1

Stepbrother

"Trust me, Annie, you're gonna like it here." Those are the first few words my mother gushes to me when she cuts the engine of our old Jeep Wrangler just outside of our brand new house. The second few being, "Believe me, I promise."

It's a sweltering 80 or more degrees outside, and just underneath the brim of her large sunhat, she's got her reassuring smile on; it's all teeth, eye crinkles, and forced enthusiasm. Completely not reassuring at all. Short, brown hair, just recently clipped underneath her ears, sway against her jawline and as she reaches up to remove her hat so that she can tuck it behind her ears, her thin wooden bangles fall down her arm.

It's nearly the middle of July; a Saturday afternoon. Which in some cases, could easily be music to someone's ears. A summer afternoon, lazy activities immeasurable. But in my case, this afternoon means anything but that. Especially since it's one that I've been dreading ever since my mother got engaged. Instead of hanging out at the pool or binge-watching every single episode of America's Next Top Model known to existence, here I was sitting outside of a new house, cities away from my hometown, getting ready to start a whole new life.

The word, upset doesn't even begin to fathom just how distressed I am.

We hadn't left much behind at our old house. A leaky kitchen sink, bedrooms so small it's a wonder I never developed claustrophobia, and a living room carpet that had a huge questionable stain smack dab in the middle; compliments of a previous owner. Mom says, wine spill. I say, the death of a dog. So really, it was nothing to go kicking and screaming about. It was just the mere fact that I had hardly any say that upset me. It was pretty much a take it or leave it, kind of deal.

Minus the leave it.

Stifling a frown, I turn away from her and continue scrolling through my iTunes music library on my iPad. From the time we had left our previous house to the time that we had gotten here, I had already bought two rom-com movies, pre-ordered two music albums, and purchased three new books that now that I'd thought about it, I would probably never even read. I was pretty sure I had used up all the money on my account, but anything was better than listening to what my mother had to say.

"This is a new start for us, Annie doll," she sighs, calling me by my childhood nickname. Her voice is softer and when she reaches over and gently squeezes my thigh, my heart thaws a bit. "I know how you can be sometimes, so just be nice okay? Andy is a great guy, and he's trying really hard to get you to like him." Then she turns the car off, and leans forward to peer out the windshield up at our new house; her arms folded over the top of the steering wheel. "It's beautiful, isn't it?"

Without answering, I let my brown eyes follow her gaze. And okay yeah, maybe I wasn't feeling my mom at the moment and maybe I was still supposed to be ignoring her, but she was right. The house is beautiful. In fact, the fresh white paint, carefully manicured lawn and the wide wraparound porch, completely overthrows the two bedroom apartment we had previously shared. It looked like something out of a Brady Bunch episode, and I have half the mind to look at the neighboring houses for an Alice, sweeping away at someone's stoop. Never in my life have I seen something so clean cut and ... suburban. My frown deepens. Of course, it's perfect.

Mom - 1, Annie - 0.

"Well, come on. Let's not keep him waiting any longer." My mother pulls the key from the ignition, slides the key ring down her pointer finger and pops open her door; walking around to the back of our truck where our U-Haul is attached to it.

For a brief minute, I actually consider staying in the car. In fact, maybe I could live here. I was completely capable of living on my own. The car had air conditioning, adjustable seats, music, and a car charger. I could listen to my newly bought songs, maybe even watch that movie I paid for, and hey, I still had a half pack of Skittles melting in my jeans pocket. I could definitely salvage those.

I smile to myself and settle back in my seat, my mind set on coming up with more of my mobile home plan. But then, the front door of the house swings open and in all his plaid button-up and khaki-wearing glory, my mom's fiancé steps out.

Mr. Brady himself.

Even on this heady humid July morning, he's still looking like the epitome of a newly-engaged man; tall, good looking, and ... excited? If he weren't so nerdy, he'd be incredibly scout worthy.

