One.

Tilly

The dreaded day has come. This is the beginning of a waking nightmare that is likely to go on for so long I’ll feel like killing myself before we’ve even got halfway through it. A week with the enemy. A week with the biggest dick in the U.S. I’m never going to survive this.

“Are you ready, Tilly? You’ve been in there for hours. Are you alright?”

“Coming.”

Mom and Marvin are waiting patiently for me at the bottom of the stairs. Our plan is to drive to the rented country cottage and meet The Donkey there. With any luck, he won’t come at all. I have books. I have music. I have calming, breathing exercising. I have magazines where the pages flop open naturally at the magazine adverts that have projected his already quite extensive notoriety into the stratosphere.

“Wow! You look gorgeous, Tilly. Is that a new dress?”

“This?! I found this at the back of the closet. It’s nothing special.”

“And you’re wearing make-up.”

“Mom, can we just-. It’s a long drive.”

“I think someone is trying to impress us.”

“Mom!”

What a horrible thought. Imagine me trying to impress The Donkey, or anyone else for that matter. “Am I not allowed to put makeup on once in awhile?”

“Of course you are, sweetie. I like it. I wish you’d do it more often.”

Marvin takes my bag out to the car, while Mom makes sure the house is locked up.

About five minutes pass before conversation turns to him. To drown it out, I listen to music and watch the suburbs melt into countryside. Rolling hills and squares of color as far as the eye can see.

The only place I don’t get a visual reminder of Landon’s enormity, I have the pleasure of his company instead. I guess I should enjoy the peace while it lasts.

I watch the bars on my cell phone drop one by one, before the signal cuts out completely. This is it. We’ve only been on the road less than half an hour, and already I’m out of range of external communication. That means no internet, no facebook stalking, no twenty four hour news updates, no friends.

None of that would matter if I was going on a romantic holiday with a delicious boyfriend, but a family holiday with someone else’s family? I’m going to die of boredom.

Mom found this place on the internet, which is ironic really, considering it was probably built before the internet even existed. The last family holiday I went on was when Dad was still around. I guess that’s the other thing that Landon and I have got in common, not only is The Donkey an only child like me, his parents went through a messy divorce when he was around about the same age.

Mom didn’t tell me that. I read it in his unauthorized autobiography, which as you can imagine, is also called The Donkey, and features several photos in various positions, of his somewhat remarkable appendage. I reckon it’s all enhanced though, even if several people claim otherwise.

Marvin and Landon’s mom split up when Landon was only thirteen years old. That’s when my mom found out that my dad was screwing the next door neighbor. I found out later on that he was screwing her in their bed when I was at school, and he was home, supposedly, on long term sickness.

Every time it comes up, which thankfully isn’t all that often, Mom makes a point of highlighting the fact that the sickness was never confirmed, neither by the doctors nor his previous employers at the time.

After that, I didn’t see much of him again, and I still don’t see him.

Marvin’s different. He knows what it’s like to have someone you are supposed to be in a relationship with screw around on you, and it means he understands what it was like for Mom. God knows how Landon turned out so differently. I guess he just went the other way, and took after his mom.

I’m not the bed them and leave them type, and there is no way I would put up with anyone doing that to me, no matter how famous they were or how much their assets extended to.

I’ve had one one night stand in my entire life, and one sort of long term on and off relationship, which kind of fizzled out in the end like a damp firework. It’s not because I’m not looking either, it’s that I just haven’t found the right man yet. I don’t date players, I don’t date man whores, I don’t date asshole, alpha males, and I don’t date dick heads looking for a hook up, so I guess that kind of narrows the selection down to almost no-one.

Plus, I have no idea where my life is taking me at the moment, so finding a man doesn’t exactly fit into that pattern. I have to prioritize and work that out first, before I even think about settling down.

I’ve absent mindedly flicked to one of the adverts and it takes me a moment to realize who it is I’m staring at, before I close the magazine again, disgusted with myself. He literally is everywhere. I mean, come on, he can’t exactly be the only big dicked model available for photo shoots can he? Why is it always about the size of his dick anyway? Why does that even matter?

Why can’t they talk about his blue eyes, his tousled hair, the biceps that make his jersey look like it’s painted on, his cocky smile, the way he leans against his car, taller than he looks on TV.

Oh fuck. He’s here. We’re here. How did that happen already? It’s him. It’s Landon The Donkey Maddox and he’s staring right at me.

And where the fuck am I staring? You’ve guessed it. Where the fuck else?

“I thought it was going to be bigger than that.”

I catch myself just in time, halting an embarrassing response. When I realize what Mom’s really talking about, I shift my gaze quickly over towards the house. Although, it’s not a house. It’s not even a cottage. It’s so small, it looks like the shed they store the garden tools in.

I’m about to complain when my door opens.

“Hey”, Landon says, stood there by my side, my magazine come to life. “Welcome to paradise.”

––––––––

Landon

Any wider and her jaw would have been scraping on the ground so much she could have collected pebbles in her mouth. I know I usually have that effect on women, but most of them go some way to trying to hide it. She better not be some crazy super fan, because that’s the last thing I need right now. Step sister or not, if this turns dark, I’m going straight back to the city.

“It’s really small.”

My eyes go down to what I think she’s talking about, catch hers on the way back up when I realize my mistake, and then over to the country cottage behind me.

