Billionaire Stepbrother's Homecoming

  Billionaire Stepbrother’s

  Homecoming

  By

  Stephanie Brother

  © 2015 Stephanie Brother

  All Rights Reserved. This book or any portion thereof may not be reproduced or used in any manner whatsoever without the express permission of the publisher except for the use of brief quotations in a book review.

  This book is a work of fiction. Any resemblance to persons, living or dead, or places, events or locations is purely coincidental. The characters are all productions of the author’s imagination.

  Please note that this work is intended only for adults over the age of 18 and all characters represented as 18 or over.

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  I kept playing the message over again just to hear his voice. “Hey Ariel. This is William, I mean Billy … um … hey, oh I said that already. Well, I planned a witty speech … um, but we see how that’s going.” He laughed nervously. God, I missed hearing that laugh. “I’m coming to San Jose and (sigh) I need to see you. I really want to see you. Call me as soon as you can.”

  I scribbled down his number after I’d listened for the tenth time. I wanted to play it again, but something cold and wet crept under my foot. I turned to see a puddle of milk slowly coating the kitchen floor. “Crap!” I yelled as I unfurled the paper towels across the mess. I was putting the groceries away as I hit Play on the answering machine and I now had a herd of loose oranges and milk escaping from the bags I’d dropped.

  Why is he coming home? I was so happy at the thought of seeing him, but my heart was beating out of my chest with nerves. Five years, two months and three days. That’s how long we’d been apart. Five years, two months and three days. That’s how long I’d been thinking about him. Not that anyone was counting.

  What do I say to him? I needed more information. My most reliable source all these years had been his mother, Evelyn, my step-mother.

  “Hi Honey,” she sang out through the phone. Her voice was always so sweet and welcoming. I used to call her every weekend, but it dropped to once a month, if that, after my father passed away two years ago.

  “Billy is coming home?”

  “Oh good, he called you. I gave him your number. Isn’t it great news?”

  “Yes! It’s wonderful news. Soo … what’s bringing him here?” Please say something like, “Because he loves you and misses you.”

  “Goo-goo bought his company and they’re having a big meeting.”

  “Goo-goo?”

  “Or maybe it was Yoodle. Hmm … something like that.”

  “Google?” I asked as my voice cracked with excitement.

  “That sounds right. He made a car come out of a printer. Have you ever heard of such a thing? And they like his cloud. Did you know you can sell a cloud? I don’t understand all this stuff.”

  I released a loud laugh. “You must be talking about a 3D printer and cloud computing. It’s confusing to most people, myself included, so you’re in good company.”

  “I’ll stick to my pen and paper, thank you very much. Remember those games you would play together?”

  “I do. His programming skills were ahead of him time. You have a brilliant son.”

  “And you have a brilliant brother,” she said with a laugh. “It will be so nice to catch up with both of you in the same room again. I still have your prom picture hanging in the hallway. The two of you were so cute.”

  I felt my stomach drop and rushed out a lie to get off the phone. “Oh shoot. Someone’s at the door. I’ll see you soon.”

  “MWAH,” Evelyn kissed into the phone.

  I don’t know if it was the word brother or the fact that she brought up prom that caused the wave of nausea now washing over me. I dragged a chair over to the hallway closet and climbed up to reach the corner of a gold box peeking out from the top shelf. I lifted off the top and stared down at our faces smiling back from a pile of photos. I pulled out my favorite. It was strip of four images snapped in a booth at Adventure Park. I ran my thumb along each square remembering the moment my feelings for Billy – and our first kiss – had been captured on film.

  It was all very innocent. Everything about our first four years together was nothing but innocent. Billy and Evelyn joined our household at the start of 8th grade. We became best friends before the ink dried on their marriage certificate. Our birthdays were three weeks apart in March, so we decided to celebrate our 14th year with some family bonding over miniature golf and arcade games. I was thrilled to have a partner in crime. We ran from game to game, earning enough prize tickets for two matching rings with glowing alien heads and a ridiculous amount of taffy. This became our go-to place nearly every weekend.

