Stepbrother Broken (The Hawthorne Brothers Book 2) Page 3

  “Do you know a place?” he asks.

  “Not really,” I shrug, “But I’m sure we can find something. Come on. Be a grownup with me!”

  “All right, fine,” Danny sighs, “But if we accidentally end up in a serial killer’s basement or a furry convention or something, it’s on you.”

  “I can live with that,” I assure him, “Nothing could be worse than another undergrad party.”

  Danny and I part ways to go change for our big night out, each of us heading off to our own dorm rooms. If our school had co-ed dorms, we’d definitely be roommates by now. But I guess that’ll have to wait until we’re living the dream in New York City together. And by “dream” I mean sharing a tiny shoebox apartment, working four restaurant jobs each, and maybe getting to audition for something once a month, of course.

  My actual roommate, a very quiet bio major named Kim, doesn’t seem to be home—which means I get to blast my music as I get ready for tonight. I plop down in front of my laptop and put on some MGMT, singing along as I give my social media pages and email a cursory once-over. Just as I’m about to close my laptop and get dressed, a new message pops up in my inbox. It’s from an address I’ve never seen before, and the subject line simply reads: “Re: Our Conversation”. I click on the email absentmindedly and begin to read…

  Hey Sophie,

  I wanted to follow up with you after our conversation yesterday afternoon. It wasn’t my intention to discourage you. I do think that you’re a very promising student, but I also feel that it’s my responsibility as your teacher to hold you to the standard of excellence, I’m sure you can meet if you put your mind to it. I know that your heart is set on performing at this point in your life, but I urge you to keep an open mind. Based on the assignments that you actually turned in for my class, and your contributions to our classroom discussions (however rare they may have been), I can tell you have a sharp, entrepreneurial intellect. Don’t let it go to waste.

  Best,

  Lukas Hawthorne

  I sit back in my desk chair, fuming as I stare at Luke’s message. How can one person be so simultaneously aggravating and encouraging? So condescending while voicing a vote of confidence? One thing is for sure. I don’t have the time to parse Luke’s intentions for writing this little note before happy hour is over. Instead of replying to my esteemed professor, I forward his note to Danny, including a few thoughts of my own:

  Can you believe this prick? I may have spent every one of his lectures fantasizing about him nailing me to the wall and fucking me dirty, but this is too much. Someone needs to finally leave Sheridan and get his ass handed to him in the real world before doling out life advice, am I right?

  Satisfied with my retort, I crank the music up even louder and get down to business. It isn’t often I get excited about going out around here, but I have a feeling tonight’s going to be one for the books. And I, for one, intend to look awesome for it.

  ***

  “Here it is,” I breathe, grabbing Danny’s arm as our cab rolls to a stop.

  “Are you kidding me?” he says flatly, squinting through the car window.

  “What? So it’s a little edgier than the places we usually go…”

  “A butter knife is edgy,” Danny hisses, “This place looks fucking dangerous.”

  Our cab is idling in front of a long, low building, with a rough-hewn wooden exterior and corrugated tin roof. A sign above the door proudly proclaims that the establishment is called The Bear Trap. A quick internet search of nearby dive bars led Danny and I to its door, though one of us seems far more enthusiastic about this little plan now that we’re here.

  “I’m sure it’ll be fine,” I assure Danny, handing the cab driver his money and stepping out onto the curb.

  “Maybe for you,” he mopes, standing beside me as the car pulls away. “You’re a smoking hot babe. I get the feeling that this place may not be as hospitable to pretty boys like myself.”

  “Then you’ll just have to stick with me, won’t you?” I smile, lacing my fingers encouragingly though Danny’s.

  His outfit for tonight does skew a little more glam than usual, though mine is more in the grungy direction. While Danny rocks his black skinny jeans, I’ve chosen a vibrant red miniskirt and white crop top for tonight’s festivities. My caramel blonde hair hangs long and tousled down my bare back, and I’ve got my best pair of black stilettos on to boot. I’ve spent of my time at drama school wearing nothing but leggings and tee shirts, so any excuse to dress up a little is one I’ll gladly take.