“Maybe it’ll look bigger when you see it for real.”

Already on her way to going red, that comment might have just pushed her to the color of an eggplant. Judging by the scowl she’s throwing at me though, she isn't at all impressed by my humor. A week in a tiny country cottage playing happy families? Maybe this is going to be fun after all.

“Landon, let your sister out of the car and give us a hand with the bags.”

“Right.”

I smile and hold the door open for her in the same way a chauffeur might do for the Queen.

“Step sister”, Tilly says as she climbs out past me, unaware that the magazine she’s left on the seat behind her is open at one of my advert pages.

“Sister, step sister, whatever, it’s all the same to me. We are all the same family now, and we are here, principally, to get to know each other. I don’t want anyone to forget that.”

Rachel is alongside us both now. “Tilly, this is Landon. Landon, Tilly.”

Tilly folds her arms across her chest.

“I know who it is.”

I don’t know whether she’s nervous, starstruck or just bummed out to be here, but damn it feels icy all of a sudden. After giving me the dinner plate eyes on the approach, this body language is a little bit unexpected. Maybe the joke about my dick went down the wrong way, because not only does she look like she wants to be here even less than I do, she seems completely uninterested by me.

I try and loosen her up a bit while Dad dumps bags out of the trunk and Rachel goes off in search of the key. She could just be crushing and unable to express it. That happens, especially with younger girls.

“You know I’m just like everyone else, right? You don’t have to treat me differently, just because I’m famous.”

Tilly looks over to me. She’s got a cute face even when she’s obviously jacked off. She looks like she’s put on her best dress and fixed her hair especially too, which kind of makes me wonder, primarily because it’s not exactly what you’d usually wear to the country.

“You’re hardly famous, you’re an American footballer.”

Wow! That was low. I’m ready to defend myself but Dad beats me too it.

“Record breaking American footballer.”

“And a model”, I add, unprepared to let her downplay me.

“An underwear model.”

Tilly is not impressed at all. Any colder and she’d be re-joining the iceberg she’s obviously just split off from. Maybe’s it’s just her time of the month, and she’s collected all of them up to use in one go.

“Come on you two, stop squabbling and help me get this over to the house.”

Dad’s done unpacking the trunk, so I load myself up with bags. Tilly insists on lugging her own case, just to prove she’s capable, and I watch her struggling with it all the way to the house.

“I’m impressed you know”, I whisper to her on the way. “I didn’t think you were allowed to buy those kinds of magazines at your age.”

I don’t give her a chance to backchat me, and by the time she makes it up to the porch, Rachel is waiting there to engage us.

“Good news or bad news?”

“Mom?”

“Honey, don’t look so worried.”

“Good news”, Dad says.

This is pure entertainment for me. I had no idea Tilly would be so animated or easy to wind up, but this is going to be a lot of fun. Growing up as an only child, I never got the chance to tease a younger sibling, which on reflection, is probably why I got so good at football. If Tilly gets this upset just by looking at me, this week is going to pass in no time.

“There’s a jacuzzi!”

No swimming costume, but that’s never stopped me before.

“We have a jacuzzi at home”, Tilly says. “What’s the bad news?”

“You might want to come and see.”

––––––––

Tilly

This is not happening. Please tell me this isn’t happening.

“Three beds, Mom. You said three beds. The advert said three beds.”

“Well, to be fair, there are three beds.”

Gah. Twin beds in one room and a double bed in the other doesn’t count. Am I the only one that seems bothered by this somewhat integral anomaly.

“Maybe they meant the lounge. Is this a sofa bed?”

I watch The Donkey wrestle momentarily with the tiny two seater sofa, until he determines beyond reasonable doubt, that it isn’t in fact guilty of camouflaging itself as a bed.

“I can’t stay in here with him.”

Mom looks at me and then she looks at Marvin and then everyone looks at me. The Donkey shrugs his thick, muscly shoulders.

“They said it was perfect for a family. Three beds, cute little cottage in the countryside. It is a cute little cottage.”

“I’m fine with it.”

Landon has already put his bag down and is testing the bed for comfort.

“Mom?”

“It is what it is, darling. We’ll just have to make do.”

“Make do. I’m nineteen years old, not nine.”

“Nineteen, are you really?”

I don’t like the way Landon is looking at me.

“Can you call them?”

“And say what?”

“I don’t know, maybe they can put us in a different cottage, or they can give us a refund or whatever.”

“Sleep in the lounge if it bothers you that much, but I’m staying here.”

That’s typical of him.

“Come on, you’re both adults, I’m sure we can work this out.”

“Exactly, Marvin. Adults need their own space. I can’t believe you booked this with only two rooms.”

“Well, maybe Landon will take the lounge then.”

“No, he won’t.”

“Am I the only one that sees a problem with this?”

I’m being ignored. Marvin is busy unpacking the bags while Mom takes control of the kitchen and Landon just lies there on the bed in what should be my room, his huge arms folded up by his head, my question hanging in the air.

“Fine, I’ll sleep in the lounge.”

“Do whatever you like, dear, but you know Marvin and I get up early and I don’t want you in the way.”

Great. The Donkey gets a whole room to himself, while I have to get up at the crack of dawn with superman and wonderwoman. I should never have come on this holiday in the first place. I knew he’d be like this too. Arrogant, selfish, chauvinistic, and frustratingly good looking.

