Chapter 1
Cali
Our first kiss ruined everything.
My stepbrother—Joshua, the tool—in an uncharacteristically cool moment, had deigned to help me with my three point shot. And since he was all state in high school, and now had a full ride to go to Duke in the fall, I put aside my disdain for him so I could soak up some of his tutelage.
I rolled my eyes when he made me jog three miles with him as a warm up. I practically bit my tongue off when he made me do sit-ups, jumping jacks, and pushups. Then he made me play him for over an hour in our driveway, a little hidden cul-de-sac wedged between the side of our house and the seven foot wooden privacy fence that separated us from our nosey neighbors.
The hoop was affixed to the garage at NCAA standards. Joshua’s dad, Paul, had even painted a three point arc, complete with the classic free throw line and everything.
We take basketball seriously in this family, if you hadn’t noticed.
The freaking sun was getting ready to set by the time we finally started working on my three point shot. I really wanted to slam the ball into my stepbrother’s pretty face, but my three point shot really did suck, and that alone was holding me back from being a starter for my team. As a sophomore, at the same school as my illustrious stepbrother—shivering in the shadow of his greatness—I was desperate to prove myself.
Joshua had me attempt a few throws before he began to impart wisdom and critique.
Only one throw even touched the rim.
He’d stripped off his t-shirt, flexing his powerful upper body: those pecs, those arms and shoulders…
I’d thought Joshua was a hottie when our parents tied the knot two years ago. But then he’d opened his mouth and ruined that. He was arrogant, opinionated, sexist, and a freaking jerk. Asshole was a good word for him too, but I didn’t like to curse… and my mom would have smacked me in the back of the head if I’d ever used that kind of language around her, “child abuse” or not.
I involuntarily rolled my eyes at his display of chiseled manliness.
And then I saw it, right where his sweats slid down that perfect V shape some guys get around their hips. The six-pack V.
A tattoo.
My mouth dropped open and I just pointed.
“Do mom and dad know about that?”
Joshua got this wicked grin on his face, and then made a show of pulling the waistband of his sweats down to show me the leering Blue Devil inked into the flesh right above his hipbone.
I had to smile.
“What if you flame out and get kicked off the team? That little guy will be kind of embarrassing, won’t it?”
Joshua looked into my eyes and for a moment I felt this pull… and I kinda forgot where I was.
“I’m not gonna get kicked off the team.” He snatched the basketball out of my hand effortlessly. “And even if I do, I can always get it removed or covered up with another tat.”
“You never answered my question, Joshy,” I knew he hated when I called him that. He endured my mom nicknaming him, but I was not so privileged. “Do mom and dad know about your little tattoo?”
“Dad took me himself,” Joshua said, beaming. Then he slid his hand down his washboard stomach and said, “The girl that did it said it was sexy.” There was that arrogant, self-satisfied look again.
I HAD to wipe it off his face.
“You were paying her,” I said. “She was just telling you what she thought you wanted to hear.”
The look on his face was still smug, but I’d seen the slight bulge of his eyes. I’d pressed the right button.
But not hard enough…
Even though I wanted—needed—to perfect my three point shot, that didn’t mean I wasn’t going to try and shoot my full-of-himself stepbrother down.
I took hold of the bottom of my t-shirt and hoisted it up, pulling it over my head and then tossing it to the side.
Joshua’s eyes bugged out and his mouth fell open.
I smiled.
I was wearing a sports bra—a pink one
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