Page 19 of Accidental Baby For My Brother’s Best Friend

Locke

Axel is unusually quiet on the way home, and not for the first time, I wonder what’s going on with him. It’s clearly something. Axel has always been a bit of a party animal but this isn’t like him. He doesn’t get pensive or maudlin when he drinks. He doesn’t do quiet. Yet, here we are. He’s not glaring at me or teasing me for cockblocking him like he usually would, and it worries me.

I was so mad at him just an hour ago that I couldn’t see straight, but now all I can do is wonder what the hell is going on. Gemma won’t even look at me, just gets on the bus with Samuel and heads to the back to lie down, facing away from us and bundling up in a blanket. I suppose that means I’m driving, since even Samuel seems to be pissed at me, crossing his arms over his chest.

I assume that Gemma is asleep when I pull off, but the second I turn off the bus, she stalks down the stairs and stumbles into the hotel. Samuel follows. And when it’s just myself and Axel on the bus, I turn to look at him. Instead of laughing or smiling or cracking a joke like he usually would, he just shrugs and heads into the hotel.

I sit in the driver seat, staring out the windshield for several minutes before I go inside. On the elevator, I think about getting off on the eighth floor, since that’s where Gemma and Jackson are staying. I tell myself it’s because I should tell Jackson what went on. I even hit the button, cursing when I realize that I can’t talk to Jackson about it without seeming like I’m tattling on Gemma.

You’re not in fucking preschool,I think, but nonetheless, as the elevator doors open when I get there, I just stick my head out the door and look down the hallway, presumably to make sure Gemma or Axel haven’t passed out in the hallway. They’ve both had too much to drink. No one is lying in the middle of the floor, though, so I step back into the elevator and go up to the tenth floor and head to my room.

I know that I should talk to Jackson, but not about Gemma. As strange as I’ve been feeling lately about Gemma, I honestly don’t trust myself to talk to Jackson without revealing something that will make him take my head off. The thing is, I’m bigger than Jackson, but he’s broader and he’s a dirty fighter. And though it’s been a while, I’ve stopped enough of his brawls to know that he’s never ended a fight without blood and bruises, and usually emerged as the winner. I can hold my own, maybe even against Jackson, but if I can avoid a few shots to my pretty face, I will.

Especially since I’m not sure what the hell has put this bug up my ass about Gemma Arden. Even when I learned she was managing the band, I didn’t think of her as more than Jackson’s little sister. I worried briefly about her ruining things with the band, but overall, I didn’t think she could do much damage. Now, it’s like I spend nearly every waking moment worrying about her in some way, and what the hell do I have to be worried about anyway?

That she might get laid? The thought sends a shiver up my spine and I rub my hands over my face. That can’t be it.I’m not jealous.

I mean, I am the jealous type, I even had to rein in that part of myself sometimes, especially since, after Janis, I didn’t exactly do real relationships. Once I hooked up with a girl more than a couple of times, I tended to get possessive, especially if we ran in the same circles. Given that a lot of my hookups were women who followed the band around, that happened a lot. I had to ignore the way it made me feel when they’d flirt with another member of the band or some guy in a bar, because at the end of the day, they weren’t mine because I couldn’t be theirs. I’m not the type to ask for something that I can’t give myself, and so far, it’s been easy enough to distract myself from my possessive nature.

I’m not feeling possessive over Gemma, even though I find her attractive. I’ve never touched her and I neverwilltouch her, so there’s no reason to be possessive. It’s nothing to do with that, despite how I’ve been seeing her as a woman lately, instead of just my best friend’s baby sister, despite that night at the bar when I’d teased her with my tongue on that cute little blonde bartender. I’m just worried about her, and not that she might get laid, but that she might get hurt by Axel Jermaine. Axel has never been a one-woman man, flirting with every skirt under the sun. Next to Jackson, he’s the member of the Spades with the most fans, just because of his outgoing personality and the way he plays lead guitar.

Gemma, on the other hand… I realize that I don’t know that much about her other than what Jackson has told me, but she just seems like a commitment type of girl, with her no-nonsense attitude and the way she didn’t take anyone’s shit. In fact, it was surprising to see her all over Axel like that, giggling at his stupid lines and putting her hands on his chest, letting him put his hands on her thighs…

I realize I’m fisting my hands and biting the insides of my cheeks when I taste iron on my tongue and I curse. I head to the bathroom to wash out my mouth and splash my face to cool off.

I look up at myself in the mirror, staring into my own eyes, which I’ve always found a bit disconcerting.

“Get it together, Kincaid,” I tell myself softly, and look over at the shower.

My parents never really cared much what I did, as long as it wasn’t embarrassing to them. If I dared embarrass them, they would teach me “the hard way” not to do it again, so, I used to do all my embarrassing things behind closed doors, and when you’re a hot-blooded teenage boy, that includes a lot of showers. I even joked with Jackson once that the sound of a shower gave me a hard-on after my teenage years and he’d laughed so hard he’d nearly fallen over.

There’s a kernel of truth to that, though, and to this day, shower time is still my go to when I need release, because unlike most men,

I don’t watch porn, weirdly enough. Not since I started touching, tasting, and feeling women for the first time. Watching it on TV became hollow and unfulfilling, so, eventually, I just stopped.

I figure after the night I’ve had and the weird way I’ve been feeling, maybe I need to let off some steam, so I turn on the water as hot as I can stand it. I chuck off my clothes and toss them into the corner of the hotel bathroom.

I haven’t gotten laid since that bartender, so naturally the blonde is the first memory that pops to mind when I take myself in hand without much seduction. I remember how small the blonde felt in my arms, her thighs flexing around my waist, the way she went limp when I put my mouth at the base of her throat. That night is still a bit of a blur, after all the tequila I consumed, and to be honest, her face is a little blurry, but I remember how she felt, how her body melted into mine, the weight of her breasts in my hands.

Unbidden, the blonde’s hair turns auburn and curly as I slide it through my fingers in my imagination. I just go with it, thinking that maybe this memory has melded into another one, with a redhead this time.

The blonde’s body begins to change, becoming curvier in the ass, breasts smaller beneath my palms, and slowly, her face comes into focus in a way I never experienced before—long lashes, pale green eyes…Gemma.

I hear her name as it rips out of my throat in a groan, an ache running from my balls to the tip of my cock, my eyes popping open as I come all over the shower wall.

“Well, fuck,” I whisper to myself, chest heaving from the force of my orgasm.

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