Just Between Us: MMF Bisexual Romance Page 2

  Don’t mix unrequited love and tequila, friends.

  “I’ve got it,” I hear a feminine voice call as footsteps approach.

  The voice sounds too young to be his mother, so I assume it must be the stepsister. The last time he saw her, Jackson had told me that the girl was this angsty little goth girl who spent most of her time holed up in her bedroom.

  The door swings open and to my shock, I’m face-to-face with the hot girl from the airport, Veronica.

  She looks equally stunned to see me, her big brown eyes going wide. “What the fuck, how did you find my address?” she asks, backing away from me.

  I hold up my hands in a gesture of innocence. “I swear, I didn’t know this was your house, I’m here to see my friend, the one I was at the airport for.”

  She stops in her tracks. “Oh, dear lord,” she groans, “You’re friends with Jackson?”

  “Um, yeah, is that a problem?” I ask, wondering how the hell she knows him.

  Oh, fuck, is this a girlfriend or something that he hasn’t told me about?

  “Might make things a little weird. I’m his, uh, stepsister,” she says awkwardly, stumbling over the word.

  Well, it looks like the goth thing was only a phase for her, as she’s currently wearing a floral-patterned sundress that showcases her flawless curves and her face is done up with soft, natural looking makeup. But suddenly I remember Jackson mentioning that his stepsister’s name was Veronica and I feel like an idiot for not piecing it together sooner.

  “I mean, it doesn’t have to make things weird,” I say, trying to salvage things, “It just means we have sort of a…pre-date, to get to know each other even before we go out.”

  Veronica looks skeptical, but before she can speak again, Jackson appears at her back and my pulse races. “Trevor, hey,” he says, his eyes searching my face.

  “Hey, man, long time no see,” I say with forced cheer.

  It sounds forced, even to my own ears, but my heart feels like it’s trying to leap out of my chest at the sight of him and it’s fucking with my head. I’d been trying to convince myself that the kiss was just a drunken slip-up, but as soon as I lay eyes on him, I know it’s deeper than that.

  Which scares the hell out of me.

  But the forced cheer coaxes a weak smile out of Jackson and he rolls with it. “Come on in,” he says, gesturing.

  Veronica opens the door wider so I can enter, and I brush past her.

  My mind is racing. I was attracted to Veronica, she was fucking stunning, it was why I’d asked her out. But just laying eyes on Jackson again is enough to leave me confused and conflicted again.

  It’s why I fucked off after the kiss. I’ve always dated women, I’ve never even been attracted to another man. Just Jackson.

  Maybe it’s because he’s my best friend and I’m just blurring some weird line between friendship and more. That could happen to anyone, right?

  Or I’m just delusional.

  Jackson leads me inside and introduces me to his dad. It feels weird, that we’ve been friends for so long and I’ve never met this whole half of his family. But I mean, he barely knows them either.

  I’d known his mom, though. She’d always treated me like one of her own, she was a great lady.

  But his dad seems nice enough. Keith looks a lot like an older Jackson with a beard and a beer belly slapped on, and his demeanor is jovial and friendly.

  Linda, Veronica’s mother, is also sweet, if a little high-strung. But as long as I continue to use coasters, I think I’ll be safe.

  “Dinner will be ready in about twenty minutes,” she informs us, “Why don’t you all go have a seat in the living room?”

  Keith leads us into the other room and to my horror, Jackson takes a seat on one end of the couch and Veronica on the other. For a brief moment, I wonder if I could sit in the armchair, but I don’t want to be weird.

  So I sit between them. The sweet scent of Veronica’s perfume wafts over me, the same scent that intoxicated me when I collided with her at the airport. But layered underneath it is the deep, spicy musk of Jackson’s aftershave.

  The combination is fucking lethal. Blood is rapidly draining south and I force myself to think of spiders, mold, anything gross that pops into my brain. It feels like being a damn teenager again.

  “Trev?” Jackson’s voice stirs me out of my thoughts and I realize that everyone is looking at me.

  “Um, sorry, what was that?”

