Chapter 19: Laney
Well, that didn’t last long.
I spent all afternoon telling myself that I wasn’t going to let Travis seduce me again, that I was going to be mature and responsible and put it behind me. I walkback up to our suite totally confident that I’ll be able to resist him……and then the second I walk through the door, he gives me a look and my panties instantly fly off into the corner of the room.
Now that I know what it’s like to fuck Travis, my ability to resist Travis is actually getting worse. But somewhere around the time when he orders me to turn around and bends me so far over that my hands touc the floor, I decide to just go with it. If the universe wants us to have a honeymoon this badly, then I guess we’ll just have to have a honeymoon.
“Holy shit, Laney,” Travis says, pressing his hand between my legs to feel how wet I am, “You’re fucking insatiable.”
What can I say? It’s like I’m finally starting to realize that I’m locked up in a hotel room with the guy I used to imagine in my bedroom at night, and that he wants me as much as I want him. With little to no risk of being discovered, it makes total sense that this would happen, stepbrother or no.
Travis asks what I want him to do to me, and with a trembling voice, I tell him. The next thing I know, I have who knows how many inches sliding into me, taking me a couple feet from the door. I shudder to think what will happen if we start acting like this at Nina’s house, but that worry gets pushed out of my mind by Travis’ powerful thrusting before I can really hold onto it. I back up onto Travis as much as I can and spread my legs a little wider, inviting him deeper inside me. Like I said: we’re on a honeymoon, so we might as well act like it.
Travis and I spend the rest of the evening in every position imaginable, and before I know it, the Pacific ocean outside our window starts to turn orange with the setting sun. When I look out the window and see the sunset, I almost laugh. I’ve been here for what feels like forever, even if it’s only been a couple of days, and I’ve been so stressed out that I haven’t even noticed how beautiful it is out here. Well, that’s going to change from here on out. Tomorrow, the honeymoon officially begins.
***
Travis spends the rest of the night helping me burn off all of those cheesecake calories, and then, when it starts to get late, I invite him into my room to share the king-size bed. He happily agrees, and we spend the night cuddled together like we’re still in our tiny cruise ship bed. I sleep like a baby, even though Travis holds onto me all night again, and I wake up ready to live as large as we possibly can. After all, the Coconut Classic is the day after tomorrow, and then we fly back to LA only a few days after that. We were never going to see everything this place has to offer, but now that I’m, well, fucking Travis, I wish we had those first couple of days back.
The next morning, after we get ourselves showered and dressed, I suggest we check out the fun couple stuff at the hotel, and Travis agrees. So we head down to the lobby, and for the first time all trip, we actually ask for Kayla. When she shows up, smiling like she always is, we ask her what she would do if she was trying to experience the most stuff possible in one day.
As always, she knows exactly what to say, and writes down a list of her favorite couple’s activities and their locations to hand to us. And it might just be my imagination, but it seems like there’s a little glint in her eye…almost like she knows something’s changed.
With her advice, we go all over the place. We hit the rooftop tennis court, then catch a scenic helicopter ride around the island, then head back to the lobby for a gourmet sushi tasting. We even go down to the basement to check out the tantric fortune teller, who tells us that she sees a lot of sex in our future.
After we’re done with the fortune telling, we agree to head back to the room. We haven’t even scratched the surface of the list of fun stuff Kayla handed us, but Travis needs to head down to the arena. His bike just arrived from LA, and the organizers want him to test it to make sure it’s still in good working order.
“You know, I should probably come with you this time. If I’m going to be putting this on my resume, I should probably at least show up, you know?”
Travis laughs. “Probably a good call. Do you want to be my stepsister or my wife?”
Something about the question makes my stomach flutter. “If they don’t ask, neither. I want them to think you hired me for my exceptional talents. But the organizers know who you are, so we definitely can’t be…you know…
“Like this?” Travis asks, walking up to me and pressing his body against mine, hand moving up my skirt to cup my ass.
“Exactly,” I say, my voice all breath, “This would be very, very dangerous.”