  It only made sense for us to spend our 18th birthdays there as well. We scarfed down pizza and dreamed of attending Chico State together. Billy was accepted everywhere he applied, but made the decision to stick with me. I was determined to make a living with my artwork and Dad wasn’t going to help financially for “just an artsy fartsy” degree. Thank God Chico State was still within my reach with grants and loans.

  “You belong on the East Coast. I don’t want to hold you back,” I said.

  A look of sadness washed over him as he put down his pizza slice. “Being with my best friend would be holding me back?”

  “You’re so much smarter than I am. I just want you to take over the universe.”

  “I will … we will. You’re a lot smarter than you give yourself credit for.”

  “Whatever.”

  “It’s true! Plus, I don’t really enjoy myself when you’re not around, Sis.”

  The feeling was mutual. I was accustomed to hearing his voice bubbling with excitement over the latest tech news. I loved the way Irish Spring soap scented his skin and the towel hanging over the shower door every morning. I cheered each tiny hair that tried unsuccessfully to sprout on his baby face.

  “We need an 18th birthday picture,” he said as he grabbed my hand and pulled me towards the photo booth. We crammed our warm bodies onto the seat. The black screen reflected cheeks flushed from hours of air hockey. Our heads leaned together and Billy held up two fingers for bunny ears behind mine. Flash. Then he wrapped his arms around my neck and planted a kiss on my cheek. Flash. I puckered to return the favor, but at the last possible second, he turned his face and our lips met. My eyes were open wide with surprise. Flash. The final photo showed us still connected by the lips, but my eyes were closed and his hands were gripped around my arms, pulling me closer. Flash.

  It took a few moments for us to separate. I watched his throat as he swallowed hard before breaking the awkward silence. “Let’s see what we can get with our prize tickets.”

  I nodded and walked behind him, slowly rubbing my lips together. Did I just kiss my brother? STEPbrother, silly. STEPbrother. I wanted to kiss him again. Billy selected a glow-in-the-dark watch, bag of taffy, and some of those sticky spiders you throw on the wall and watch roll down in a jumble. He was already ripping open a piece of candy while I struggled to even focus on the prizes. I stared down at the photo strip. That just happened. The teenage worker sighed loudly as I tapped my fingers on the glass case. I saw a little octopus smiling up at me.

  “I’ll take the little purple octopus,” I said with a shrug.

  “Enjoy your massage kit,” she said with a smack of her gum.

  “You picked a vibrating octopus,” Billy said with a laugh.

  “I thought it was a toy figurine,” I clarified.

  “Sure you did. That’s why everyone buys massagers, so they can display them on a shelf.”

  I reached into the bag and pulle
d out the prize, examining the four curved arms with rounded ends. It was made in China like all the other trinkets shipped in bulk to fill our junk drawers. A tiny booklet taped to the bottom showed how to poke the tentacles into reflexology points around the body and which organs would be affected. I started to poke Billy in random spots.

  “Ow. What are you doing? Ow!”

  “I’m trying to make you fart your brains out.”

  “Just pull my finger,” he said as he grabbed the octopus from my hand. With a flip of a tiny black switch, the smiling purple face shook with a buzzzzzzz. He laughed and held it up to his chest. “Happyyyyy Birthdayyyyy Arielllll,” his voice shook.

  I took it back and held it up near my throat. “Werrreee adultsssss nowwww.”

  That night we sat in the kitchen eating chocolate birthday cake with mint and chip ice cream. I was happy to see him eat a little junk food since he was on the scrawny side. My father always said he would “grow into his feet,” which was something I normally associated with puppies. I pictured him as a Great Dane bounding down the street with feet that were twice the size of his body. We glanced at each other as we ate, smiling each time our eyes met. Did he feel what I felt? He didn’t pull his lips away. Evelyn rambled on about her day while my father sat by himself in front of the television watching a war program. The faint sounds of gunfire and explosions from the living room mingled with our chatter.

