He’s my brother’s enemy. But I still want him.
The day I saw Mac washing his car in his driveway, he became my first crush. I was young and naive, but I knew I wanted him.
The problem" He was my older brother’s rival.
So I kept my distance, and though I ached for it, nothing ever happened between us.
Years later I’ve grown up, but my life is a mess. When my big bro let’s me stay with him while I get back on my feet, I’m grateful. Then I see Mac washing his car.
Somehow he’s gotten taller… and hotter.
All my feelings come rushing back. Next thing I know he’s soaking me with a hose, then offering to take me into his house so I can get out of my wet clothes.
His hands are so strong when he undresses me.
I didn’t just kiss my brother’s enemy. I did way, WAY more than that.
And the second anyone finds out, I’ll lose everything.Books by Author:Penny Wylder Books
All of my belongings are on the lawn out in front of the apartment I once shared with my ex-boyfriend. Neighbors snicker and whisper, then look away when I glare at them. I take the boxes and shove them into the cargo space of my small SUV. I don"t know how I"ll make everything fit. Could he have been more of a dick about the whole thing" It"s not like I"m the one who cheated in our relationship, and yet he"s treating me like I"m the bad guy here. He even told me that it was my fault that he cheated because I wasn"t ready to lose my virginity to him (even though I made it abundantly clear from the beginning that I wasn"t going to put out until I was damn ready). He then kicked me out, changed the locks, and left everything I own out on the lawn for anyone to pick through.
It"s not like I was planning on staying a virgin until I was married or anything. It"s just, every time my ex and I went to "do it," something always kept me from going all the way. He never turned me on to the point of no return. He would always say something strange or perverted, or touch me in a way that made being with him feel like a chore. That"s why I"m not devastated about this breakup. One of us had to do it. I"d just wanted it to be done with mutual respect. After all, we started out as friends, and I"d hoped that if things didn"t work out between us we"d end the same way, as friends again. Wishful thinking.
It takes me a half hour to get everything loaded up. Resting on the top of the last box is a picture of my ex and me during spring break. We"d rented a houseboat with our friends on Shasta Lake. Our boat met up with several others while we were there. It was so much fun, and I thought at the time that we were in the happiest point of our relationship. Turns out I was the only one who thought so. I didn"t find out until after the fact, but the whole time we were out on the lake, he was making out with several other girls. I"d been exploring the island where we"d docked, completely oblivious to what was going on behind my back. Some of my so-called-friends even knew about it but didn"t tell me about it until after the breakup, afraid to stir up drama. Someone even took pictures of him and those girls that ended up on Instagram after we split. It was humiliating to say the least.
I take the framed picture in my hands. The sun glares off the glass, creating dots in front of my vision. Then I throw it at the apartment. I meant to hit the door, but it smashes through the window instead.
My neighbors laugh and clap while I just stand frozen for a moment with my mouth gaped open. It"s a good thing he isn"t home.
I hurry back to the SUV, climb inside, and get the hell out of there as fast as I can before someone decides to call the cops.
It"s a long nine-hour drive from Southern Oregon back to the home where I grew up in Seattle. My parents sold the family house to my brother when they took off for Florida for early retirement. I loved that house growing up. It was the place where all my friends gravitated toward. If there was ever a sleepover or party, it always took place at my house. I was lucky to have such cool parents who didn"t mind a house bursting at the seams with teenagers. I don"t know too many other parents who would be that cool with it. Especially when my brother and his jock friends would get home from school and raid the pantry.
When it came to my friends, I think they just wanted to come over because of my neighbor. I couldn"t blame them because he was my childhood crush as well.
His name was Mac Stillwell, and he was perfection. An amazing athlete, all smooth, sleek muscle and bronzed skin. His body was a work of art. He and my brother were on the same soccer team. They were rivals because Mac was always just a hair better at everything, which was why Mac was never over at the house with the rest of them. No one ever found out that I went to every game just to secretly cheer on Mac.
I was infatuated, and seeing him every day was the best sweetest torture I could imagine. He was a total jock like the rest of the guys on his team, always in his garage lifting weights or jogging around the neighborhood in soccer shorts and shirtless. For such a celebrated athlete, he didn"t seem to have many friends"probably because my brother hoarded them all. Mac spent a lot of his time alone in the halls at school or in some corner, always with a black hoody on, draped over his face as if he were trying to shut out the world.