2. Matthew

Chapter 2

Matthew

S hit, shit, shit.

I kissed my stepsister. My sexy as hell, freshly turned eighteen, stepsister. As our lips met, I could taste the sweetness of her cherry lip balm. Since I've been back, she's been like a siren, luring me into her web to ravage me and steal my soul. Dylan is stunning, and the way she's so carefree is intoxicating. Add in the moans I hear coming from her bedroom, and the times I've crept like a perv, peering through the window, haven't helped. Now that I know she's not only into the sport I love, but a fantastic player, I couldn't help it. My reasoning went out the window, and I kissed her.

The slap was a surprise, but not unwelcome. I deserved it, after all. I just kissed her at the championship game, and it's not like people don't know I'm a scout for Colorado. Tomorrow, I'll have to call the coach to let him know about this new development. I hope he doesn't change his mind about taking Ford, Jacob, and Dylan. My intention was to have a conversation with her, but she hurriedly fled the field. The other two followed her, with Ford looking back at me with a wink. He's probably enjoying this because he's caught me watching them.

Fuck, fuck, fuck. I need to talk to her.

I rush home, but she's nowhere to be found. Maybe I beat them back? They might have gone out to celebrate their win. I sit down on the couch to wait for them, but they never show up. Starting to get worried and a little annoyed, I text my dad.

Me: Hey have you or Holly heard from Dylan? She's not home yet and I'm getting worried.

Dad: Yeah Holly just updated me. She texted her mom that she was staying at a friend's tonight. No need to worry.

I immediately know she's avoiding me, but that won't do. We need to talk.

Me: Thank you.

Dad: Glad to see you are taking your big brother duties seriously.

I don't respond because I don't know what to say. My dad doesn't know just how badly I want to take my brotherly role and shove it up his fiancé's ass. I want more. I want Dylan to be mine. I want to be the reason she smiles and laughs—the cause of her moans and pleasure. Only a few things are standing in my way: our parents, her temper, and those two douchebags.

I can't take my eyes off my phone, my heart thumping in my chest. I want to call her, but I know it's pointless. Instead, I pace the living room, running my hands through my hair. This isn't how it was supposed to go. I was supposed to come back, scout some players, and help my dad with his upcoming wedding. Unfortunately it seems I've found myself tangled in a web of desire and frustration.

My mind keeps replaying the kiss. The way her lips felt against mine, the shock in her eyes, the heat between us. It was like nothing I've ever experienced. But now she's gone, and I'm left aching and confused.

I head to the kitchen and grab a beer, hoping it'll calm my nerves. As I take a long swig, I head back to the living room and sit down. I set my beer on the end table and close my eyes, replaying everything that led up to today's game. I still can't wrap my mind around the fact that Murphy was Dylan. How did she keep it a secret? The team knew, but that's it. That says something about their teamwork and dedication to the sport.

As the night drags on, I can't stop thinking about her. The way her hair falls in waves around her shoulders, the sparkle in her eyes when she's excited, the way her laughter fills the room. I want all of it. I want her.

But I can't have her. Everything becomes more complicated because she happens to be my stepsister. Our parents would never understand, and the guys would probably kill me if they found out. And then there's Dylan herself—stubborn, fiery Dylan, who's probably more pissed off at me than she's ever been.

I get up and lock the door before settling back onto the couch. I'm going to sleep here tonight. That way, if she comes back, I will hear her and she can't escape the chat we need to have.

I pull the blanket off the back of the couch and lie down, my mind racing. What am I going to do? How can I fix this? The answer escapes me, and I'm haunted by dreams of her as I sleep.

"Dylan, can I have a word with you?" I ask, my voice trembling slightly.

She pauses, contemplating, and then nods in agreement. "Sure. Let's go for a walk."

We stroll down the street in silence; the tension hangs heavy in the air. She stops abruptly, her eyes flashing with intensity as she turns to face me.

"What the hell were you thinking?" she demands. "You kissed me in front of everyone! Do you have any idea how embarrassing that was?"

I swallow hard, meeting her gaze. "I know. I'm sorry. I wasn't thinking. I just… I couldn't help myself."

She crosses her arms, looking away. "You can't just do stuff like that, okay? This whole situation is crazy. You're my stepbrother, and this… it's wrong on so many levels. " She motions between us.

I step closer, nervous energy coursing through my veins. "I know. But I can't help how I feel, Dylan. I want you. I've wanted you for a long time."

She looks back at me, her eyes wide with surprise. "You… you have?"

With a nod, I reach out and softly touch her arm. "Yes. And I know it's complicated, but I can't pretend I don't feel this way. I need you to know that."

With her gaze lowered, she anxiously nibbles on her lip. "I don't know what to say. This is… it's too much."

I take her hand, my pulse racing. "I know. And I don't want to make things harder for you. But I had to tell you. I had to be honest."

She looks up at me, her expression filled with uncertainty. "I don't know if I can handle this, Matthew. It's too much."

I nod, my stomach flips. "I understand. But please, just think about it. Think about us."

She pulls her hand away, turning to walk back to the house. "I need some time."

I watch her go, my heart heavy with a mixture of hope and despair. The future is uncertain, but I can't ignore how I feel any longer. I just hope she can find it in herself to forgive me and give us a chance.

The next morning, I wake up early, my mind still buzzing with thoughts of Dylan. I decide to go for a run, hoping the physical exertion will clear my head. As I jog through the neighborhood, I replay yesterday's events, trying to make sense of the fact that I have feelings for my soon-to-be stepsister.

By the time I get back, I'm no closer to a solution. I shower and head to the kitchen, finding Dad sipping his coffee.

"Morning," he says, glancing up at me. "You look like you didn't sleep much."

I shrug, pouring myself a cup. "Just thinking about some stuff. Hey, do you know when Dylan is coming back?" I ask. "Or Holly?" I add, so it's not suspicious.

He sets his mug down. "Holly will be back this afternoon. Dylan, no clue. She's probably still with her friend."

My heart sinks a little as I nod in agreement. I need to talk to her, but I don't know what I'm going to say. As the day drags on, I find myself growing more and more anxious. I keep checking my phone, hoping for a text or a call, but there's nothing.

Finally, in the late afternoon, a car pulls into the driveway. I look out the window and see Holly getting out. Disappointment flooding me as I watch her. She looks tired and pale. But that's my dad's problem. She's not who I'm waiting for.