  We retreated to complete our homework, but I couldn’t concentrate. All I could think about was kissing him. Blame it on my addiction to the sex advice in Cosmopolitan or the proximity of my adorable stepbrother on the other side of the wall, but I often went to sleep fantasizing about him. One of my favorites starts with a stormy night and a power outage. We have to share the one and only flashlight in the house and end up between the sheets.

  Lately, though, the scent of that Irish Spring had made its way from the shower into my fantasies. They always started with him washing my hair. The excess soap drips down my back, begging to be rubbed around with his curious hands. He presses up against my back and reaches around to cup my breasts, massaging the flesh and presenting my hard nipples to the water raining down from the showerhead. This is when I usually slip my hand under the blankets and rub the outside of my panties, but now I had a new smiling purple friend that showed its happiness by vibrating with enthusiasm. I’m sorry little octopus. I know you thought you’d be touching sore shoulders.

  I placed one of his legs on my crotch and flipped the switch. The vibration caused my body to shudder with surprise. It only took a few seconds for my hips to respond, rhythmically grinding with the tempo of Billy’s hands in the shower. His hard cock was now rubbing against my ass and his hand was exploring my folds while his mouth nibbled on my ear. My sighs grew louder and faster as I rubbed the octopus harder and harder against my crotch. I was almost at the point of no return when I was interrupted by a knock-knock … knock-knock-knock on the wall behind me. Oh shit. Did he hear me? I normally respond with the usual double knock-knock, but I froze and hoped he’d think I was sleeping. I soon heard his feet pattering down the hall and stopping outside my door.

  He tapped lightly and whispered, “I know you’re not sleeping. Open up.”

  I tossed the massager under my bed and jumped up to answer the door. Billy looked so cute in his Superman T-shirt and striped pajama pants. “May I help you?” I asked.

  He leaned in and rested his shoulder on the doorframe. “I never pictured you as a lover of … tentacles,” he said with a smirk.

  “Oh, the massager?” I quickly moved my head around in circles and stretched from side to side. “Man, my neck feels so much better.”

  “Ahhh.” He nodded and crossed his arms. “I could hear through the wall that your neck is much happier.”

  I smacked his arm and tried not to laugh. “Funny coming from the guy who jerks off to comic books. Good night,” I said while closing the door.

  I started to walk away when the tapping started again. I faked a loud sigh and opened it just a crack. He pressed his face in and said, “For the record, I would never jizz on a comic book. That’s a sacrilege. Blasphemy!” He lowered his eyes and quickly added, “I use the Victoria’s Secret catalogs instead.” He made a silly face and escaped back to his room.

  I laughed remembering that night. Where is that little octopus anyway? I kept digging through the gold box. Our official prom photo was here too. Instead of the traditional pose with the male politely holding the female’s elbow as he stands behind her, we went with a cheek to cheek bear hug instead. We looked happy. Our smiles gave no hint as to what was in store for us later that night. I thought we were one of the most handsome couples of the evening. He wore his best Sunday suit and I wore a red Quinceañera dress purchased from the Salvation Army for $3.99. Evelyn chopped off its long, flowing ruffles and used them to add width so the dress would fit around my extra curvy form. My father thought dances were a waste of time and money and refused to increase her budget to allow for any new purchases. He underestimated her sewing skills and the amount of fabric actually included in a $3.99 Quinceañera dress. I remember finding it on the rack and thinking how lucky this girl must have been to have a father who thought frilly gowns were a necessary part of life.

  My father wasn’t a bad man. He was a former Marine who saw things as his way or no way. He did not waiver or bend the slightest inch away from “practical” or “productive.” Billy’s computer games, my love of painting and girly things, Evelyn’s unquenchable desire for bodice-ripper romances – all of these were a waste of time. His time, not ours … but only his time mattered.