  “Would you like something to drink?” Keith asks, “Beer, wine, soda?”

  “Uh, just water would be great.”

  “So, do you guys know each other or something?” Jackson asks as Keith leaves to go get drinks for us.

  “Kind of, we met at the-“

  “Grocery store,” I interject quickly, cutting Veronica off.

  She flashes me a confused look and I plead with my eyes. To my relief, she rolls with it.

  It’s stupid, but I don’t want Jackson to find out I was rushing to meet him at the airport. It feels…desperate. Especially since I didn’t even bother to stick around and actually greet him.

  “I practically ran over the poor thing the other day. We got to talking, and we’re uh, actually going out tomorrow night,” I explain with a chuckle.

  Jackson lifts an eyebrow. “Oh.”

  “Is that going to be a problem?” I ask before I can stop myself.

  “Well, I mean-“

  “Why would it be?” Veronica interjects, and I hear a bristly undercurrent to her voice.

  When I turn to look at her, there’s something angry and challenging in her gaze. “Just because our parents are married doesn’t mean he has any kind of authority over me.”

  “I didn’t mean it like that,” I reply, “I just meant that he and I have been friends a long time and I don’t want things to be weird…”

  “I thought you were the one who already said it wouldn’t be,” she counters.

  “Look, it’s fine,” Jackson interjects, “Really, it’s not weird. Veronica is right, I don’t have any kind of power over her love life or anything.”

  “I just didn’t want to incur the wrath of the big brother or anything,” I say, trying to lighten the mood with a little joke, but Veronica snorts in response

  “No offense to Jackson, but he’s not my “big brother,” he’s a guy who happens to be related to my stepdad.”

  “No offense taken,” Jackson says easily, “Honestly, I feel like I’ve gotten to know telemarketers better than I’ve gotten to know you.”

  It almost sounds like a subtle insult, but to my surprise, Veronica barks out a laugh. “Ok, that’s valid.”

  The chuckle that rumbles out of Jackson feels like the sun breaking through the clouds on a rainy day, and when Keith returns from the kitchen, carefully balancing several glasses, he returns to a significantly less stiff and frosty room.

  We sink into an easy conversation with Keith about hockey, his sport of choice. Neither Jackson or I are huge sports guys, but we know enough to keep things going. But the conversation definitely flows more smoothly when the topic shifts to movies and Veronica starts to chime in.

  Time actually kind of starts to fly, and before I know it, Linda pops into the doorway. “Dinner’s ready,” she calls in a singsong.

  The four of us migrate into the dining room. Overall, it’s not the reunion I was expecting to have with Jackson, but maybe it’s easier. With the rest of his family there as a buffer, there’s no room for things to lapse into awkwardness, or for that night to come up.

  I’ve spent countless hours trying to think of what to say if Jackson asks about it, but I’ve got nothing. No answers for him, or for myself, and it’s wearing on me.

  But at least it looks like tonight, I’m in the clear. I know procrastination doesn’t improve anything, but unfortunately, it’s never stopped me.

  Chapter 4

  Veronica

  I should cancel. I know I should. For all my grandstanding last night,
I know this will probably be weird. Even if I don’t see the “big brother thing,” I feel like maybe now that’s all Trevor will be able to focus on. I get the impression there’s some sort of unspoken “Bro code” rule against dating a little sister.

  But I’m determined to give this a shot. I haven’t been out on a date in a really long time, and honestly, I just want to go have a little fun.

  Especially after the afternoon I’ve had. Even though Trevor obviously knows where I live now, I still opted to go with the plan to have him pick me up from the library, because I really did need to do some studying for an upcoming exam.

  So after an afternoon of cramming, the idea of a night out sounds like just what I need. I’m waiting outside, watching for the sleek blue sports car that had been parked in our driveway last night.

  Right on time, it pulls up. A little thrill of excitement ripples through me, even as it’s chased by nervous butterflies. I let myself in and slip into the passenger seat. “Well, aren’t you punctual?” I remark.

  He shrugs. “I think waiting is kind of a universally hated thing, so I try not to make other people wait too often.”

