Ashley
"Hey hun," the waitress says to me, then to Ethan, she adds, "Sweetie. What can I get for you two?"
"French fries," Ethan says.
"With gravy and curd cheese," I add.
He gives me a curious look, then adds, "And sauteed mushrooms and green peppers on top."
The waitress grins at our in sync ordering. "Anything to drink?"
Ethan defers to me first. "Can I get um..." I hesitate, because I'm not sure how this is going to go, but I've wanted to do it ever since high school, and I feel like this is my only chance. "Can I get a root beer float?" I ask.
"Sure thing," the waitress says, writing it down on her little notepad. "How about you? Maybe two straws for the float?"
Ethan blinks, clearly caught off guard. "Yeah, maybe?" he says. "Sure. Can I get a water with that, too."
"Two straws and water," the waitress says, writing all of that down. "Anything else?"
I shake my head, no. I think that's it, right? Ethan surprises me by saying, "A large steak and cheese bomb, too. Add pickles, mayo, and hot peppers to that."
I lift one brow at him, but wait until the waitress leaves to put in our order before saying anything.
"I thought we were just getting french fries?" I ask. "Are you hungry?"
"You have no fucking idea," he says, staring at me. The way he says it and the way he stares, well...
He's not talking about food, is he? I catch him staring at my breasts, even though I'm just wearing a plain white t-shirt and a pair of faded jeans. Nothing special, nothing all that attractive, but the way Ethan's looking at me I feel like...
Like his Princess. Like I'm the only thing he sees. Like we're the only two people in this building, maybe the only two people in the city, or the world, or the entire universe.
I blush and look away, but when I look back he's still staring at me the same as he was before.
"Ethan..." I say, whispered. I'm not sure what else to say, though. It's not like I can um... explain? There's people sitting all around us, and I know they'd hear me.
"Yeah?" he says, oblivious. I don't know if it's intentional or not, but if I had to guess I'd say it is.
I take a risk. I don't know why. Maybe someone can see us. We have a large booth big enough for four, maybe six people for a tight squeeze. I scoot as far in as I can, and use my eyes to kind of direct him to do the same. He grins and moves over, like this is our shared secret. Which, it is, but I've got more to share with him, too.
I kick one of my shoes off, leaving my foot bare except for my thin socks, then I tap at his foot. Casual and smooth, he glances down quick, but then looks back up at me, nothing doing. I go further, stretching my leg out and up, teasing up along his jeans, towards his knee, and then I fake a yawn to make it easier to stretch and lean back a little.
My daring, risky foot slides onto the seat bench, then between Ethan's legs, further still until...
Oh my God he has an erection. Ethan Colton, my darling stepbrother, who really should not have an erection right now, um... well, he does. And my foot is touching it. Massaging it even. He rests one elbow on the table, keeping his hand up and propping his chin on it, but the other goes under, to his lap. He grabs my foot by the ankle, holding me in place.
Well, um... that didn't exactly go according to plan. Not that I had a plan to begin with, but now I'm stuck here, my foot in his crotch, his cock hard and ready, with my toes teasing and toying with his erection.
And, um... I kind of like it?
I grow bold, because what else can I do.
"I'm glad we're back home," he says, acting like we aren't doing something insane right now.
"Are you really?" I ask. "Because we've never really hung out before now."
"Nah, that's not true," he says.
"Ethan, it's kind of true. You only used to spend time with me when we were doing family things with all of us together, me and Mom and you and your Dad."
"And it was nice," he says.
"It was nice," I agree. "I just always got the feeling that you'd rather be doing something else instead. You never really seemed like you wanted to be there."
"It's complicated," he says.
I'm still massaging his cock with my foot, but I belatedly realize he's not holding my ankle anymore. I could pull back, I could go back to normal, but...
Well, what fun would that be? Yes, I'm a good girl, but I want to be a little bad for once. Just for now, just for this week. It's not going to hurt anything, right?
Anything, I think. Yes, maybe not. Anyone, though?
I've seen it happen before. A lot. Once my mom married Ethan's dad, I got more of an up close and personal view of it, too. Ethan hurt a lot of girls. I don't know if he meant to, but does that make it any better? Everyone knows how he is. Everyone. He sleeps with girls, and by all accounts they think he's amazing.
For a week or two.
And then he stops calling them, doesn't answer their calls, either. No more texts. If he sees them in public, he just sort of brushes them off. Says that it's over, he's got other things to do. I remember one girl from our class coming to his dad's mansion late at night, crying and banging on the door. I was supposed to be asleep, but I snuck out and listened from the top of the stairs.
