"Mac, you just have to accept that you’re getting older," I say. All through college, I'd looked for a guy who would make me feel like Mac does. A guy I can have fun with, like I'm having right now, and they all came up short. Not that I never went out on a date and tried; I did. But they were wake-up calls, not the romance and fun that every woman wants. A wake-up call that brought home the fact that the guy I really want is standing right in front of me. "And that means losing strength in certain areas," I say, offering Mac my best pity look.
"Still strong enough to lay you over my lap, young lady," Mac says, using his older brother tone. I believe that is why he moved back in after the funeral. A sense of responsibility toward his younger stepsister, a wish to provide me with a father figure in my life. If only he knew I want him to be something very different. "Maybe that is where I fell short. Being too soft and indulgent. Then again, maybe you are not too old to be put straight with a firm spanking that I obviously should have handed out years ago."
I wish! Just the thought of the flat of his hand hitting my bare ass is enough to send my pink snatch into drooling mode. "Denial," I mumble with a tremble to my voice that betrays my excitement. Self-aware that the blush that is spreading, I move to his side and pretend to be scanning the crowd, hooking my arm through his and rattling on just to distract myself from my own feelings. "You'd be surprised how many guys your age wear a diaper, Mac."
"Amelia!"
"But if you must insist on running the risk of you-know-what," I say, proud to be walking next to the hottest guy in a million mile radius, "you just let me know when you need a potty break."
Mac
"You just remember who is driving you home, young lady," I say, hiding my amusement to stay in character. We started this cajoling act virtually the moment we met and it never stopped being fun.
"Mac?"
"Yes?"
"Did you know that you don't look a day older than, say, twenty-one?" Amelia says, emphasizing each word to express how utterly amazed she is.
"Eheh."
"I mean, really," Amelia gushes. From the corner of my eye, I watch her look up at me with those big blue eyes of hers, and the sight of her beauty and the warmth she emanates goes straight to my heart. I should be used to it by now, but I know I never will be. The blush on her cheeks makes me want to lean over and kiss her. Then I'd move to base of her slender neck and slowly move all the way up to her chin, a trail of kisses left in my wake, only to claim the biggest prize of all: the lips that I can never look at without love and lust breaking to the surface. But that is just a daydream, and I know it will never happen. Looking away, I try to relax as the frustration and pain, which are both old companions by now, make me clench my jaw.
Good thing I took care of business after the ceremony, feeling like a teenager, or I'd be in trouble now. "When I was on stage and saw you? Seriously, Mac? I swear, my first thought was, "Who is that amazinglyhot guy?"
"Shows you need glasses," I say, but I’m secretly pleased. Not that it changes things, but the idea of my stepsister thinking of me as hot doesn't hurt my pride.
"Honest to God truth, Mac. Hottest guy ever! Not a day older than twenty-one, if that."
"Amelia? You're overdoing it."
"You are hurting my feelings, Mac," Amelia says, fake wiping away the crocodile tears she pretends to shed. "Really, I'm hurting over here."
"Right," I say, smiling despite the heartache that I have to hide. "You'll go on like that and you'll war those tear-tubs out before the year is over."
"Shit!"
Turning my head, I see Amelia with a frustrated look on her face."What?"
"I forgot my purse," she says, already disengaging her arm and moving away. "You just go ahead, Mac. I'll be right there." Before I can object she is off, and I'm left standing there watching her long legs and the ass that as a teen I'd have killed for, her walk gracious and smooth.
Watching her walk away, the impulse to go after her is strong, and my muscles tense, ready to propel my body forward in her direction like a predator goes after its prey; my willpower is the only thing that is keeping me back from grabbing her tight and tearing her clothes off. I want to explore every inch of her body with my hands and tongue and lips. To devour her whole.
Shaking my head, I release a deep sigh and look away. I often wonder what my life would be like if I had never met her. Or maybe if I'd met her under different circumstances, not as my stepsister but a woman available to date.
Amelia
Slightly out of breath after running, I open the exit door only to be hit by the last thing I expected to see. "Mac!" I scream, rushing over. Mac is sprawled on the pavement on his back, his face a mask of pain that I can tell he is bravely trying to fake isn't there for my sake.
"I'm fine," he lies bravely through clenched teeth.
"Don't move," I say, my eyes searching for external wounds and my hands hesitating to take action. "Did anyone call for an ambulance?" I yell. A short and pleasant looking woman in her forties, looking as concerned as I feel, tells me she did.
"I saw him slip and tumble down the stairs," she adds.
"I guess I must really be getting old, to trip over my own two feet," Mac says, forcing a
smile that is just painful to look at as his grimace.
The wait for the ambulance seems to go on forever, but once it arrives everything goes by in a flash. The ride to the hospital. Seeing Mac, who never stops pretending he's never been better, being rolled away to the OR. The long wait that follows. Fuelled by worries and green tea, I pace non-stop in the waiting area until the doctor shows up with a smile that tells me everything will be fine.
After two days at the hospital, I can take Mac home; he has a fractured right shoulder and lower left leg, and a slight concussion. The doctors tell him to take it easy. Easy means staying on his back and resting; not something Mac is particularly good at. But it is still a far cry better than the doom scenarios that ran through my head during the long wait.
"Told you, Mac," I say, after installing him in his bedroom. It is a spacious room with light decor and French doors that open up to a garden in full bloom; a sea of roses that Mom and I planted together decorating the view. "You are getting older."
The look he gives me is not amused, but I'm only too pleased to have him home safe and sound, if slightly broken in a few places. Relieved he'll be good as new in no time. At the same time, seeing him helpless like I've never seen him before—in his bed during the afternoon, with sunlight streaming in, wearing a hospital gown, a thin blanket covering that powerful body of his that I'd love to touch all over—it strikes a sensitive chord, emphasizing the feelings that have been brewing for what feels like forever.
"I never told you, but I can see the future," Mac says. As grumpy as he sounds, I can tell he is secretly pleased too. But it is obvious that he isn't enjoying the helplessness that he'll have to deal with while he's on the mend.
"Oh really," I say, in my nurse voice, offering my most concerned look. Sitting down at his side, I place my hand on his chest, thrill and excitement shooting through me when I feel the thick muscles tense. "The future, sir?"