  I can tell that he’s being completely sincere. There were other little things like that he’d said and done the night before that had hinted at his nature. Like the way he had sprung up to help my mother with the dishes. I know it’s not a huge deal, but little acts of kindness and selflessness like that reflect a lot on a person’s character to me. For all his muscular, intense look, it’s pretty obvious that he’s a marshmallow underneath.

  “So, where are you taking me?” I ask him.

  “Well, I know it’s not exactly fancy or anything, but there’s this great little 50’s-themed diner over off Main Street that I think you’re gonna love.”

  My brow furrows and I look at him. “Did you get advice from my family or something?”

  “No, actually, it was your dress from last night that gave me the idea,” he explains, looking confused, “Why?”

  “I’m kind of obsessed with all things retro. Especially the 50’s,” I explain, “When we get there, I have to show you something.”

  “Ok,” he says, his voice a little hesitant.

  I laugh. “Nothing to be worried about, I promise. Just some of my artwork.”

  I think about his comment about my dress and the corners of my mouth tug up into a smile. The dress hadn’t originally looked like that, but I’d made a few modifications to it to give it the vibe I wanted. And clearly I had accomplished exactly what I wanted to.

  “What kind of artwork do you do?”

  “A little of everything,” I admit, “I paint, sculpt, I love photography, I like to sew..” I trail off, not wanting to ramble and bore him.

  “No, go on,” he insists, “What else?”

  I glance at him, sure that he’s just trying to be nice or kiss up, but even with his eyes focused on the road, I can see the interest in his expression.

  “Well, I mean, you name it, I’ve tried it,” I laugh, “Walk down any aisle in an arts and crafts store and I’ve dabbled.”

  “Oh, really? Is that so?”

  “Try me.” I dare him.

  “Pastels?”

  “Yep.”

  “Watercolors?”

  “Oils?”

  “And acrylics,” I say with a mock yawn, “Next.”

  “Embroidery?” he says, throwing it out like a challenge

  “Not my favorite, but I’ve done it,” I admit.

  “Metal stamping,” he says, a smug edge in his voice like he’s sure he’s got me with that one.

  I grin and reach into my purse, pulling out my keys, attached to a hand-stamped keychain I’d made when I was seventeen. Trevor glances over briefly as I jingle it triumphantly and he laughs. “Ok, what about all that scrapbooking stuff?”

  “Ok, you got me, I haven’t messed with scrapbooking,” I admit, “Unless you count this autobiography thing I had to do in ninth grade. They made us decoupage that sucker and everything.”

  “Damn, I think that kind of counts,” Trevor laughs, “I remember doing something like that, too, but I think I had to do it in middle school.”

  “So did the cover on yours have the sports guys or the metal music logos and lyrics? Because I swear, those were like, the only two themes I saw on any of the guys in my class,” I tell him, laughing.

  “For your information,” he informs me with a hint of indignance in his tone, “…it was some of both.”

  I crack up. “Well, that’s actually pretty unique,” I concede.

  “I’m a unique guy, I guess.”

  “That’s for sure. Picking up strange women at the airport?” I shake my head in mock skepticism, “I don’t know what that says about you, man.”

  “Me? What does that say about you, accepting dates with strange men that knock you over in the airport?” he counters, laughing.

  “Fair point,” I agree.

  We pull into the parking lot of the diner and he races around the car to open my door for me.

  It’s a sweet gesture, and I mean, who’s not a sucker for a little chivalry?

  He leads me inside and immediately, I’m in love. The place is adorable, with the classic black-and-white tiles and vinyl decorating the booths is a bright teal color. Immediately, my eye is drawn to the jukebox.

  I want to paint the place, I want to take pictures here, it just sends my mind whirling with ideas, and I love it.

  “I take it you like it,” Trevor says with a laugh, looking at my rapturous expression.

  I nod, and he leads me to a booth. Our server is a perky young woman in a poodle skirt, her curls bound up in a high pony, who flirts with Trevor while she’s taking his drink order, but he doesn’t seem to notice.

