot about that.
How could you forget about that? It was one of the hottest nights of my life.
Can I tell you another secret? he asks.
Of course.
That was my first time on an app like this.
You mean I’m your first? I respond with a smile.
First and only. You popped my cherry, he says, and I’m smiling from ear to ear as I type my reply.
Good. I like being the only girl for you.
An hour and a half goes by while we chat, and the subject never comes back to Garrett and the way he humiliated me this week. Instead, we talk about life in general. Our favorite things and our jobs. He tells me stories about work and his friends.
Garrett never comes upstairs to bother me during my chat with Drake. I’m sure he’s already moved on with his life. And that’s fine. Drake makes me feel better about myself anyway.