His name is Andrew Hemmings, and I've only met him a total of three times. Twice, past midnight in my kitchen while he and my mom sat at our kitchen table, drinking Costco wine out of my Star Wars collectible cups, their foreheads tilted together as they shared drunken conversation, and once when he'd shown up in the middle of my Sunday morning cartoon marathon to give me my personal invitation to their wedding. No snail mail here.

For a moment all I could do was stare. My mother was marrying that. This pale breadstick of a man was going to be my ... stepfather. Shaking my head free of any plans to live on my own, I force a smile onto my face and push open my door; stepping out into the heat of the afternoon. "Hi, Andrew."

"Anastasia, you made it!" He flashes me a bright smile, opens his arms, and pulls me into a hug; all too comfortable. I automatically hate him for using my full name. After a minute, I make a move to step back, but then his hands are cupping my shoulders and he's holding me back within his arm's length; blue eyes scaling my frame. "Whoa, someone got taller."

I'm not sure if it's a statement or a question, but I try not to huff in annoyance as I successfully break away from him, straightening my shirt out. For my mom's sake, I allow a brief laugh. "No, I don't think so. You can call me, Annie, you know? No one ever calls me Anastasia."

He taps his hand against the side of his temple with a smile. "Right, your mom mentioned. I'll keep that in mind, sorry." Then he looks over my shoulder, "In fact, where is your beautiful mother?"

"Back here!" On cue my mother appears, looking every bit of a domestic wife with a moving box cradled against her chest. I watch on in horror as Andrew wraps an arm around her shoulders and pulls her into his side for a kiss. On the outside, I'm not fazed (Go on, kiss, and look good doing it!), but on the inside, I want nothing more than to turn around and retch the remnants of my fast-food lunch onto the ground.

Dramatic, I know.

With a small giggle, Mom nudges her head into his chest playfully and turns to look at me; cheeks rosy, hair mussed. She looks like a thirteen-year-old girl with a schoolboy crush. "Do you want to go check out the house? Get settled into your new room, maybe?"

"Do I have a choice?" I grumble, mostly to myself. Trudging around to the back, I grab my carry-on bag and tuck my iPad away before hurrying up the walkway and into the house. Of course, the interior does not fail me. The inside is large and neat and the cool air that pulses from the vents surround me. Setting my bags down, I give myself a quick tour of the first floor. There are no improvised kitchenettes to judge or displaced Cosmopolitans stacking up on the living room table.

In fact, everything looks new and clean. Too clean. I furrow my eyebrows, susceptible. There was no way in hęll Andrew ever kept his house like this. Surely, a month living with us and he'll be back to his ways.

At first, the thought of moving into a new town and a new house seemed a bit frightening to me, but the more I scope out the beautiful house the more at ease I feel about the whole thing. I mean, if I didn't have any friends at least I had a gorgeous home. Deciding to go claim my room, I head upstairs.

There's a long hallway, doors on either side of the walls and I hesitantly push open the first door. Upon first glance, I realize that it's a bathroom. Dozens of hair products and different kinds of sprays and brushes lay scattered across the counter. I stare at them for a minute. Who knew Andrew was such a freak about his hair? Slightly amused, I close the door and go to open the next door.

Only, before my hand even touches the knob it comes swinging open on its own and I'm suddenly faced with someone carrying a box, a phone cradled in the crook of his shoulder. Despite myself, I scream, startled. I stumble backward clumsily, and the next thing I know, I'm backside down on Andrew's hardwood floors.

Damn it, Annie.

Fortunately, self-embarrassment is mutual because the person, a boy, however, is equally as surprised. The box he holds crashes to the floor, and records, CD's and notebooks loudly scatter around us.

"Šhit," he curses. Then, he clutches his cell phone, "Cal let me call you back."

I watch as he pockets it and drops to the floor, hurriedly picking things up and carefully placing them back into the box. While he does this, I take time to regain my breath; get a good, long look at him. Blonde hair falls in messy waves over his forehead, and he's dressed in a faded red flannel, with black jeans, and beat up Converse sneakers.

Our eyes meet.