I get half way through wrestling the mattress off the bed before I realize there is no way I’ll be able to set up my bed until everyone has finished with the lounge, which also rather conveniently doubles as the dining room. Landon watches me with his sexy eyes, laughing every now and again at my efforts. Screw him. Even if I have to get up at 6 am, I’m still going to get a much better night’s sleep without being in the same room as him and listening to him go on and on about how many records he’s broken or how thick his biceps are or just how long it takes him to wash every inch of his perfect, swollen, manhood.

I decide to take a walk around the property just to cool off. The tour of the house, which from now on I’m refusing to call anything other than the bungalow, takes about a minute. The lounge, which also doubles as my bedroom, the dining room, and open plan kitchen, is at the centre of the property and is where the front door immediately opens on to. From that, there is a room either side, the smaller of which - The Donkey’s room - has the bathroom next to it.

Perhaps the bungalow’s best feature is a huge single wall set of french windows that lead onto the decking at the back of the property, upon which sits a jacuzzi that looks like it hasn’t been used in years. Beyond, and as far as the eye can see, there are fields that disappear towards the horizon.

I can’t see another house, bungalow, shed, kennel or any other structure that might offer shelter or a suggestion of inhabitation. A walk to what looks like a flattened perimeter fence at the bottom of what I guess is the garden to the property, takes about five minutes. From here, if I wanted to, I could walk for what looks like hours across fields without getting anywhere.

It’s isolated, and it’s supposed to be peaceful, but I’m not entirely sure whether it is or not.

My cell phone still has no bars. I head to what looks like the highest spot on the land, and I still can’t get reception.

One week. Seven days. One hundred and fifty six hours. Just me, The Donkey, my mom, his dad, a huge penis, and a whole lot of nothing else to concentrate on. This is going to kill me.

––––––––

Landon

While Little Miss Moody goes off to the end of the garden to hopefully never return again, I make the space she’s left me my own. I haven’t brought a lot of stuff with me, just a few hundred movies, weights, skipping rope, running shoes and essential exercise gear, magazines - but not the kind of shit she reads, a signal booster for my cell phone that doesn’t work, and as many footballs as I could fit into the trunk. The garden, cornfield, wild forest or whatever you call it, looks like the perfect place to practise my targeting, and I already know who I’m going to get to bring the balls back to me as well. Tilly might not look too bad skipping across the fields in a short cheerleader’s skirt either. She looks like the kind of girl who might need to do a bit of that to let her hair down.

Once I’ve got myself organized, I’ve checked out the jacuzzi and the rest of the miniscule property, I slump down on the couch in the living room and wait for something interesting to happen.

It doesn’t.

“How long are we here for again?”

“One week, Landon.”

How is it exactly that no matter where they are, parents never seem to get bored? Rachel’s waltzing around the kitchen like she’s been here a thousand times already, something on the stove and God knows what else already in the oven, and Dad’s found an armchair, and a stack of maps and tourist pamphlets in a drawer, he’s busy strategically going through.

“One week. Remind me exactly what it is we are doing here? I can’t even get cell phone reception.”

“What do you need your cell phone for?”

“To connect with the world.”

Rachel doesn’t seem at all impressed by that.

“Landon! Look at this place. It’s incredibly beautiful. We are surrounded by countryside, nature, trees, this is the world.”

“The world has people in it.”

“Why don’t you go and find your sister if you’re looking for something to do, maybe you two can play a board game or something.”

I don’t even dignify that comment with a response.

“Look, I don’t know what you did when you were my age, but people these days need their cell phones, they need the internet. I didn’t even think there were places in the world where you couldn’t get a cell phone reception.”

“You can last a week without Facebook, it’ll do you good.”

This is going to be harder than I thought it would be. Less than an hour in, and I’m already bored. Maybe I should go and find Tilly, at least I’d have someone to tease. She clearly doesn’t like me, although I have absolutely no idea why, which means that teasing her and entertaining myself in the process is going to be ten times as easy as it would be if she were drooling all over me like ninety five percent of the rest of the female population. Now that would be complicated. Even if my body wasn’t on temporary lockdown, and in some kind of strange alternate universe I wanted her,  step-sister is clearly a classic and perennial no go zone. Imagine that one in the papers. That wouldn’t just bench me for a couple of years, that might end my burgeoning model career too.

It’s a good job she’s not my type. Of course, I can’t help it if she’s attracted to me, which would go some way to explaining her weird mood, but at least like this it’s going to be much easier to get through this period of forced abstinence.

I’ve no idea when I’m going to get the chance again, and seeing as there’s little else to do here, I’m going to make the most of the week I get to have a little sister. She’s going to be doing absolutely everything I want, and I’m not going to give her a choice about it either. Of course, as we all know, every younger sister idolizes their big brother. They naturally want to please them in everything they do. That’s just the science of evolution.

“What?”

Tilly’s reappeared at the french windows, her hands on her hips, staring at me staring at her. It could be worse. With the light behind her she actually looks alright. I wonder if she knows her dress is a little see-through, and not only can I tell the color of her panties, I think I even recognize the brand.

“Nothing”, I say. “I was just thinking about evolutionary traits.”

Tilly flashes me a look of mistrust, and then she ignores me completely.  

