Chapter 3: Dangerous Games
The steam from the shower had barely faded from her skin when the intercom buzzed. Ashlee jumped, clutching the towel tighter. From the kitchen, she heard Kevin’s quiet curse, then his footsteps.
“It’s Hope,” he called out, his voice devoid of any surprise. “She’s early.”
Panic, cold and sharp, lanced through Ashlee. Early. Hope was here, now, while the taste of him was still a phantom memory on her tongue. While the ache in her jaw served as a constant, throbbing reminder. “What do I do?” she hissed, padding into the living room.
Kevin was already at the door, pressing the entry release. He turned, his eyes sweeping over her. She saw his gaze snag on the damp ends of her hair, the visible flush on her chest. A smirk touched his lips. “You get dressed. I’ll entertain my girlfriend.”
He said the word ‘girlfriend’ with a peculiar flatness. Ashlee fled to the guest room, her heart hammering against her ribs. She yanked open drawers, pulling on a simple yellow sundress. It was soft, innocent. It felt like a costume. She didn’t bother with a bra; the haste was real, but the effect was calculated. She knew how the thin cotton clung.
She could hear Hope’s cheerful voice in the foyer, the light clip of her footsteps. “Sorry to bomb! I finished my trail maps way faster than I thought. You weren’t busy, were you?”
“Not at all,” Kevin’s reply was smooth, a perfect cocktail of warmth and welcome. “Ashlee’s here. Just getting settled.”
Ashlee took a steadying breath and walked out.
Hope stood in the vast living room, dwarfed by the scale of it. She was tiny, just over five feet, dressed in sensible hiking pants and a faded graphic tee that said ‘I’d Rather Be Birding.’ Her dark hair was in a messy bun, glasses perched on her nose. She was the absolute antithesis of everything that had just happened in the bedroom. Her smile was wide and genuine.
“Ashlee! Hi! It’s so good to finally meet you properly,” Hope said, crossing the room with an open, easy gait. She smelled like sunscreen and pine needles.
“You too,” Ashlee said, forcing a smile. She accepted a brief, firm hug. Hope’s small frame felt insubstantial.
“Kevin’s told me so much about you. The legendary stepsister!” Hope laughed, a bright, unguarded sound. “I’m so sorry about your apartment. What a nightmare.”
“It’s… been an adventure,” Ashlee said, her eyes flicking to Kevin. He was leaning against the kitchen island, watching them with an amused, detached expression, like a scientist observing an experiment.
“Well, you’re in the best possible place. This guy,” Hope gestured to Kevin with a thumb, “is weirdly competent. Annoyingly so. He’ll have you sorted in no time.” She moved to the sofa, curling her legs under her with a natural ease. “So, I was thinking for dinner, we could try that new farm-to-table place on 3rd? I read they source everything within fifty miles. Or, if you’re feeling casual, we could just order in? I’m easy.”
Kevin pushed off the island and walked over. He sat not next to Hope, but on the wide arm of the chair Ashlee had perched on. His posture was relaxed, proprietary. “Ashlee’s easy too,” he said, his hand coming to rest on the back of Ashlee’s neck, his fingers kneading the tense muscle there. It was a brotherly gesture. It was anything but.
Hope beamed, oblivious. “Perfect! So, what’s your vibe? Fancy, or pizza and a movie?”
Ashlee tried to focus on the question, but Kevin’s thumb was stroking the sensitive spot behind her ear. Her skin prickled. “Uh, pizza sounds great. Low-key.”
“My man!” Hope cheered, pulling out her phone. “I’ll order. The usual, Kev? Extra pepperoni, jalapeños?”
“You know me,” Kevin murmured. His hand slid from Ashlee’s neck, down the slope of her shoulder, coming to rest on her upper back. His palm was hot through the thin cotton.
“Ashlee? What’s your poison?”
“Just cheese is fine,” Ashlee managed.
“A purist! I respect it.” Hope tapped at her screen, chattering about the merits of different local pizzerias. Kevin’s hand continued its slow, deliberate journey. It slipped lower, tracing the line of her spine through the dress until his fingers were resting at the small of her back.
Then, as Hope detailed the carbon footprint of imported pepperoni, his hand curved around her hip.
Ashlee froze. He was palming the swell of her ass through the sundress, his fingers splayed, a warm, heavy weight. She dared not move. Hope was right there, three feet away, ordering food.
“So, what did you guys get up to today?” Hope asked, not looking up from her phone.