  “We can stay for a couple rounds, max,” Danny relents, turning toward The Bear Trap, “But then it’s back to our safe little Sheridan bubble, OK?”

  “How the hell are you going to survive New York if you can’t even handle a little Montana dive bar for one night?” I laugh.

  “Are you kidding? I’ll be among my people in New York,” Danny replies, “It’s the good old country boys that worry me.”

  “Relax,” I tell him, heading for the door, “Everything’s gonna be just fine.”

  A wall of sound slams into us as I wrench open The Bear Trap’s door. For a moment, I’m almost too stunned to take another step. The bar is full of rowdy locals, clustered around scuffed tables and along the long wooden bar. Hard country rock blares over the sound system, and the crowd is a sea of denim and leather. The men sport baseball caps and bulging muscles, the women rock tight jeans and bottle blonde hair. Danny rolls his eyes as he surveys the patrons.

  “Well, at least there’s enough leather for my taste,” he remarks flatly.

  “A bar’s a bar, right?” I yell back over the rollicking music, “Let’s make like the locals and pound a few back.”

  “I’m gonna need more than a few to get over this music,” Danny replies, making for the bar.

  “What? You don’t like country?” I grin.

  “I’m not even going to dignify that with a response,” he glares back at me.

  We sidle up to the bar, squeezing between the sardined bodies of regular customers. I catch the bartender’s eye first and call out our order for two gin and tonics. The bartender looks at me a little skeptically—I get the feeling this is more of a PBR and whiskey joint—but furnishes us with our first round all the same. With my cold cocktail in hand, I finally feel like I can relax and get a feel for this place. Two barstools open up, and I settle into one beside Danny. Sipping my drink, I turn to give The Bear Trap (and its male patrons) a little once over.

  My eyes sweep over most of the guys here without pause. Trucker hats and bad mustaches are both deal breakers for me, alas. But as I lean around Danny to check out the other end of the bar, my gaze comes to a screeching halt as it alights on a very familiar face. A face I’d never expect to see in a place like this. The sculpted, arresting face of one, Luke Hawthorne.

  “What the hell?!” I breathe, hiding behind Danny at once.

  “What? What’s the matter?” my friend asks, baffled by my behavior.

  “Don’t look,” I caution him, “But that guy down at the end of the bar, with the short brown hair and the sexy stubble? That’s Luke.”

  “Who?”

  “Professor Sexy Pants,” I hiss.

  “What?! Oh my god, where?!” Danny crows, whipping around in his seat.

  “Danny! I told you not to look!” I breathe, grabbing hold of my friend’s arm.

  “Goddamn, Sophie. You weren’t kidding,” Danny whistles, “That is one fine specimen of a man, right there.”

  Despite my better judgment, I peer around Danny to get a second look. Luke is standing along the far side of the bar, leaning up against the rough wooden surface. But even though I’d recognize that sharp jaw and those dark green eyes anywhere, I almost can’t believe that this is the same man who’s been lecturing me about the economy for the past couple of months.

  Gone are the professional slacks and button downs I’ve grown accustomed to seeing him in. Gone are the nice shoes, the laptop, the stacks of graded pa
pers. Tonight, Luke’s barely recognizable in a dark gray tee shirt and dark wash jeans, cut perfectly to his chiseled chest and sculpted ass. His chestnut brown hair is just the right kind of tousled, and even the stubble on his jaw seems darker than it was yesterday. But it isn’t just his clothes that have changed since our run-in after class. His entire demeanor is different. He’s dropped the upright school hero act entirely. His stance is easy and confident, his body relaxed and supple. Every one of his perfect muscles seems rested and ready for action…of any variety. This assured everyman is even more appealing to me than the high and mighty golden boy I’ve always known Luke to be. Just when I thought he couldn’t get any more intriguing…

  “Are you gonna go talk to him?” Danny asks excitedly.

  “No way. Absolutely not,” I say, trying to sound firmer in my convictions that I feel.

  “And why the hell not?” Danny presses, “Are you still mad about that little after school chat? He probably just wanted you to stick around so he could check out your tits in that black spandex.”