“There’s a dead bird at the end of the garden.”

“Welcome to the real world”, I say.

Tilly looks for somewhere to sit, and disinclined to share the tiny sofa with me, she hovers for a while, pretending to be occupied by something important, before finally disappearing into our bedroom. I keep my eyes on her, because I know she’s going to come straight out of it again.

“There’s stuff on my bed.”

Her comment is directed at me, even though she’s not looking at me directly.

“Mom.”

“A dead bird, I know. Maybe there are foxes.”

“Foxes live in cities”, Dad says without looking up from one of his brochures.

“Not the bird, the bed”, Tilly says, repeating herself. “The room is full of Landon’s exercise equipment.”

Rachel looks from her daughter, to me. I put my hands up passively. In this T-shirt, I know I look ripped, and I’m not letting the irony get lost.

“I thought you were sleeping in here.”

“I still need the mattress, Landon.”

She really is uptight.

“I’ll move the stuff before you need it, don’t worry.”

“I can’t even sit down.”

“Sit down in here”, I tell her. “I thought this was meant to be a family holiday anyway. We can get to know each other.”

“Exactly”, Rachel adds.

Tilly looks infuriated and very uncomfortable. It makes her look cute.  

“Sit here if you want”, I offer, the size of the space to my side clearly just big enough for her to wedge herself into.

“I’ll sit on the decking”, Tilly says. “We don’t even fit in here.”

“Suit yourself.”

“One hundred and sixty nine kilometres of tracks around here”, Dad says, finally looking up from his stack of leaflets. “There are owls too. I think we should take a walk tomorrow.”

“You do what you like tomorrow, I’m going to sit here and watch movies all day.”

“You can sit inside in the city all you like, you shouldn’t waste the opportunity while you’ve got it. A walk might do you good, a bit of country air.”

Country air is not what I need to get me through the summer. Landon Maddox is not the kind of guy to pull on gumboots and track animals through the trees. Hunting girls? Yes. Hunting animals? No.

“I’ve done alright without it so far, city air is just as good.”

“You’ll be the one missing out.”

I can’t be bothered to argue. Family holiday to please the coach, the owners, Rachel and Dad. I can cope with that. I owe them that for not making the wedding. I can stay out of trouble here, even if it bores me senseless. Seven days putting up with Dad’s idiosyncrasies, Rachel’s relentless enthusiasm and Tilly’s teenage mood swings. In agreeing to come, it buys me brownie points with the club, which are likely to come in useful if anything happens next year. It gives me the opportunity to demonstrate to my new mother-in-law that I’m not the Landon Maddox of the magazines and the vast newspaper column inches and it gives me the opportunity to finally find out what it’s like to have a girl in my life I’m not allowed to sleep with, although with this fix I’m in, I guess that every single girl in the world falls into that category.

This is more than that though, this is can’t sleep with even if coach called me up tomorrow and said I was released from my obligations. This has don’t touch written all over it, from now until the end of my football playing career. This may be only a week for all of us here, but Tilly and I are going to be step-siblings until the end of time. I never thought Dad and Mom were going to split up until it was obvious that they were. Looking at Dad and Rachel now, I don’t think I can remember seeing anyone else so smitten, content, and sickeningly in love as those two. Tilly and I are in for the long haul, that’s for sure. I better make sure we go to know each other then.

“Beautiful.”

Tilly is sunning herself on the deck with her dress rucked high up to her waist. Her long slender legs stick out and fold into one another, balanced carefully on a tilted stool in front of her. When she sees me, she quickly pulls her dress back down to cover, at the very least, the sumptuous smoothness of her thighs. She may be nineteen, but I doubt she’s had the experience of many other girls her age. It’s not that she doesn’t look like she wants it, more like she’s never had the opportunity before.

“What do you want?”

I qualify my statement. “The view, it’s beautiful.”

Tilly looks up at me over her sunglasses to see if I’m joking. When she can’t tell whether I am or not, she nods and goes back to her book.

“What are you reading?”

I can see what she’s reading, I just want to annoy her. She holds up the cover to make sure I’ve got my answer. When she’s likely to be half way through the next sentence, I engage her again.

“Is it good?”

When she looks over, book folded flat underneath an ample and firm chest, I make sure I’m smiling innocently.

“If you’re bored already, why did you come?”

“I’m not bored.”

“What are you doing bothering me then? Why don’t you throw one of the twelve footballs you’ve brought with you or do some weights or something?”

“Would you spot for me if I did?”

“No.”

I pull up one of the seats to join her.

“Why did you come?”

“Landon! I’m trying to concentrate.”

Bingo! This is already much better than flicking through yellow edged pamphlets about how to identify animals by the color and size of their droppings, cooking rack after rack of muffins, or even throwing a football a hundred yards into the neighbors turf.

“Hey, sorry, just trying to make conversation. I thought we should try and get to know each other a bit better, you know, we are here for a week.”

I get an eye roll, a kind of weird sound of desperation and then finally she puts the book down. Maybe she thinks that if she gets this out of the way now, I won’t have to bother her for the rest of our time here.

“Mom made me come. I didn’t exactly ask to get thrown into a tiny house in the middle of nowhere without a cell phone signal, and this isn’t my idea of fun either.”

“You get to meet me.”

Another eye roll.