Kevin’s fingers flexed, squeezing the generous flesh. “Not much,” he said, his voice a lazy drawl. “Ashlee slept in. I made coffee. The usual Sunday lethargy.”
His hand moved again. It slid downward, over the curve, until his fingertips brushed the hem of her dress where it rested mid-thigh. And then his hand slipped underneath.
Ashlee’s breath hitched. She stared straight ahead at the flickering, unlit fireplace. Hope was a blur in her periphery.
Under the cover of the sundress, Kevin’s hand traveled upward along the inside of her thigh. His skin was rough against her softness. Higher. His fingers skipped over the edge of her cotton panties, then dipped beneath the leg band.
Hope chuckled at something on her phone. “This place has a ‘Sustainability Star’ rating. That’s adorable.”
Kevin’s middle finger found its target. It slid through her folds with an obscene, wet ease. She was soaking, had been since the moment she heard Hope’s voice, a perverse, involuntary reaction. He made a low, approving sound in his throat, a hum that only she could hear.
“You’re not wrong,” Kevin said to Hope, his tone conversational, even as his finger circled her clit, a slow, torturous pressure. “The greenwashing in the restaurant industry is rampant.”
Ashlee bit the inside of her cheek. The contrast was madness. Hope’s cheerful, mundane chatter about farm subsidies and his finger, now pushing insistently at her entrance, gathering her wetness, painting it over her throbbing clit. She was paralyzed, a statue of guilt and molten need.
“Okay, ordered!” Hope announced, putting her phone down. She looked over at them. “Thirty minutes. So, Ashlee, Kevin says you work in a call center? That must be…”
Hope’s sentence trailed off. Her eyes, behind her glasses, had dropped. They were fixed on Kevin’s arm, the one that disappeared under Ashlee’s dress. The muscles in his forearm were taut, subtly moving.
A beat of silence stretched, thin and sharp.
Kevin didn’t remove his hand. He turned his head slowly to look at Hope, a polite, questioning smile on his face. “Must be what, babe?”
Hope blinked. She looked from his arm to his face, then to Ashlee’s. Ashlee knew her own expression was a mask of panic. “Uh… stressful,” Hope finished, her voice losing a fraction of its buoyancy. “It must be stressful.”
“It has its moments,” Ashlee whispered.
Kevin’s finger pushed inside her, just to the first knuckle, a sudden, shocking invasion. Ashlee jolted.
“You okay?” Hope asked, her brow furrowing.
“Fine!” Ashlee squeaked. “Just… a cramp.”
Kevin apologizes advising that he has an urgent matter. He has to attend to at work. He has hope if he can give her a call that evening to make plans. She says of course Bebe kiss and Kevin departs leaving Hope and Ashlee together to catch up. They share mimosas
A strained silence settled after the door clicked shut behind Kevin. The absence of his presence was a physical relief and a terrible vacuum. Ashlee sat frozen, the damp evidence of his touch cooling on her thigh beneath her dress. Hope stared at the closed door, her expression unreadable.
“Work,” Hope said, the word a flat stone dropped into quiet water. She turned back to Ashlee, forcing a smile that didn’t reach her eyes. “It’s always something. Never really clocks out, you know?”
“I know,” Ashlee mumbled, tugging her dress down. The fabric felt like a lie.
Hope stood abruptly, moving to the kitchen. The refrigerator door opened with a sigh. “Mimosas?” she called, her voice artificially bright. “I saw OJ in here. I think we’ve earned them.”
“Sure.” Ashlee remained on the chair, her body humming with residual adrenaline and shame. The phantom pressure of his finger inside her was a brand. Hope busied herself with glasses, the pop of the champagne cork, the glug of orange juice.
She returned, handing Ashlee a frosty flute. They clinked glasses without meeting each other’s eyes. The champagne was dry and sharp. Hope took a long swallow, then perched on the edge of the sofa, leaning forward.
“So,” Hope began, her gaze now direct, laser-focused behind her lenses. “You and Kev have been friends since, what? Diapers?”
“Pretty much.” Ashlee took a smaller sip. The bubbles felt acidic in her tight throat. “Our moms were best friends. We did the whole… blended family thing without the actual blending.”
“That’s sweet.” Hope’s tone was analytical, not warm. She swirled her glass. “He talks about you a lot. His ‘sister.’ It’s cute.”
Ashlee just nodded. The word ‘sister’ curdled in the air between them.