“I’ll do what I can,” Travis shrugs, “But after the last couple days, it’s going to be really fucking hard.”
I nod. “Okay. Go ahead and get dressed, and I’ll think of ways that I might have actually been helping you.”
***
There’s something terrifying about stepping off the Royal Shores grounds with Travis. Out here, there’s no anti-paparazzi measures, no Kayla following us around making sure we have everything we need. And there’s also no romantic, dream-like feeling in the air. Now that I’m outside Royal Shores, I’m starting to wonder if they pump something through the air conditioning to make the inside smell a little sweeter. Or maybe it’s just all in my head, but still. Out here, on a street corner on the outskirts of Honolulu, feels totally different. It’s like a glass of water to the face, a reminder that yes, the past week did actually happen.
“Everyone’s staring at us,” I whisper to Travis. I’m standing a nice, normal three feet away from him and not making eye contact so that nobody gets any ideas.
“You’re just being paranoid. No one cares about us out here.”
From across the street, two girls yell “We love you Travis!” in our direction and Travis waves at them. I give him a look.
“Alright, fine, so maybe people do care. But hey, it’s not like we’re wearing rings or anything.”
I look down at my hand, just to make sure I haven’t stepped out wearing my ring. Nope, it’s right on the kitchen counter where I left it. Still, it feels like I’m still wearing it. Like I’m broadcasting to the whole world exactly how badly I want the guy standing beside me. But if any of the pedestrians passing by do notice, they’re at least polite enough not to say anything about it.
After what feels like forever, Travis finally manages to hail a passing taxi, and we climb in the back.
“Are you two from Royal Shores?” The driver asks.
“You know it,” Travis says, and I kick him in the foot. According to Travis, it’s not a very long ride to the arena, but sitting next to him, it feels like forever. We haven’t even hit our first red light when he slips his hand around the inside of my thigh.
“Oh, God,” I whisper, trying not to react too visibly to Travis’ touch. “How are we ever going to be in the same room together after this?”
“We’ll figure something out.” Travis says, running a finger dangerously close to the heat between my legs.
“I’ve never been inside Royal Shores. How is it?” The driver seems oblivious to our dangerous little game.
“It’s like this whole other world…” I offer.
Travis shrugs. “They give you whatever you want,” He squeezes my thigh, “But it’s really fucking boring unless you have someone to share it with.”
That gets a huge laugh from the taxi driver. “So it’s like being rich,” he says.
Travis looks him in the eye through the rear view mirror. “Yeah,” he says, “It’s exactly like being fucking rich.”
We’re starting to get close to the arena, but a block or two before we get there, Travis tells the driver that we’ve reached our destination, and we get out of the car, leaving behind a generous tip for the driver as we walk the rest of the way.
“I didn’t want him seeing the arena and realizing who I am.”
“Now who’s being paranoid?” I stick my tongue out at Travis.
“You’re right, I should have gotten him tickets, courtesy of Mr. and Mrs. Travis Carter. Front row seats.”
“Front row seats, huh? You really think attendance is going to be that low?”
Travis shrugs. “I’ll probably fill a couple seats, but last time I was here, it was basically all local guys in their family. If Paul didn’t have family connections, it’d probably happen in a garage.”
I shrug. “That’s fine with me. A nice, quiet event with no chance for anything—“
I stop in my tracks the second we round the corner and the arena comes into view. What the hell? Is there a basketball game going on or something? There’s a crowd of people around the arena that stretches around the block, not to mention TV cameras and news crews everywhere. I look up at Travis, who’s just as confused as I am.
“Are you sure this is the right arena?”
Travis eyes the crowd. “Yeah…maybe practicing right now isn’t such a good idea.”
With all those people around, that’s probably the understatement of the century. I take Travis’ arm and walk a couple steps backwards, leading him back towards the corner. But I’m too late.
“There you are!”
I look over towards the source of the shrill, annoying voice, and the bottom drops out of my stomach. It’s Monica.
She waves off the photographer she was talking to and comes over to us. “Everyone’s been waiting for you all day. What were you doing?”