“Yeah, well, the less said about that the better.”

“Come on, you must know who I am. I imagine there are hundred of thousands of girls all over the states who would change places with you in a second. A week with The Donkey? That’s like a wet dream come true for millions of horny women.”

“You think so, huh?”

“I know so. I reckon you do too. Don’t tell me you buy those magazines for the articles. It’s funny that they don’t flop open at the several pages of investigative journalism.”

That might have just got her.

“Find me one of those girls and I’ll change places with her immediately. I’m only here for your dad, who happens to be nothing like you, and my mom. For some reason it makes them happy to think we are some kind of happy family. And you are right, I do know you, just not in the way you think I do. I know exactly the kind of person you are, and you haven’t done anything so far to make me change that position. If you really want to know, I’m dreading the next seven days. If I get through this nightmare to the very end without losing my mind completely it’ll be an absolute miracle. As far as I know, Landon Maddox is a donkey alright, but not in the way you think you are.”

I wait a moment for her comments to hang in the air like a bad smell.

“See, I knew you liked me really.”

“Gah! Did you hear anything I said?”

“I heard you, I just don’t believe it’s the truth, that’s all.”

I get up, place the chair back where I found it, and head for the door. Without even looking, I know she’s watching my every movement. She may be pretending to read, but if she is, she’s read the same sentence ten times. Just before I go back inside, I turn to her.

“You’ve got a streak of sunscreen on your forehead by the way, it makes you look cute.”

––––––––

Tilly

I have never met anyone else in my life as arrogant as Landon Maddox. Seriously. He’s so full of himself, if you cut him in half, another Landon Maddox would pop out smiling, just as annoyingly confident.

First he invaded my life from a distance, and now he’s doing it for real. Everywhere I look, he’s there. If it’s not a giant billboard photo, it’s a TV or magazine advert, a newspaper column, or a radio show. Now he’s literally sat opposite me, chewing down his food look the earth is running out of it.

Normal people don’t eat this much. I know he’s feeding his ego as well, but this is ridiculous.

Mom has made what I thought would be enough food for an army, which I now know will be just about enough for one Landon Maddox. I don’t know where he puts it either. As far as I can tell, and not that I’ve been studying it with as much intensity as one might dedicate to a PHD dissertation, he has a flat stomach. A flat, athletic, well defined and perfectly proportioned stomach. Maybe it doesn’t go to his stomach at all, maybe it goes just that little bit further south into his disproportionately large member. He must get back ache just carrying it around.

“So, Tilly, how is the job hunt going?”

Marvin knows how my job hunt is going and I don’t appreciate him leveraging my situation to fill a gap in the conversation. If it’s this awkward this early on, maybe we should all just give up and go back to our separate homes. That would make this whole situation a hell of a lot easier to deal with. I could get Landon Maddox out of my mind completely. Millions of other girls would be jealous of me? What an arrogant ass.

“Can we talk about something else?”

“What kind of work are you looking for?”

When I fail to answer Landon’s question, Mom fills in for me. Never mind my request to change the subject, I have just become the subject. Great.

“Matilda has always wanted to be an artist. Actually, that’s not strictly true, at one point she wanted to be a Disney princess, but that ambition soon faded as she got old enough to realize that position didn’t actually exist in the real world.”

“That doesn’t stop some people from achieving it.”

I wait for Landon to qualify the statement but he doesn’t. It isn’t clear if he’s talking about Disney princesses or the fact that just wanting to be an artist is some kind of automatic qualification to achieving it, but I give him the benefit of the doubt. Once again, I feel like I’m going to have to defend my career choice. Mom has never wanted me to be an artist and she hasn’t exactly been tightlipped about it either. She’s one of these people that doesn’t believe art should even exist as a career. She would have been happy if I’d followed her footsteps and become a day in day out, nine to five secretary, and saved thousands of dollars on my student loan.

“I sculpt”, I say, pre-empting the question. “I draw too. Actually, I do a little bit of everything, but sculpting is my favorite.”

Marvin, Mom and Landon are all looking at me like I’ve confessed to a crime. Short of Mom putting her hand on my arm and telling me it will all be alright, this feels like some sort of therapy session.

“What’s the best thing you’ve ever made?”

It’s a question I don’t expect to come from Landon. In fact, it’s a question I don’t expect to come at all. I can’t work out if he’s teasing me or not.

“The best thing?”

“Yeah, you know, like the thing you’re most proud of or whatever, your ninety-nine yard pass.”

“I made a lifesize sculpture of an eagle at high school that got put forward for a prize. I didn’t end up winning it, but I was really proud of that piece when I’d finished it. It took me about three months just to get the proportions of the wings right. Come to think of it, I don’t know where that piece is now.”

My eyes find their way to Mom’s, whose fall on mine in turn. She knows exactly what happened to it and she’s about to confess it to me.

“It was an ugly sculpture really”, I add, not taking my eyes off my mother. “Technically pretty complex, especially for a fourteen year old, but ugly. It fell apart after a while as well.”

Mom’s still not saying anything.

“Mom. You threw it away, didn’t you?”

“It’s in the basement, darling. All six or seven pieces of it. I wouldn’t throw it away.”

Judging by the look she’s giving me, she’s thought about it though.

“I was never bothered by art.”

How come that doesn’t surprise me about you, Landon?

