Hooked: A Stepbrother Romance by Iris Parker Read Free Book Online Page A

and I swallowed hard.
    Then I became aware of myself , the way that every little move I made suddenly felt deeply incriminating. Was I making too much eye contact? Not enough? Dammit, I needed to pull myself together. Neither bizarre jealousy nor lust had any place in the professional relationship we’d been slowly building over the weeks.
    “Are you ready?” he asked, and I couldn’t tell if the suspicion in his voice was real or entirely my own imagination.
    “For?” I stammered, and the look of utter confusion on his face finally snapped me back to my senses. Today was the first game for both of our teams, two back-to-back matches that heralded the proper beginning of the season.
    “Sorry, just a bit nervous. Yeah, I’m ready,” I finally answered.
    “That makes two of us,” he said softly, and for some insane reason, I actually believed him. Never mind that he was a professional player who’d faced off against the best teams in the world. Somehow, in that moment, it seemed perfectly plausible that he actually cared about the fate of a bunch of amateurs who’d barely even heard of rugby a month ago.
    Imagine that. The same bastard who had terrorized my teen years with his incessant bullying. Somehow, he actually cared about a bunch of poor kids and our dilapidated little rec center.
    He’d grown a heart.
    Somehow, he’d grown in my heart, too.
    I needed air. Fresh air. Clean air. Air that wasn’t tainted by the smell of his sweat. Air that didn’t make my stomach rumble when I got a whiff of the muffins he’d brought me from Johnnie's this morning, the same as he’d brought every morning.
    What was this? Lust? Longing? An elaborate, cruel joke from my subconscious to make me hurt myself?
    It was bullshit, that’s what it was.
    With one last furtive glance at Simon, I grabbed the bag of muffins and left the room.  
    “Let’s go sort the gear we need for the match,” I said, faking merriness and trying to forget the image I’d just seen. He’d been running his hand through his dark hair, looking at once like a competent professional and an excited kid. A youthful, happy expression I’d never seen him with when he actually was a kid.
    Oh, man, was I in deep shit.

    Who does she think she is?
    Who the fuck does she think she is?
    Like she can just be nice to me.
    Like she can forgive me.
    Oh, fuck her.
    She’s going to learn I’m unforgivable.
    I’ll make her pay.

The players began trickling in a little before one, just in time for me to lead them through a set of warm up exercises while Simon generated a little pre-game excitement and bloodlust. Once everyone was sufficiently limber — and rabid — Simon sent them off to West Field.
    Everyone cheered, rushing out of the rec center with all the enthusiasm of a monsoon.
    It was an inspiring sight. So inspiring, in fact, that it took me a second to remember the game wasn’t at West Field.
    “Why did you do that?” I asked, staring at Simon in confusion.
    “You look fucking adorable right now, you know,” he laughed.
    “It’s in the wrong direction, you know,” I said testily. This was more like the Simon I remembered from before. “It’s hot, and they’re running. By the time they get there, realize the mistake, come back, and hurry to the right place, they’re going to be exhausted.”
    “Sorry, sorry,” he said, noting my tone. “I thought you knew. You didn’t go to Johnnie’s this morning?”
    I shook my head.
    “Well, come on then!” he said with a grin, jogging towards the exit and gesturing for me to follow.
    By the time we made it to the field, everything clicked.
    A bus.
    He’d rented a bus.
    A nice bus, I realized, as we stepped inside. The seats were upholstered in soft leather, and the air conditioning was a frigid relief from the summer heat. There was even a bathroom in the back, fully functional with running water.
    “This is insane,” I whispered to him over the din of our teams. “The game is practically