Page 67 of Stepbrothers with Benefits
It wasn’t exactly singing praises, but it was better than how the conversation had started. I did wish she had brought that attitude to the table long before, but then again, I had never tried to talk about Marshall to my mom much. And when I had, it had always been arguing and demanding. So maybe it was a mix of being a lot calmer than usual when the subject came up, and the fact that my mother was essentially trapped by the fact that it was too late to stop Marshall and me from finding each other.
“Love you,” she said with a wink. “Give it some thought. Maybe take a picture when you suggest it to him, I might want to put that in a frame.”
“Riiiight,” I drew out slowly, deciding that maybe I didn’t want to know, and walked out with Eli on my tail. “You know, Marshall always speaks of Mom with...nervousness. What do you think she did to chase him off the last time?”
Eli sidled up beside me as we walked through an empty hallway, one of the few places in the building where guests weren’t allowed and was strictly for family. There were a few event rooms for guest use, but we were right below the part of the hotel set aside for the family living quarters.
“Do you remember that kid you hated?” Eli asked as we approached the service elevator tucked around a corner.
“Michael,” I said instantly. “We hated each other, but he really hated me.”
“Always used to give you shit until one day you stopped arguing or getting into wrestling matches with him.”
I laughed. “He started in about you.”
We stepped through the elevator doors. “What did he say?”
I thought about it for a minute and laughed. “Kept calling us fairies.”
“Oh. That’s...huh.”
“Just because he was half right doesn’t mean he needed to keep running his mouth. And he didn’t need to start in on you. But yeah, I remember that, I actually got into a real fight with him.”
“You beat the living shit out of him. You got in trouble at school, but you’d told the teachers and Marty about that asshole, and even with her help, the school never did anything. So Marty was content to let you have fun during your suspension. But what you didn’t know was that his dad showed up one day to talk to Marty and Dad.”
“Really?” I asked, pushing the button for our floor. “You’re right, I didn’t know that.”
“Pretty sure it was supposed to stay that way,” Eli laughed, leaning back against the wall as the ancient but still serviceable car began its slow track upward. It only went as high as the original building, which was the seventh floor, but from how slow it was, you’d think the thing was trying to reach space. “I don’t know what happened, though. All I know is they went into the old office, there was some yelling, and his dad left quickly.”
“Mom never did hold back when she was mad.”
“Yeeeah...remember how she had that old shotgun on the mantel in her office?”
“Yeah, thing’s been in the family forever, I guess. She always said it should still work because she took care of it like she was supposed to.”
“Okay, well, that shotgun wasn’t on the mantle. It was sitting next to her chair after that meeting.”
“Oh shit. You think she?—”
“I don’t know. What Ithinkhappened was that the rotten apple doesn’t fall far from the tree, and that the dad was the reason his son was a bastard in the first place. I’m betting he tried to be intimidating, you know, because he was a big dude and she’s not exactly a big woman.”
I smirked. “Yeah, I can kinda see that. Mostly because Mom always said that shotgun was there in case anyone forgot that guns are the great equalizer. Always fond of saying it doesn’t matter how big you are, a shotgun blast to the chest is going to bring you down faster than a fist to the face.”
“So...yeah, that’s my thought,” he said with a chuckle.
“God, poor Marshall. She probably terrorized him.”
“Knowing her? Probably.”
“Speaking of terrorizing people,” I began, watching the numbers of the floors light up and go dim as the car moved. “What thefuckwas that?”
“What?” he asked, but the confusion in his voice was too close to innocence, and I didn’t believe it for a minute.
I turned to glare at him. “You, Mr. Russian Fingers and Roman Hands.”
“What? This?” he asked, reaching forward and grabbing my now soft dick, giving it a gentle squeeze and pulling away.
“Do you have an exhibitionist kink or something?”