Monica’s decked out from head to toe in ridiculous, form-fitting biker’s gear. It looks like it her outfit was made by a swimsuit designer who’s never seen extreme sports in their life. I don’t know whether to laugh or hope that she’s not actually planning to get on a bike dressed like that.
Travis shrugs. “I was just hanging out in the city.”
Monica rolls her eyes and shakes her head. “I don’t know how, it’s so boring out here.”
Travis points to the crowd. “What the fuck’s with all the people out here?”
“What do you mean? It’s the Coconut Classic, it’s bigger than the X-Games! People are excited.”
Travis looks at Monica like she just grew a second head. “People are excited. For the Coconut Classic.”
“Yeah, why wouldn’t they be?”
“Monica, have you ever heard of the Coconut Classic before?”
Monica twists her mouth. “Well, uh…no. The first time I heard about it is when I saw your video.”
I look at Travis. “You made a video?”
Monica laughs. “Yeah. Your viral video. This one.”
She pulls out her phone and shows it to Travis. A short video clip plays, showing Travis launching off a ramp into some kind of insane flip and landing it right in from of the camera. Then he turns, takes off his helmet, says “What, you thought I forgot how to fucking ride?” to the camera, and the video cuts to the Coconut Classic logo.
Travis shrugs. “Yeah, I was fucking practicing. What’s the big deal?”
“You mean you don’t know? That video got five million views, and then a bunch of other bikers started to sign on, and now it’s getting broadcast on national TV. You seriously didn’t hear about any of that? Where have you been all week?”
“Like I said, hanging out in town. What about you? You’re going to race in the women’s events, right?”
“Uh…well…no, I decided not to enter it because…uh……there was too much paperwork.”
Travis gestures down at her biker gear. “Then why the fuck are you dressed like that?”
Monica looks down at herself. “Oh, this? I just got out of a photo shoot.”
Suddenly, she looks at me, like she just noticed me for the first time. “So you brought Laney with you, huh? That’s… interesting.”
Monica tries to look indifferent, but I can see the hostility in her eyes. I, on the other hand, don’t look indifferent at all. But before I can say what’s on my mind, there’s a camera in my face and a boom mic over my head. Before we can react, a reporter appears from behind the camera crew and stands between Travis and Monica.
“Excited for the Coconut Classic?” Travis smiles for the camera.
“Excited? Nah, I’m not excited. I’m fucking ecstatic.” The reporter tries not to wince as Travis swears.
“Well, so are we. It’s not every day a major motocross tournament just happens overnight. By the way, we know who this is,” The reporter gestures to Monica, “But who’s this?”
The camera tilts to face me, and I practically jump out of my skin as Travis wraps an arm around my waist. “This is Laney. She’s my manager for this tournament.”
I smile and nod. I’m glad he went with manager and not personal assistant. Knowing Travis, I don’t think he could say that without it sounding dirty.
Off camera, a member of the crew whispers something to the reporter. “Interesting. I’m hearing she’s also your stepsister.”
Thanks a lot, crew guy. As Travis’ manager, I can assure you that this is the last interview you’ll be doing with him.
“Yeah, she’s been my stepsister for the past two years. That’s not why she got the job, though.”
Please don’t ask how I got the job…
Sensing the question coming, I furrow my brow and put on my best manager voice. “I’m afraid that’s all we can give you right now.”
Travis nods, catching on immediately. “Yeah, I’m going to be fucking late for equipment check if I don’t leave.”
The TV crew nods, turning their camera towards Monica as we walk away.
It’s a long, long walk to the arena. TV crews descend on us like piranhas, trying to get a couple of minutes with Travis and his new manager. They’re easy enough to get rid of: most of them buy that Travis is running late and needs to go check his bike, which I’m pretty sure is actually true. The hard part is the fans: they totally mob Travis, asking for autographs, selfies, big group pictures, you name it. Travis does what he can to make them happy, and then when we get up to the arena, he tells them we’re in a hurry and ducks inside.
The arena’s full too, but luckily, there’s a designated VIP hallway coming right off the lobby, so it isn’t too long before we’re safely out of sight of cameras and fans.