  “So, what did you want to show me?” he asks after she drifts away with a disappointed look on her face.

  “Oh!” I pull my phone out of my purse and scroll through my photo gallery, “These,” I pass him the device, “Just swipe to the left.”

  He looks at the screen, where the first of a series of digital paintings I had done is showing. The whole series is all retro pinup-girl styles, but with a twist. Each one is sort of made to embody different countries and cultures, whatever was inspiring me that day.

  Like the Scottish-themed pinup, with long red hair and a plaid-skirted swing dress reminiscent of a kilt. Or the one inspired by Japan, with carefully painted brocade details and a belt fashioned after the obi of a kimono.

  “These are really cool,” he marvels.

  After each swipe, he pauses for a long time, his eyes roaming the screen as he takes in each and every tiny detail.

  He swipes again and his expression changes, his lips curling up into a smile. “Well, you didn’t paint this one,” he remarks.

  He turns the phone back to me and my face flames. It’s a selfie I had taken before a night out. I’d gone to a friend’s burlesque show, and had gone for a full vintage look: cherry-red lips, polka-dot pencil dress, my hair pinned up into victory rolls.

  I’m not gonna lie, I’d felt pretty damn good about myself in that look. And the little smirk on Trevor’s face tells me he likes it, too.

  “It’s a good look on you,” he remarks.

  “Thank you.”

  “Not that you don’t look damn good right now,” he adds with a wink.

  My cheeks flame and I smile. “Right back at you,” I reply.

  And he does. His brown hair is in that same carefree tousled style and he looks sexy and casual in a blue button-down with a jacket and a pair of black jeans.

  “If you’d told me we were coming here, I could have dressed for the occasion,” I remark.

  “Well, I’ll just have to warn you next time, then, won’t I?”

  My heart flutters. “We’re not even through the first date and you’re already planning a second?” I ask.

  “What can I say?” he shrugs, “When I know what I want, I go after it.”

  The words se
nd a flush of heat through my body and my mouth goes dry. Maybe it’s because guys my age just don’t have the same confidence that Trevor’s built up, but there’s something so different to him. It’s the first time I’ve ever really felt like I was on a date with a man, rather than a boy.

  And it’s definitely something I could get used to.

  Chapter 5

  Jackson

  Just one more chapter, I tell myself. It doesn’t matter that Veronica and Trevor are still out, you’re not waiting up for them. You’re just reading. Downstairs. And looking at the front door every 30 seconds or so.

  Dinner the other night had been the one of the weirdest fucking experiences of my life. It would have been strange enough just with my dad and Linda, but then throw in Linda’s daughter, Veronica, and Trevor, and I might as well have been at the Hatter’s fucking tea party.

  For one thing, Veronica is not the brooding, nerdy girl I remember. The cheap black dye job has faded, leaving her hair what appears to be its own natural shade of dark brown, and she’s clearly taken to using a much lighter hand with her makeup, rather than caking on heavy white foundation and thick eyeliner.

  She’s blossomed into a stunning woman, and it was hard to tear my eyes away from her. And I know that’s fucked up. I mean, sure, we barely know each other, but she’s still technically my stepsister. I shouldn’t even think of her like that.

  And then there’s Trevor. He’s been avoiding my gaze, but more than once, I’ve caught him looking at me when he thought my eyes were averted. The tension crackling between us is palpable, and I know the kiss is as clear in his mind as it is in mine.

  I don’t know why I’m so embarrassed. He made the first move. But then he was also the one to run.

  The truth is, I’ve had feelings for Trevor for about as long as I can remember. He’s been my closest friend since we were thirteen, and I’ve always felt something more.

  When he’d asked me if it would be weird for him and Veronica to go out together, my mind had been screaming Of course it’s fucking weird!

  I’d been seething with jealousy ever since, and it doesn’t help that they’ve gone out three more times since. I can’t stop thinking about her out with him, talking, laughing, enjoying this side of him that I would never get to see. Because after the way he’d reacted that night, there was no way he reciprocated my feelings.