  “The chat was one thing,” I say, “But that little note he followed up with? That was too much.”

  “What note was that?” Danny asks, cocking his head.

  “The email,” I clarify, “I sent it to you.”

  “No you didn’t,” Danny replies.

  “Sure I did. Right after I read it. Luke sent over some little ditty about how I should consider other career paths so I don’t squander my potential,” I say, rolling my eyes.

  “This is news to me,” Danny says, “Are you sure you sent it to the right address?”

  “Of course,” I tell him, “It’s not my fault you only check your email once a week, you Luddite.”

  “I’m an artist,” Danny shrugs, “I’m allowed to be a Luddite. But you are not allowed to leave here without talking to Professor Sexy Pants.”

  “I already told you, I’m not interested,” I say, lying through my teeth.

  “But fate has brought you together!” Danny whines, wrapping his arms around my waist, “On what other occasion would we find ourselves in a shit hole like this?” He pauses to mouth “I’m sorry” to the scowling bartender before going on, “It’s totally meant to be, my dear.”

  “I assure you, Luke wouldn’t agree,” I tell my friend, prying his arms from around me, “Now for the love of god, would you please drop it?”

  Danny’s eyes gleam with mischief as he turns away from me in a huff. Relieved, I lift my glass and take a big swig of my gin and tonic. But before I can swallow properly, Danny’s cupped his hands around his mouth and screamed across the bar—

  “Hey-a, Luke!”

  I promptly choke on my mouthful of gin as Danny hops off his stool, clearing Luke’s sightline and scampering off into the crowd. I feel Luke’s eyes before I see them, raking hotly along my bare skin. Struggling to compose myself, I lift my gaze and look warily across the bar…but there’s no one looking back. Luke’s disappeared from his spot. Is he avoiding me completely now? I guess I can’t blame him for not wanted to see a student at the bar, but—

  “You really shouldn’t drink alone, you know,” a rich voice says from over my shoulder.

  I whip around to see Luke Hawthorne settling down onto the barstool beside mine. Is that excitement I feel at seeing him, or trepidation?

  “You’re full of advice, aren’t you?” I say to him, playing it cool. Who says there aren’t practical applications for an acting degree? I knock back the rest of my drink in one big gulp.

  “Let me buy you another,” Luke says, signaling for the bartender. He’s not asking, he’s telling.

  “Isn’t there some kind of rule against fraternizing with students?” I ask him.

  “You’re not technically my student, according to Sheridan. I was just filling in for an old mentor. And besides, as of this afternoon, my class is over,” he reminds me.

  “Lucky me,” I reply, averting my eyes from Luke’s intense gaze.

  “Lucky is right,” he grins, as the bartender sets two new drinks down in front of us.

  I take a healthy sip from my replenished glass, baffled by this new version of Luke Hawthorne. This effortlessly cool bad boy thing of his is totally working for me, and so is the way he’s looking at me right now. But I can’t let him know that. Not just yet. We’ve still got a few things to sort out before I let my guard down, here.

  “So what’s with the getup?” I ask him, raising an eyebrow.

  “The getup?” he asks, amused.

  “Yeah. I thought your style was Grad school Ken,” I shoot back.

  “Oh, you were a fan of the collared shirts?” he grins back at me, taking a sip of his bourbon.

  “Not exactly,” I reply, “This is just…not a side of you I’ve seen before.”

  “Well, when have you seen me outside of the classroom?” he asks.

  “Just on every Sheridan brochure I’ve ever flipped through,” I tease him.

  He groans at the jab, shaking his head.

  “Touche,” he says, “I should have known that my reputation would precede me.”

  “And then some,” I reply, sipping my drink.

  “Oh yeah?” he says, resting his forearms on the bar, just inches from my own. I feel the air between us spark with tension. “What else have you heard about me?”

  “I’ve heard…that you’re some kind of iron man when it comes to sports,” I reply, ticking off his attributes on my fingers, “I’ve heard that you’re super smart at whatever number crunching it is you’re so fond of. And…I’ve heard that you’ve got a new lady friend hanging on your arm every other week.”