His are a steely, cool blue and suddenly we're caught in an intense staring match as he gazes back at me with wild curiosity. I figure I should say something, or even call for my mom. But then he smiles a dazzling, winsome, all-teeth-showing, unguarded smile, and comments, "Sorry about that, are you alright?"

His voice is smooth and deep, revealing a hint of an accent, and I find myself blinking at him, unaware of what to say next. I nod.

"Do I know you?" His head tilts to the side, urging me to talk and when I don't, he lets out a soft laugh and shrugs his shoulders. Which, may I add, are incredibly broad. "I'd love to sit here and have a staring match with you, but I kinda have somewhere to be."

With that, he stands up straight and extends a long-fingered hand out to me. "Come on, let me help you." For some reason, when he says this it's almost as if he's incredibly amused at my position on the floor.

Ignoring him, I scramble to my feet on my own; irritation growing in on me. I swipe my hands over my bottom, and huff, "I can manage."

His hand retreats, "She speaks." It's a sarcastic statement, and as I watch him gently pull his bottom lip between his teeth, I notice that he has a lip ring. It's subtle; thin, black and okay, really sexy. I have to force myself to look away from it.

"Of course I d--" I hardly say, before the sound of my mother calling my name carries up the stairs, completely cutting me off.

"Annie doll, did you hurt yourself? What was that noise?"

I shake my head, even though she can't see me, and with my eyes still on the offending stranger, I open my mouth to yell back, "I'm fine, Mom! I uh, tripped, everything's alright!"

A ghost of a smile traces his lips as he tries to suppress his laughter, and as his blue eyes dart to the stairs, he has the nerve to repeat, "Annie doll?  Wait, why is your mom here? Who are you?"

An embarrassed blush blankets my cheeks and I angrily tuck a strand of my curly hair behind my ear, "Who are you?"

"Hey, I asked first." Leaning down, he gathers his box off the floor and shifts it to one arm. Then he lets out a dry chuckle, and nods. "I know who you are. Did Calum put you up to this? Because, I told him last week that I didn't want to have sęx with his neighbor. I mean, especially if you bought your mum along. I'm not into to that sh--"

My mouth drops open, completely taken aback by his lack of respect. "What did you just say?" I snap, disgusted. I angrily glance over my shoulder for any sign of my mom or Andrew, and when I don't see any I turn back to the stranger. "What are you doing here?"

But as he starts to talk, I look down at the box so comfortably fit under his arm, which obviously mine had to be mine and without even thinking, I reach forward and snatch it from his grip. "Is this mine? Why the hęll do you have my things?"

Eyebrows knit together and his eyes smolder. He does not look pleased. "First of all, this is my stuff." He takes a step towards me and grabs the box back, blinking down at me furiously, "What the hęll is wrong with you?"

And just like that all the frustration and anger that I had pent-up during the entire ride and past month comes rushing back to me. Shoving him hard in the chest, I push him back against his door and glare at him. "What the hęll is wrong with me? Rea--"

I'm cut off by sound of laughter. Turning my head, I glance over to where my mom is standing on the landing of the stairs, one hand clutching Andrew's non-existent bicep, the other up over her mouth.

"Anastasia, hey calm down!" Andrew calls, concerned.

My mother's head shakes in amusement, and she comments, "Andy, I owe you a dollar. The first impressions have indeed gone haywire."

"Told you we should've done this earlier," he says back.

"Claire?" The guy mutters. "What are you doing here? Dad, what's going on?"

I narrow my eyes at him. "Dad?" Then I turn to my mother, "Mom, how does he know your name? Do you know him?"

Andrew nods, "I think you might wanna tell them, Claire. And quickly, before they kill each other."

"You're right." Mom nods, stepping forward in our direction. Her brown eyes dabble back and forth between the stranger and me, and then she smiles slightly, "Yes, I know him, Annie. That's Luke, Andrew's son. He's gonna be your stepbrother."

Then, at the same time, we shout in unison, "Stepbrother?"

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AN - 50 reads for an update! Please spread the word about my book, I really hope it's gonna be a good one (: Vote and leave a comment to tell me what you think?