Almost Stepbrothers

Chapter Six: Age Is Only A Number

Phoenix

I couldn’t get the kid off my mind the whole day. Every time there was a lull in my office work, I pictured that body. She came out of her room this morning wearing a short tank top and skin-tight exercise shorts. Her lean tummy was bare, showing a small navel ring shaped like a butterfly. Her skin looked so pale and soft; my fingers practically itched for a feel. What made it absolutely perfect was that she had absolutely NO idea what she was doing. She wasn’t trying to be a tease.

When the clock finally struck three, I closed up my computer and headed for the door. I was almost free when our VP, Greyson called out to me. “Hey Phoenix! We are going down to the Cashbox for a drink. You coming?”

“Can’t tonight!” I waived them off. “We’ve got company at the house. I’ll catch you next time!” It was almost true. I couldn’t really consider my dad's live-in girlfriend as company. I also couldn't tell my friends that I was more interested in spending the afternoon with my almost-stepsister than I was in sipping a few beers with them.

When Jack realized I cut out early, he was going to have my ass. He wasn’t my boss though, he was my business partner. I had already accomplished everything on my to-do list for the day. And besides that, what was the point of running your own business if you couldn’t have a little bit of freedom once in a while?

It wasn’t that I wasn’t dedicated. I’d been living and breathing the business for the last seven years. Jack and I were often the last ones to leave the building at the end of the work day. Jack covered the more technical and financial aspects of the company, while I dealt with the people. It worked out perfectly, because Jack was a stickler for detail and order, while I was the more outgoing, personable partner.

The house was silent when I entered. I saw that dad's car was gone, along with Denise’s. At first, I thought that they had taken Robyn with them, but as I headed toward my room, I heard soft music coming from her doorway. The door was open, and I shamelessly allowed myself to peek inside. She was lying on her bed with a sketchbook in hand. She had an expression of intense concentration on her face as the pencil moved slowly and carefully. I wished I could see what she was drawing. But as soon as I said, “Hi” from the hallway, she flipped the cover closed and jumped in surprise.

“Sorry,” I said apologetically, “I didn’t mean to startle you.”

“Oh,” she frowned at me, “I didn’t expect anyone to be home this early.”

“Normally, I’m not. But I squeaked out early today.” I watched her slide the sketchbook back into her nightstand drawer. “If you're finished with whatever you were drawing, would you like to go for a swim?”

“A swim?” She tipped her head at me like a curious bird.

“Yeah, the pool is heated, and the weather is perfect.”

“Oh,” I could see her debating with herself. “Yeah, sure. A swim would be nice. “.

I felt my grin grow wider and felt like I’d just won a minor victory. “Let me change. I’ll meet you in fifteen?”

She nodded and slipped off the bed. “Okay.”

Fifteen minutes later, I knocked on her door. I wore my favorite pair of swim shorts, and had a towel draped around my neck. I couldn’t help my eyes from wandering up and down Robyn’s tight, fit body. Most girls her age might have been parading around in skimpy string bikinis, putting everything they had on display, begging for attention. Not Robyn. She was wearing a modest two-piece suit that barely exposed her midriff. It was the kind of suit that was actually designed for a high-performance swimmer, with full coverage and a racer back. And she still looked hot as f.uck.

She picked up a towel and a cover-up and followed me through the house to the pool deck. The pool was shimmering in the sun, looking calm and inviting. I dropped my towel on a lounge chair and dived right in, hoping the water would cool the bulge in my shorts.

She looked around curiously, setting down her things. She went to the edge and gracefully dipped just her toe in to check the temperature. I wiped the water out of my eyes and teased her, “what’s the matter? Don’t you know how to swim?”

I’m pretty sure she rolled her eyes at me before she moved to the deep end. She stretched on the edge for a moment before she made a strong and graceful dive into the water. She surfaced halfway across the pool and started doing a slow, lazy side stroke.

Okay, so she definitely knew how to swim.

She swam several laps before I cut her off and forced her to stop swimming. She gave me a wary look as she started treading water. “You invited me to swim… but I think you really just wanted to play,” she said accusingly.

I grinned at her, "Exactly that! I’ve been cooped up in a stuffy office all day. I want to unwind.” I caught her hand and dragged her closer, knowing full well that she and I were still barely more than strangers. It was too soon for this kind of play, but I couldn't help myself. She didn’t pull away. “So, tell me something,” I pulled her up close to my body. “Are you some kind of fitness model?”

She laughed at me, and I loved the sound. “No way. I hate people staring at me.”

“Then what are you? A professional athlete? Are you secretly an Olympic swimmer?” I was really trying to figure this girl out. I couldn't get a read on her.

She smiled and shook her head. “Nope. I’m an artist and a writer who just happens to enjoy sports and exercise.” Although her mouth was smiling there was something serious in her eyes. “I like to feel strong. I like to push my limits.”

Some people say that guys don't like buff athletic women. Whoever said that was a d.umbass. It was sexy as hell. She must have read my expression because she tipped her head and studied me for a moment. “Don’t you think I'm a little too young for you?”

I felt my jaw drop at her directness. It took me a moment to recover. I stared down at her and considered the question seriously. “It depends how you look at it,” I said slowly. “You are eighteen, right? So, legally, you are a consenting adult. And age is really only a number. I also consider maturity. And you strike me as a very mature young woman.”

“Mmm,” she made a noise of agreement and surprised me by wrapping her legs around my waist and gripping my shoulders with her hands. “There are so many factors,” she continued my train of thought. “Experience, for example.”

“Life experience or s****l experience?” I couldn't help but tease her.

“Both,” she continued, studying my eyes intensely. “And then there is morality. Would it be right for a world-wise older man like you to take advantage of a young, innocent girl like me?”

I rested my hands lightly on her hips and resisted the urge to pull her body flush against mine. I wondered if she was really all that innocent. The way she was coming onto me, I somehow doubted it. I nodded my head and waited for her to continue.

“Then again…Consider how it would impact you socially. You can't take me into bars or clubs. What about work functions? Would you be embarrassed to introduce a teenage girl to your friends?” Her voice dropped to a low octave that made my skin tingle with excitement. “What do you think your coworker would say if you brought me to your office Christmas party? Maybe I'm friends with his daughter, or worse, maybe I'm his babysitter!” Her eyes were wide and sparkling with ideas.

“Wow,” I said, with a dark chuckle. “That was an impressive attempt to shut me down.”

“But true,” she said with a casual shrug. “I think it’s best if we keep this purely platonic.”

This girl left me baffled. I'd barely flirted with her, and she just shot me down without a second thought. The worst part is, she was one hundred percent correct. She was very young. Seven years wasn’t that much on the grand scale of things, but when the girl was only eighteen, it was huge. And I wasn't really seriously thinking of pursuing a relationship with her. Was I? Nah, she was just something new and curious that had caught my interest. Once the novelty wore off, she'd just be a boring teenage girl who just happened to live in my house.