  His green eyes gleam rakishly in the dim light of the bar. “Well, I guess I can’t exactly refute any of that…” he grins. “But there’s a bit more to me than you’ll see on the front of a brochure.”

  “Oh, I don’t doubt it,” I reply, my voice dipping low in my register as Luke shifts his body closer to mine.

  “I have to say, I don’t mind seeing your after-school side either,” he goes on, giving me a long, intent once-over. I can feel trails of heat skirt across my skin as his eyes travel along my body.

  “Oh yeah?” I breathe. It’s all I can think to say.

  “Yeah,” he smiles, letting his arm brush against mine on the bar. “But I’m curious…How is it you ended up at The Bear Trap tonight, Sophia?”

  “You can call me Sophie,” I say, edging closer toward him. “And I’m here because I couldn’t stomach one more college party this year, to be honest.”

  “Is that so?” Luke asks, his grin widening.

  “It is,” I reply, swinging my body around so that our knees touch beneath the bar. With every tiny graze, electricity sears through my nerves, ricocheting around my body like a lightning strike.

  “Funny that you’d pick a place like this,” Luke goes on, glancing around the bar, “It doesn’t exactly seem like your scene.”

  “Until tonight, I’d say the same to you,” I point out. “What, does this place have a ‘no drama majors’ policy or something?”

  “I’m just wondering if you didn’t have an ulterior motive, showing up at my favorite bar,” Luke says, fixing me with his intense gaze.

  I don’t know if it’s the gin, or the noise, or the closeness of Luke’s face to mine that has my head spinning. But I do know that he’s lost me, here.

  “First off, I didn’t know this was your favorite bar,” I tell him, “And secondly, what ulterior motive might I have in mind, Luke?”

  “Oh, I don’t know if I should say…” he shrugs, taking a swig of his drink, “Come to think of it, I probably need to leave Sheridan and get my ass handed to me in the real world before doling out any more life advice…Am I right? Don’t want to sound like a prick, here.”

  I have to grab hold of the bar to keep from toppling over as Luke’s words hit me in the gut. He’s quoting my own words back to me, repeating the message I sent Danny earlier this evening, in response to his own email. M
y breath lodges itself in my throat as I realize my mistake. And Luke lets out a bark of laughter as he watches me realize…

  “I think someone hit ‘reply’ when she meant to hit ‘forward’,” he laughs, reaching to lay a hand on mine. But I yank my hand away before he can touch me, hiding my trembling fingers in my lap. Luke’s brow furrows as I shut him down. “Hey, Sophie…Don’t be embarrassed. It’s not a big—”

  “I have to go,” I say quickly, picking myself up from the barstool, “Thanks for the drink, but—”

  “Hey, come on…” he says, standing up beside me, “It’s not a big deal. I’m actually—”

  But I don’t stick around to hear what he has to say. I take off across the crowded bar, ducking and weaving around countless boozed-up locals. Humiliation colors my cheeks bright red as I dash away from Luke. How could I have been so stupid? Now he knows exactly how much I’ve wanted him all semester. He must think I’m a ridiculous little schoolgirl with a crush, for god’s sake.

  I catch a glimpse of Danny’s amber hair by the front door. He’s standing very close to a strapping young bloke, already deep in conversation. Knowing full well that I’m being the Queen of Cock Blocks, I rush up to my friend, flustered and panting.

  “Danny, we have to go,” I breathe, shoving my mess of blonde hair out of my face.

  “What happened to you?” Danny asks, cocking an eyebrow.

  “Nothing. I. It’s just…Can we please get out of here?” I plead, “I just made a huge ass of myself in front of Luke, and—”

  “Ooh, this sounds good,” says Danny’s new friend, turning his attention to me.

  “How did you already mess things up with Luke?” Danny demands, “I leave you alone for three minutes, and—”

  “That email I meant to send you? About how I want Luke to fuck me dirty? I sent it to him,” I say in a rush.

  Danny and his friend both clap a hand to their mouths, their eyes going wide in unison.