“I was competent, I might have even been able to make an eagle if I put my mind to it, but I was far too busy chasing girls and throwing footballs around. I knew from a young age what I wanted to be, and I wasn’t going to let anything get in the way of it. What was the last thing you made?”

“It’s not as simple as that.”

“Sure it is. You can’t expect opportunities to just come along out of nowhere. You’ve got to make your own luck.”

That’s more like it, the real Landon is back again.

“I don’t need a lecture on how to market myself, thank you.”

“Sure you don’t, that’s why you’re so good at it.”

“It’s a different world entirely, Landon. There aren’t the same job opportunities.”

I think Marvin meant to defend me there.

“It’s exactly the same world with exactly the same opportunities. I had to work hard to get where I’ve got to, and it wasn’t anything to do with luck. I have to work hard to keep my place too.”

“It doesn’t look like you’ve been working hard enough recently then does it?”

Landon laughs off my comment. “I bet there are just as many football jocks and athletes that don’t make it as there are artists like you waiting for somebody to come along and give them the golden ticket.”

“I work hard.”

“Then maybe the art world isn’t meant for you. Maybe you don’t want it enough.”

“Oh, she wants it”, Mom intervenes. “There’s no question about that. She just doesn’t seem to be able to get it.”

“Then maybe you aren’t talented enough.”

“Can we talk about something else, please?”

I’ve had enough of this already. Business and life coaching from The Donkey? Please. “It doesn’t take a genius to throw a football a hundred yards.”

“Or to color inside the lines.”

Asshole.

“Any artistic field is going to be difficult to get into. That’s why your mother and my generation took jobs in more academic fields. There were only a few artists back then and they were bohemians really. Nobody doing that ever really made any money, and if they did, they were talented, hard working and had a bit of luck. You needed one of those things if not all three.”

“I never had any luck.”

Arrogant asshole.

“You were lucky I let you play at all. Every weekend down the park? Who do you think your practise partner was until you were old enough to get accepted to a team?”

“Yeah, whatever. My point is, if you want it badly enough, and you’re good enough at it, you’ll be able to get it.”

“That’s your expert advice? Want it, and it will happen?”

Landon holds my gaze. “You want something bad enough, princess, there isn’t anything that can stop it happening.”

Yeah, right. I don’t believe that kind of philosophy for a second. The ‘I’m not working hard enough to achieve my goals’ philosophy. Gee, thanks, Landon. Mr. Never had to worry about things because I play a stupid ball game and make millions of dollars a year running around a park in a silly costume pretending to be important Maddox. Artists are a different breed entirely. Artists are educated, talented, flawed. They are geniuses, and produce work that reflects the human condition. Nurtures it. Football players, and by extension underwear models, are valueless saps, contributing nothing worthwhile in a cultural or creative sense. I’m nineteen years old, I’ve just finished my first year of University, and I haven’t even begun looking for work properly yet. No doubt I’ll get a grant, or a fellowship, or a position on an important project. I haven’t even decided on my discipline, so it’s a little rich he’s talking to me about not showing enough eagerness. Landon may have known for his whole life he wanted to be a footballer, well I’m the same about my art. I wonder if he also knew whether he wanted to be an arrogant alpha-male asshole too.

“Dessert, anyone?”

––––––––

Tilly

Well that was incredibly awkward. I wonder if the day will ever arrive when I don’t have to justify my career choice to anyone.

My assessment of the day so far: Landon Maddox is an absolute douchebag. Not content with having to be the centre of attention at all times, he also happens to be infuriatingly, intoxicatingly handsome. I mean, why exactly does that always happen? Why can’t they let the meek, humble, chivalrous men be the ones with biceps I can’t even get my two hands around, perfect eyes and washboard abs? You know, the all around better human beings.

At least he’s not overly polite and incredibly sycophantic. I don’t think I could cope with it at all if he were actually a perfect human being as well as a perfect specimen of one. I didn’t actually expect him to clear the table, do the washing up, sweep the floor and put a load of laundry on, and I’m glad he hasn’t. The more I think about it, the fact that he’s obviously completely flawed - inflated sense of self worth, delusions of grandeur, seemingly impenetrable emotional shield - actually makes him seem much more human. It’s contrary I know, but it’s true.

Yes, he may be built like a Roman God, but it’s refreshing to see he isn’t constantly seeking approval or desperately wants to be liked despite clearly needing to be centre of attention. It seems like the complete opposite of that actually. He seems like he’s doing everything he can in his power to make people dislike him. Or he’s just being himself, which is probably more accurate, and the result of that is the same.

After dinner, Landon treats us all to a kind of showreel highlights package of his best moments from the previous season, complete with theatrical interpretations and unnecessary audience involvement, when we find out the TV doesn’t work and we are stuck for things to do.

He is clearly excited to be sharing his memories, but it’s all a bit one sided if you ask me. Landon threw this pass that won the game, Landon broke this record, Landon got this trophy. Yada yada yada. What he doesn’t tell us about are the controversies away from the field that had just as much impact over the year as the stats on it. Landon screws this girl, Landon crashes this car, Landon puts his huge dick where it isn’t wanted.

I’d challenge him if I could get a word in edgeways, but he just keeps talking and talking, his eyes lighting up and his biceps bulging.

