Wrong: A Stepbrother Romance

After running from him, I’d rushed into the café next door and used their bathroom to wipe my tears before returning to work. But my brain was scrambled, my hands still shook and I was only further distracted by Liam. He knew something was wrong and he wouldn’t stop asking me what happened. When I walked to the other end of the bar, he followed. When he asked my guests for their seats, they got right up for him. At one point, I escaped behind the Employees Only door and hid in the office. Within moments, he was right there with me. It was infuriating.

Of course, it was worse for him.

I knew he was smarter than to assume I was just having a rough shift. I knew he hated seeing me upset and I knew his every nerve was programmed to detect when I was feeling even the slightest bit threatened. So he rode my ass about it till he was hours late for the gym and had to finally leave without an answer.

I did text him an excuse about feeling under the weather, but I should’ve known it came off as half-assed and insulting because his reply to me was curt.

I don’t have time for bullshit.

I tried replying with some other excuse but after a minute of my ellipses, he cut me off with two words.

Save it.

He was pissed. I knew that and I knew I would hate every second of the day that things remained unresolved between us. But I knew better than to tell him what happened outside the bar – that Ethan had ambushed me at work, pinned me against the wall and groped me. Liam would kill him. Actually kill him. He might not set out with that intention, but the beating he’d deliver would no doubt leave Ethan lying in his own blood and teeth on the floor. And the thought of him going to jail because of that smug asshole made my hands ball into fists.

“Well, what if you preface it with a warning?” Aria asked desperately. “Before you tell Liam what happened, remind him that Ethan’s parents are the most lawsuit-happy, vindictive people I’ve ever heard of. I mean, how many housekeepers have they sued? And tried to fucking deport? They’d take Liam’s money and make him serve time. Just tell him that whatever he does, he can’t lay a finger on Ethan. Or if he does, he can’t leave any bruises.”

I waved my hand in the air to brush it all off. “There’s no telling Liam not to be angry, especially when it comes to Ethan. He’s hated Ethan before it was cool to hate Ethan.”

“True.”

“And as much as he hides his scary side from me, I know about it. I’ve heard about the bar fights. And obviously, the whole world knows about the thing with Walsh.”

“Yeah,” Aria grimaced.

Liam had stopped fighting two years ago, after his win against Damon Walsh in Las Vegas. It was the biggest and best fight of his career, but he wound up in a brawl with Walsh’s crew while celebrating that night. The only footage that came out was what spilled out in front of the club, and it saw Liam delivering a punch to Walsh that knocked him out so hard he split his head open on the concrete. The injuries he sustained that night cut his promising career short, and they wound up ending Liam’s too. He lost his heart for the sport after that and instead opened his gym. Training others clearly fulfilled him, but somewhere in my heart, I knew he had to miss the ferocity of fighting.

Aria shrugged. “Honestly, that whole thing was a freak accident,” she said.

“Yeah.” I stared down at my glass of ice cubes and considered sucking on one for the whiskey residue. “Well. That wasn’t even Liam going all out, and with Ethan, he would. He’d use every ounce of strength that he’s got in that body of his.”

“And knowing Ethan’s bitch-ass, he would not survive,” Aria muttered drunkenly.

“Exactly. Which is why we will never tell Liam what happened today.” I shot a stern look at her. “No matter how much we wish revenge upon Ethan. Right?”

Aria’s tiny shoulders slumped in defeat. “Yeah. Right.”

“Cool. Cheers.” We clinked our empty glasses and sighed in unison. Right in time, a bartender set fresh drinks in front of us.

“Heard you needed big girl cups,” she purred, sliding over two pint glasses of pure whiskey. The guests around us burst into raucous protest as she walked away, returning to A.J, who winked from down the bar and motioned for us to drink up.

Aria giggled, raising her glass to him. Turning back to me, her voice was instantly dry. “I hate that I love him.”

“I understand that feeling very much.”

“You do.” Taking a sip, Aria winced and grabbed the stranger’s glass next to us, pouring half her drink into it. He gave a stunned thank you as she casually turned back to me. “Anyway, I don’t mean to kill the vibe right now,” she slurred, leaning over the bar to help herself to the soda gun, “but there are some rather buxom ladies getting super friendly with your man candy as we speak and if you don’t end this stupid silent treatment thing you guys have going on right now, they may very well push him into the bathroom and put his penis in their mouth.”

“They all have just one collective mouth?”

“Mouths. Into their mouths. They’re going to take turns treating his boner like an ice cream cone. Especially the one with the purple lip liner.”

I burst out laughing just as A.J came over. “Speaking of boners.” He narrowed his puzzled eyes at Aria. “Since when did you get a dirty mouth?”

“Since you bought her sixteen ounces of bourbon.” I poured half my drink into his glass.

“Fair. Also, not complaining here but what exactly is she doing?” A.J stared at Aria’s ass as she climbed over the bar again. I extended my glass to her.

“Making me a whiskey ginger,” I said as she shot the soda gun into my drink. Confused, A.J still nodded his approval.