Ethan's dad told my mom that this wasn't the first time this has happened. My mom offered to talk to the girl for a little while before bringing her home. I'm not sure if Ethan's dad liked that idea or not, but my mom did it anyways. They went into the den to sit down, and then I couldn't hear them anymore so I started to tiptoe back to my room, and...
I saw him. Ethan. He was at his door, just standing there, watching me. As soon as I saw him, he just... he looked at me. Not happy, not sad, just stared at me. Then he stepped back into his room without a word and closed the door behind him. A second later I heard the lock click shut, trapping him inside.
I think I hated him. I think I've always hated him, but I don't know for sure.
That night, I wasn't sure if I did or not. He looked so indifferent and... maybe not hateful in an active and aggressive way, but more in an indifferent and passive way. Uncaring, I guess is a better way to explain it, but hate is hate, regardless.
I just never could figure out who Ethan hated. A part of me has always wondered if maybe he hates himself for what he does?
Obviously that's stupid. I have no right to judge him. I'm attending college for English with a specialization in historical texts, not Psychology.
I've just always felt like there's more to Ethan Colton, but I don't know what.
Right now there's a lot more, and currently it's twitching and throbbing as I rub my foot against it.
"You alright?" Ethan asks. "You look kind of out of it."
"Oh, um... I'm just thinking," I say.
I don't know if I want to explain to him or not, so I redouble my efforts on his crotch. I tease up his shaft with my toes and the side of my foot, then around to the other side. It's a little hard, what with his pants keeping him confined, but that makes it fun, too. A little hard? No, um... Ethan is very hard right now.
For me. He told me this before, but I found it difficult to believe. Now, though? Um... I'm definitely becoming a believer.
"Why did you make me pancakes?" I ask.
He gives me a weird look, but I see something more in his eyes. Something telling, but I don't know what exactly it means.
"I was hungry," he says. "I was just making breakfast."
"No you weren't," I say. "You could have just made eggs and sausage, but you made pancakes, too."
He glares at me, almost angry, but not quite. "I just wanted to make some fucking pancakes," he says.
"You didn't make them because they're my favorite?" I ask.
"What the fuck do I care what your favorite breakfast is?" he says.
I press my foot hard into his crotch, teasing him even more, though um... maybe a bit rougher than I should.
Ethan's nostrils flare and he glares at me harder. "Stop asking questions like that," he says.
"No," I say, petulant. "I won't. Also, why did you offer to have a night in with me last night? Why did you..."
I'm not sure what I want to say. The drinking? Well, we're both underage, and we're in public, so... but also the sex? The dare? Why did he agree to my dare? I wouldn't have held him to it. I don't want him to quit football or anything. We were both tipsy, so...
"You looked like you needed to get shitface drunk," he says. "And I needed someone to drink with. Would be fucked up if I did it alone, don't you think?"
"Ethan!" I hiss at him.
"No one fucking cares about two rich kids drinking at home, Princess. Get a fucking life."
Why's he being so rude all of a sudden? I don't know, but I intend to put a stop to it right here and now!
If he's going to make our underage drinking public, I'm going to... well, not exactly, but...
"Rule number twelve," I say, caressing his cock with my foot while I speak. "You can't be mean to me. Not for this entire week."
He smirks. "I know you think that's cute and funny," he says. "You're forgetting who I am, though. You think I care about your rules?"
I want to kick him. In the balls. And I could. Right here and now. I'd have some explaining to do to someone, and I might not have a ride home after since I'm pretty sure Ethan would get up, get in the car, and leave me here, but...
"You will," I say to him. I'm not sure if I'm calling his bluff or just stating a fact. "Ethan, I just want to know. Rule number seven, right?"
He furrows his brow, so I add, "It's the no lying one."
"I think that rule was specifically for you, Princess," he says, but the tone of his voice is uncertain and unsure, like maybe he doesn't believe what he's saying.
I think the rule was supposed to be for me, too, but I want it to be for him, as well.
"Rule number thirteen," I say, as confidently as I can. "All of the rules should apply to both of us evenly."
He grins, cocksure and confident. This is the Ethan I know. Well, the Ethan I know is also a prick, so him being a jerk before was kind of also the Ethan I know. It's just... I feel like the Ethan from the past couple of days is different. I feel like I know two of him now, two entirely different ones, and...
I don't know which is the real one. I'm not sure if there is a real one. Maybe I'm giving him too much credit and I'm wrong about a lot of what's going on.
"How's that going to work with rule number eleven?" he asks.
Eleven? Oh, um...
I blush, but I tease at his cock with my foot even more, goading him on. "You'll just have to wait and see, won't you?" I ask, as seductive as I can. I hope it came out right. I hope he thinks it's sexy. I...