God knows how he managed to get any sex in at all with any of those hundreds of women if all he did on those dates was the same. Maybe he just fucks them all from the room next door, just far enough out of earshot that he can go on and on about how brilliant he is without them even having to hear him.

“I was that far away from MVP. That far.”

Finally he sits down.

“They only gave it to Sands because he’s PG.”

“There is always next year”, I offer, my voice lilted to be intentionally sarcastic. “You know, if they let you back on the team.”

“I am the team.”

I rest my case. Landon Maddox is an absolute douchebag.

“What’s MVP?” Mom asks.

She must be being polite, because I can’t believe she’s this interested in the NFL. She certainly never showed this much interest when Dad used to watch it on TV, and she hasn’t ever shown this much interest in anything I’m passionate about.

“It’s kind of like the best player of the year award”, Landon explains. “I was a shoe-in and then they gave it to some running back from the Colts.”

Please don’t ask what a running back is.

“Well, I guess we ought to start thinking about getting to bed.”

This is the interesting life Marvin and my mother live. They eat dinner and then they go to bed. At 9pm.

“It’s 9pm”, I say.

“Early start tomorrow. I’m going to get out on one of those walks, see if I can spot some of the wildlife. You guys stay up, I’m sure you’ve got a whole lot of stuff to talk about.”

When I look at Landon, he’s smiling at me.

“I might see if the jacuzzi works.”

I shake my head. I cannot believe he’s looking at me and suggesting what I think he’s suggesting. I am struck briefly by an image of Landon and I in the jacuzzi, as naked as the day we were born.

“Not tonight you won’t”, Mom says. “Those things make a hell of a racket and I’m the world’s lightest sleeper. You can make it a project for tomorrow if you like. It might be nice for us all to sit in there one evening.”

Ewww. “I don’t think we’ll fit”, I’m quick to warn her.

“Course we will, Tilly. That’ll take six that thing. Right, I’m leaving you to it, Marvin and I are off to bed.”

“Six”, Landon whispers to me and I have to stem a giggle.

“Good night kids.”

“Wait”, I shout, immediately aware that they are leaving me on my own with The Donkey. This wasn’t in the plan. I wasn’t meant to be alone with the enemy, certainly not this early in the holiday. I don’t know what to do.

“I’m going to bed too.”

“Ok”, Mom says. “You do what you like dear, it’s your holiday too.”

This set up is so awkward that Mom and Marvin will be literally sleeping two metres away from where we are. The only thing between us is a door and what I expect to be a very thin wall. Going to bed doesn’t involve climbing up a flight of stairs, a long discourse or a drawn out series of stages, it involves stepping two strides into a different room, changing into an embarrassing set of matching pajamas, cleaning teeth and urinating loudly in the bathroom, while desperately trying to squeeze enough to not make any noise and then returning again to the same bedroom that’s no bigger than a walk in closet.

While they do this, I drag the mattress from what should be my room and is now Landon’s, into the lounge to try and find a space big enough to construct a makeshift sleeping area.

While I do this, and Mom and Marvin, who, short of a pair of matching sleeping hats could be cartoon characters, get themselves ready for bed. Landon does absolutely nothing but watch me. Not his dad and my mom, but me. He doesn’t lift a finger to help me, despite the mattress being so heavy I have to drag it along the ground, and nor does he get up from the two seater sofa he has effectively turned into an armchair because of his bulk.

All he does is watch me with those sexy eyes.

“Good night guys, see you in the morning.”

Mom has an eye mask on and earplugs in. She looks ridiculous but it doesn’t seem to bother her. Both of them look like comedy parents from a made up show. They better not even think about fucking.

“Good night.”

When the door shuts, Landon and I are on our own. The Donkey and, well, me. Fuck this is awkward. What do you say to someone you know so intimately, and have never been alone with before. I know every muscle definition, every hair, every mole. I’ve spent hours tracing the lines his penis make into the fabric of the boxer shorts he wears. Embarrassingly, I probably know almost as much about his football career as he does, and even more about what they’ve said about him in the papers.

I haven’t seen his weapon, but I’ve read it being described so many times I feel like I know it intimately. I can shut my eyes and see it, which is why I try not to.

“I’m going to bed.”

“I know, you already said that.”

“That means you have to go to bed as well.”

“It’s 9pm, Tilly. Are you telling me that you are going to dump that mattress on the floor, get on top of it, close your eyes and go to sleep, at 9 pm, like Wee Willie Winkie and his little mistress?”

“Yes.”

“At 9pm? On holiday? In the middle of nowhere with a jacuzzi outside? On our first night together getting to know each other?”

“Yes.”

“Ok then, just don’t mind me.”

He’s not moving. Why is he not moving?

“You know.”

Now he’s talking at me. Whispering actually.

“I reckon your mom and my dad. It’s not normal. I reckon they’re in there doing some weird assed BDSM shit. Did you see the matching pajamas? Real freaky.”

“I heard that, Landon.”

It’s Marvin’s voice, and it sounds like it’s in the room with us. I hear him turn over and the bed creak.

“Didn’t deny it.” Landon holds his hands up and eases back into the sofa. “Just saying. We might have to watch them. You and I are in this together. You know, like a team.”

“A football team?”

“No, nothing like that. Just a two man team. A quarterback and a wide receiver. A brother and sister team.”

“Step brother, step sister”, I remind him.