“This is a nightmare,” I whisper. As a former Travis Carter fangirl myself, I know what all those girls outside are thinking right now: who’s that girl with Travis? Is that his new girlfriend? Of course, the really obsessed ones already know that I’m his stepsister, but that only makes things worse: I’m not exactly alone in public with Travis very often.
“Max kept saying he had a surprise for me. Clearly, I should have checked the fucking internet.”
“How soon do you think we can get back to Royal Shores?”
Travis looks around. “We could leave right now if you want. I’m sure my bike is fine.”
It’s tempting, but I shake my head. “No, we have to act natural. We don’t want to run into that same TV crew five minutes later.”
“Alright, in that case, I’ll go find Max and test out the bike. But I’m pretty sure with all these cameras here, they’re going to want me to do a couple practice laps.”
I sigh. “You’re probably right. But after that, we’re sneaking out the back entrance and heading straight back to the hotel.”
Travis’s hands grab my sides as he pushes me into his body. “You’re damn straight we are. I haven’t been able to touch you for half a fucking hour and my cock is about to explode.”
I shiver with arousal at Travis’ words. “You’d better hurry up, then. I’d prefer your cock in one piece, thank you very much.”
Reluctantly, I squirm out of Travis’s grasp, walking with him down the VIP hallway until we spot a men’s locker room and he ducks inside.
I take a deep breath, do whatever I can to hide my arousal, and look around for somewhere to wait. Where would Travis’ manager be?
***
In the front row, of course, watching Travis practice. To my disdain, there are actually a lot of people here, not to mention cameras filming the action. And I suppose it only makes sense: Travis isn’t the only big name out there practicing. Lucky for me, though, there’s a big empty patch in the front row, so I sit smack dab in the middle and watch the bikers ride around the track.
It blows my mind that a tiny little bike shop can rent out this place, even if the owner does have the right connections. It’s absolutely massive. Practically the size of a football stadium, with a hundred yards of ramps, gaps, and tunnels for the bikers surrounded by a long, thick racetrack. As the practice goes on and the fans in the crowd chant the names of their favorite bikers, I do my best to look professional. I even brought a little notepad to take notes in. After Travis does a few laps around the track, I pull it out and start to take notes.
“So you’re his manager, huh?”
Oh, great, Monica’s here. Just what I needed.
I don’t look up from my notes, which are mostly scribbles. “Not full-time, just for the Coconut Classic.”
“Okay, well that’s something…” I can practically hear the gears turning in her head as she decides how nice she needs to be to me.
“So do you think you can get me a photo shoot with him? My photographer wants to do a couple of sexy shots on the bike.”
Yeah. Sure. I’ll schedule that photoshoot for two days after hell freezes over. I put on my best apologetic face and shake my head. “Sorry, only Travis’ real manager can set that up. You’ll have to talk to him.”
Monica looks pissed. “I tried. He never picks up his phone.”
A couple minutes pass, with both of us awkwardly pretending to watch the bikers practice. Then, Monica speaks up. “Are you sure you can’t do it? We could make it official promotional material for the Coconut Classic.”
I shake my head. “No can do. Travis’ manager very clearly told me not to schedule any photo shoots.”
Monica turns to me with a little bit of suspicion in her eyes. “Then what are you in charge of? What are you writing?”
I turn the page quickly, so Monica doesn’t see that it’s covered in scribbles, and start writing numbers. “Budget estimates.”
“Budget estimates?”
“Yep. I handle the money.”
Monica sighs, barely hiding her annoyance. For a second, it looks like she’s about to get up and leave, but as Travis races by us on his bike, I hear the gears turning in her head again.
“So…where are you two staying?”
I try to act casual. “Oh…you know…Royal Shores.”
Monica’s eyes light up. “Me too! I just checked in this morning.”
That takes me by surprise, even though it shouldn’t. I think about all the stuff we did this morning. We didn’t even get halfway through Kayla’s list, and now we’re not going to be able to do the rest because Monica’s going to be running around.