  He met Evelyn in a bereavement support group after cancer took both my mother and Billy’s father. If they had waited maybe a year longer, they probably wouldn’t have gotten together. The loneliness blinded them to their obvious lack of compatibility and fear of returning to that same loneliness kept them together. When my father passed from a heart attack, Evelyn made it known she would never be married again. Can’t say I blamed her.

  I think my father loved her, but he always treated her like an afterthought. “Oh look, there’s Evelyn. Maybe she will make me dinner. Should I ask her if she’s had a good day? Nah, it’s just Evelyn.” She was always kind to me in spite of it all. I doubt she had much choice since every cell of her being was full of kindness. Billy shared her good-natured DNA and brought a light an easy air to our house when they moved in. He instantly made himself at home in the bean bags at the foot of my bed where we spent our afternoons laughing and finishing homework. I still had those bean bags. I couldn’t bear to part with them, having spent most of high school in them with Billy squished to my side.

  My father’s relationship with him was strained. I think it was really an Alpha male thing and he didn’t want another penis in the house, but Dad made it seem like it all came down to sports. Or Billy’s lack of interest in sports of any kind, really. “There goes Poindexter back to his computer,” he would say. Billy never responded to the taunts. He would just take out his frustration in a video game or create one with a Neanderthal-like father who gets punched in the face by Super Nerd.

  Billy was the best super nerd of them all. It was because of him that I had a successful web business selling customized T-shirts, cups and anything else my clients requested. We spent endless hours brushing elbows as he taught me web-page design and the best programs for expanding my artwork to more than just canvas. I loved the feel of his skin against mine and was happy to settle for a bony elbow.

  “Sis, I love your art … I really do, but I want you to think bigger. Think of the masses.” He would throw his hands out wide and raise his thick eyebrows for emphasis. Oh those eyebrows! When he laughed, it looked like two caterpillars were mating on his forehead. Their bushy thickness was wider than his scrawny arms.

  There was something about the way he leaned in and focused that made you feel as if the world had stopped around you. He was fascinated by people and their situations.
His hazel eyes rarely blinked as he listened to them explain how they got there and why they stayed there. If he had any skill, object or advice that would advance your position in life, his time was freely given without anything expected in return.

  The nausea hit me again as I thought of him. I put the photo box down and curled into a ball on the floor with my knees tucked under my stomach. If only Billy were here to rub my back like he did the last time I’d been in this position. Prom was three months after our 18th birthday. Tommy Griffin called the day before the dance to say he was sorry, but he didn’t want to take a fat chick and he hoped I’d understand and that we could stay friends – yadda … yadda … yadda.

  “You’re not fat,” Billy reassured me. “You have curves in all the right places and with your dark hair and blue eyes you look just like Wonder Woman.”

  “My fat would crash the invisible jet,” I cried.

  “Nonsense. Tommy obviously doesn’t have any mirrors in his fucking house. You are waaaaay out of his league.”

  I’d like to believe I was. Tommy’s skin was speckled with teenage acne and his body was built more like Homer Simpson with hips as wide as a female’s and a smaller upper body. He took one of the Japanese exchange students instead. When the photo catalog made the rounds at school, I laughed so hard at their picture I nearly wet myself. He was beaming behind her while she looked disgusted to even have him holding her elbow. Her look of horror was now frozen in time.

  We lied and said Tommy had the flu. My father would have beaten him to a pulp, but not before saying, “I told you so.” Billy helped curl my hair for the big night, since a visit to the salon was also not in the budget. It took him an hour to work his way through my long locks, partially because I kept asking him to fix strands and even destroyed a few curls while he wasn’t looking just so I could feel his hands a little longer. It was a dry version of my shower fantasy, but I loved every moment of it.

  He took periodic breaks to imitate Dad. I tried my hardest not to laugh as each jerk of my head caused him to graze my scalp with the hot iron. He placed a hand on one hip and pointed with the other. “Prom is a waste of time, Ariel. Daddy is always right,” he said with a deep voice.