“Exactly.”

I hear Marvin and Mom’s bed creak again, and Landon looks at me as if to say “I told you so.”

Again I have to stifle a giggle. If he saw me laughing at one of his jokes he’d never let me live it down.

“Landon?”

“What?”

“I’m going to bed, seriously.”

I can’t let him get me, not this early, not this at all. I can’t risk it, not now we are what we are to each other. I hate him, I must remember that. I hate Landon Maddox. I hate his everything that he does and his everything that he is. I hate him and I’m not going to change the way that I feel just because he’s right here in front of me right now.

“Come on, Tilly. This is boring. I’m bored. What am I going to do if you go to bed? I was bored at home, I don’t want to be bored here too.”

“Can’t you amuse yourself?”

I’m not entirely sure what I mean by that but I certainly don’t want my eyes to go where they do. It’s the last place I want them to go.

“That’s always more fun with two.”

Now I’m going red. Great.

“Alright”, Landon says eventually. “Go to bed. Amuse yourself, see if I care. I thought we could get to know each other, you know, have a beer, chill out. Throw the football around.”

“It’s dark outside, I don’t drink beer, and I’m already perfectly well chilled out, thank you.”

“You look so tense you could snap.”

“I’m fine, thank you for your concern.”

“You look cute when you’re angry too.”

I don’t know how to respond to that so I just do a sort of nod and grunt combination which must come across as completely unappealing based on the look Landon gives me.

“Are you going to get undressed?”

“What kind of a question is that?”

“You know, just so I know. I don’t want to accidentally come out of my room for a glass of water and see you standing there in the nude playing with yourself. You might get embarrassed.”

“Just stay in your room and you won’t have to worry.”

I have to squeeze myself against the edge of the dining table to let Landon pass. If the mattress wasn’t between us providing a barrier, his cock would be rubbing right up against me. As it is, I can see the dent it’s making in the foam, curving the edges away from me.

“Maybe I’ll take a look through the keyhole first, just to make sure I’m not about to disturb you.”

“Landon.”

“You look like you’d probably like that though.”

There is a moment that passes between us in which I am completely unable to say anything at all.

When Landon gets to the door to his bedroom, and he stands there casually with his hands above him so he’s kind of half leaning, half swinging, I still haven’t moved a muscle.

“You know”, he says. “You don’t have to be embarrassed to admit it. It happens to everyone.”

“Admit what?”

“You’re starstruck.”

“I’m what?”

Landon smiles. “There you go, I knew it. Goodnight sis. See you in the morning.”

And with that, he turns, walks into the room and closes the door behind him. I flop down into the armchair behind me, the mattress tilted against my legs.

“Step sister”, I say, and I hear Landon ease his triangular frame into the bed that sits only a metre or so away from me, our lives separated by a thin partition wall less than a couple of inches thick.

***

At first I think it’s raining. There is a thunderous sound of water splashing down into water, so close it could be the same room. It wakes me, and while I allow my eyes to adjust to the darkness, I realize the light I think I’m focussing on isn’t a light at all, it’s the moon like shape of Landon’s buttocks.

He’s there, in the bathroom, the door wide open, and his boxer shorts inexplicably lowered so his perfect ass is hanging in the air, pissing. Pissing thunderously like a fucking race horse.

“Landon, what the fuck?”

I sit up in bed, unable to comprehend exactly what’s going on, while Landon looks casually over his shoulder.

“Oh, hey.”

“What are you doing?”

What he’s doing is evident, but that’s not exactly the point of the question. This fucking adonis has woken me up in the middle of the night to take a mammoth piss. A piss that is still going. What the hell has he been drinking? More importantly, why the hell is the door open.

“Taking a leak.”

“With the door open?”

“Yeah, I guess, I hadn’t noticed, sorry. Did I wake you?”

Did you wake me? What a question. As my eyes grow more accustomed to the failing light, more of his perfectly chiselled body comes into view. Naked from the waist up, the tail of a tribal tattoo sweeping across his back, boxer shorts pulled down, I expect to give his mammoth cock air, and socks, jesus, he’s still wearing socks. Hang on a minute, is that?

“Landon, the door!”

“Don’t worry, I’m finishing now.”

There are at least twenty more seconds pissing, and a good ten seconds making sure he’s got it all out. After that, he gives a long sigh, pulls his boxer shorts up and flushes the chain, all of which creates a noise loud enough to wake the whole house. When he turns to face me, pausing briefly for no apparent reason other than to allow me to take him in, I feel like I’m front row in one of his catwalk shows, or eyes deep in a particularly well printed magazine. He is, even in the thin light, absolutely unquestionably huge. Mouth wateringly huge. Pussy wettingly huge. Pantie meltingly huge. Eye wateringly-.

“Tilly?”

“Huge. Fuck.”

I slap my hand across my mouth but the word has already escaped.

“I knew it”, Landon says, shaking his head. “Naughty, Tilly. I might let you see it if you play your cards right.”

“Wait, I didn’t mean that.”

But it’s too late. Landon is already back in his room and I can hear him laughing like a hyena through the walls. This isn’t right. I hate Landon Maddox, how many times do I need to tell myself that? I. Hate. Landon. Maddox. Maybe if I go to sleep this will have all been a dream. He’ll forget about it in the morning, right?

Fuck.