I guess the honeymoon had to end sometime.
“Cool. Yeah, we’ve been here all week. Travis wanted a quiet place to prepare, so Royal Shores was kind of a no-brainer.”
Monica laughs. “I’m sure that’s just what he told you. There’s only one reason people come to Royal Shores, and it’s not to get some peace and quiet. He’s probably shacking up with somebody.”
Okay, I really don’t like where this conversation is going.
I shake my head at Monica and shrug, faking disinterest. “Whatever. There’s a pool and a cheesecake bar, so I’m happy.”
Monica leans back in her seat. “Enjoy it while you can. Starting tomorrow, the whole place is going to be crawling with paparazzi.”
The tip of my pencil breaks against my notepad. “Paparazzi? Isn’t that impossible? Royal Shores background checks their guests to make sure no paparazzi can get inside.”
Monica holds out a finger. “Usually, they do. But when every other hotel in the city is full, and they will be thanks to this tournament, they have to open up their suites to the general public. It’s state law. And whenever that happens, paparazzi snap those rooms up and take over the whole hotel.”
Okay, I really, really don’t like the sound of that. “That’s crazy. How do you even know that?”
Monica rolls her eyes. “Remember when I got caught hooking up with that Brazilian soccer star?”
“Uh…no.”
Monica looks confused, like I just admitted to not knowing something that was common knowledge. “Okay, well, Paulo and I thought Royal Shores would be a safe place to…get to know each other. So we booked one of their special lovebird suites, and they went on and on about how private we would be, and then a couple days later, bam! A paparazzi takes a picture of us making out in the steam room and we’re on the front page of OMG. Apparently, the Pro Bowl was happening or something, and they had to let in guests without doing background checks. By the time we left, it seemed like there were more paparazzi than real guests.” Monica shakes her head. “I mean, it made me look good, because he was really hot, but still.”
Out on the dirt, Travis does an aerial handstand on his bike and the crowd goes crazy. “Travis isn’t going to like that.”
Monica smiles. “With his reputation? They’re probably going to camp outside his room. After all, he’s the reason why everyone’s out here, so if he’s doing anything dirty, it’s going to be the story of the month.”
Try story of the year. I can practically see it on OMG now. STEPBUSTED: Travis Carter caught taking stepsister on steamy honeymoon.
That’s when Anna’s words from yesterday start playing in my head. I guess if you want something done right, you have to do it yourself. And if Monica knows about the law, Anna definitely does. It’s getting harder and harder to keep my cool around Monica as I imagine paparazzi offering cash money to guests for dirt on Travis.
Monica immediately notices my reaction. “Is he doing something dirty?” she asks.
I try to shrug it off, but my voice comes out a little shaky. “I don’t know. It’s not like we’re sharing a room or anything.”
Monica nods. “Well, if he isn’t, send him up to my room and we’ll give the tabloids something to write about.”
“At Royal Shores, they’re probably not going to need our help.”
Monica laughs. “True. After all, Nina’s going to be there, too.”
This time, I can’t even hide my reaction. “What!? What do you mean?”
Monica looks surprised. “I don’t know. Doesn’t she usually go to Travis’ events when they’re on TV? I just kind of assumed she’d be there.”
Okay, good. So Monica doesn’t actually know. But the more I think about her logic, the more sense it makes. A media frenzy? Her son on national television? A million paparazzi? Where else would Nina be?
I’m starting to feel faint. Three hours ago, I was up in a helicopter with Travis, my head on his shoulder, feeling like everything was right with the world. And now, when we go back to Royal Shores, we’re going to have to deal with Anna, Nina, and Monica? This can’t be happening.
Luckily, Travis starts to slow down, waves to the crowd, and steers his bike into the locker room. As soon as he’s out of sight, I get up out of my seat. “Uh…I have to go……send an email.”
And with that, I’m walking, practically running really, towards the stadium exit. I want to get away from the cameras and find Travis, and then I want him to hold me in his arms and tell me not to worry, that none of this matters, and that everything’s going to be okay.
Because I’m starting to get a really bad feeling about this.