Our waitress comes back with our food. She places the large root beer float glass between us, two straws dangling out the top, one pointing at me and the other at Ethan. Then she places our fries down, too. Two empty plates to go along with them. Ethan gets another plate for his steak and cheese bomb, which... oh God, it smells and looks amazing. To top it all off, the waitress reaches into her apron and gives us both a set of utensils wrapped up in paper napkins.
"Just let me know if you need anything else, alright?" she says, smiling.
Ethan nods. "Yeah, sure thing."
I grab one of the empty plates for the fries and unwrap my fork and knife, but I... no, I can't. I can't say that. Can I? Um... well, I can, so...
I just blurt it out. "Can I have a bite of your sub?" I ask.
He gives me a funny look. The sub is already cut in half, so he just takes half of it, reaches across the table, and puts it in my empty plate. I stare at him, dumbfounded, not sure what's going on.
"Yeah," he says, as if he didn't already answer me with his actions. "You can."
"An entire half?" I ask.
"What's with the questions?" he asks.
"I don't know. It's just weird. You're being weird."
He bites into his sandwich, chews, and swallows, then he looks at me. It's sort of a cross between a stare and a glare, but then a gaze, and... I don't know. It's very intense and hard to look away from.
"Listen, alright, because I'm only going to say this once, and I don't want you getting any ideas from it," he says. "You listening?"
I nod, quiet.
"I made you those fucking pancakes because I know you like pancakes. Yeah, do you have a problem with that? I did it on purpose. I asked you if you wanted to stay in and get drunk last night, because I thought it'd help you feel better and I knew you'd never come up with the idea on your own, because you're too much of a fucking Goodie Two-Shoes Little Miss Perfect Princess. You need to just fucking relax and calm the fuck down sometimes. I've seen you stress out over the stupidest shit, Ashley."
I open my mouth to say something, to protest, but he stops me.
"Also, I ordered this on purpose, too. You know when we order out sometimes? And we're all looking at the menu? You, me, your mom, my dad? Yeah, you think no one noticed. You always order a fucking salad, but I see you drooling over the steak and cheese subs, so yeah, I ordered this because I knew you'd want half, and you'd never get it on your own. I got the pickles, the mayo, and the hot peppers because I like them, though. So there you go. Rule number fucking seven."
I blush and look away from him and... did he really? For all of that? I don't understand, though. I don't know how he knows some of these things, or... no, it makes sense. The first two make sense, at least. Not the steak and cheese bomb. That one confuses me. Has he been...?
No. Unlikely. I must have been really obvious, and now that I think back on it, I probably sounded more than a little depressed when saying that I'd just have a salad. Ethan's dad would always ask me if I was sure, too, so that makes sense. It fits with what I know.
I wasn't sure, though. Not then, and not now. I wouldn't say I'm ugly or anything, but I've always been conscious of my weight, because I feel like I don't have a lot to offer, you know? Besides being intelligent, which, um... I don't think that's a high priority for most guys, but... I just wanted to try and look nice. Look better. Not that it worked. I was too scared to wear clothes that fit me better, to show off my figure a little so boys in school might be attracted to me more.
No one even asked me out until I went to college, and to be completely honest I'm not even sure why they did then. I don't stand out, except for my grades. Maybe that was it. Maybe they just wanted to use me as a study buddy, with making out and maybe sex on the side. It wouldn't surprise me, because I feel like that's basically exactly what happened.
Until now. Sort of. I don't know. What are we doing? What's going on between us? Ethan and I...
"What's with the root beer float?" he asks, nodding at it. "Two straws, what the fuck?"
"Oh, um..." Rule number seven, right? No lying to each other. "Do you remember in high school when some boys would ask girls on dates and they'd come here but it was public so no one could make out and um... they'd get root beer floats with two straws, since if they were both drinking at the same time it was kind of like kissing?"
Ethan snatched up one of the gravy and cheese covered french fries when I started explaining, and he was chewing and swallowing halfway through, but as soon as I finish with the kissing part, he starts choking on the fry.
Oh my God, he's dying. Oh my God, I've killed him, haven't I? Why did I say that? Well, why did I do it? Because I knew what I was doing when I ordered the float, so...
But, no, Ethan grabs his glass of water and chugs fast, swallowing down the fry with the water. He stops choking, and now he's just glaring at me. Hard.
I just now realize that my foot is still pressed against his cock, and he's harder than ever.
"I think you've got the wrong fucking idea about what we're doing here, Princess," he says.
"Oh?" I ask, feigning innocence. "I don't know what you're talking about, Ethan."
"I'm just saying," he says. "When we get home, I'm going to set you straight."
Is he? Hm... I wonder what that means?