“Must be nice,” Hope continued, “having that history. That safety. Knowing someone that well.” She paused, her eyes dropping to Ashlee’s mouth, then flicking away. “You’re very comfortable with each other.”
The observation hung there, dangerous. Ashlee’s mind flashed to the morning: the slapping sounds, the taste, the guttural commands. The slick, secret invasion minutes ago. “I guess,” she managed. “It’s just… how we’ve always been.”
“Right.” Hope took another drink. “He had his hand pretty far up your dress.”
The statement landed like a thrown brick. Blunt, shattering the fragile pretense. Ashlee’s br
breath stopped. The air in the room crystallized, each molecule sharp enough to cut. Hope’s gaze was unwavering, a scientist observing a specimen. There was no anger in it. Just a terrifying, clinical curiosity.
Ashlee’s mind, which had been a fog of panic, cleared into a single, cold point of survival. Denial was useless. The evidence was cooling on her skin. She met Hope’s eyes and let her own fill with a welling, embarrassed tears. Not guilt. Shame.
“I know,” Ashlee whispered, her voice cracking perfectly. She looked down at her hands, twisting in her lap. “God, Hope. I’m so embarrassed.”
Hope’s analytical expression flickered. “Embarrassed?”
“He does that.” Ashlee let out a shaky, wet laugh. She wiped roughly at her eye. “It’s this… stupid, annoying brother thing. He’s done it since we were teenagers. A power move. He knows it makes me want to die.” She looked up, letting Hope see the sheer, humiliating frustration in her face. “My dress. At my cousin’s wedding. Under the table. I almost stabbed him with a steak knife.”
Hope blinked. The rigid line of her shoulders softened a fraction. “A… brother thing?”
“A ‘I’m bigger and you can’t stop me’ thing,” Ashlee clarified, rolling her eyes with a practiced, weary exasperation. She took a fortifying gulp of mimosa. “It’s gross. It’s infantilizing. He thinks it’s hilarious. I think he’s a Neanderthal.” She shrugged, a loose, hopeless gesture. “You try growing up with that. You just… learn to ignore it after a while. It doesn’t mean anything to him. That’s the worst part.”
She saw Hope processing. Saw her connecting the action not to illicit desire, but to a long history of casual, one-sided domination. To a dynamic where Ashlee was not a threat, but a victim of habitual disrespect.
“That’s… really inappropriate,” Hope said slowly, her voice shifting from accusation to something nearer to pity.
“Tell me about it,” Ashlee snorted, a real bite of anger in it. She leaned forward, conspiratorial. “Once, at a movie theater? I was sixteen. He snuck a whole handful of popcorn down the back of my jeans. I had to walk out covered in butter.” She shuddered, a full-body performance of remembered indignity.
A tiny, unexpected laugh escaped Hope. She clamped her hand over her mouth. “No.”
“Yes!” Ashlee insisted, warming to the fiction, weaving it with threads of real childhood annoyances. “He’s a monster. A professionally successful, emotionally stunted monster.” She waved her glass. “And now I’m trapped in his stupid, shiny apartment. It’s a nightmare.”
Hope’s laugh was fuller this time, less restrained. She refilled both their glasses, the champagne fizzing over the rims. “Okay. That’s actually kind of terrible.”
“It is terrible!” Ashlee agreed, the mimosa courage blurring the line between act and real resentment. “He uses the ‘brother’ thing as a free pass for all kinds of nonsense. You should see the garbage he gives me about my job.”
“What does he say?” Hope asked, settling back into the cushions, drawn in.
“Oh, the usual finance-bro condescension.” Ashlee put on a deep, mocking voice. “‘Ashlee, the revenue potential in a call center is literally capped by human vocal cords. It’s an inefficient model.’” She rolled her eyes so hard it hurt. “I told him my goal is to not hate my life every morning, not conquer a small nation. He didn’t get it.”
Hope grinned, her face transforming. “That is exactly how he talks. Oh my God. The ‘inefficient model’ line. He used that about my composting setup.”
“See? A monster.” Ashlee smiled back, her gap-toothed grin disarming and genuine. She felt the tension in the room dissolve, replaced by the warm, fuzzy alliance of shared grievance.
They drank. The conversation unspooled from there, loosened by alcohol and Ashlee’s deliberate, self-effacing charm. She told self-deprecating stories about disastrous calls at work. She described her peck sea turtle tattoo, a silly impulse after a breakup, forever hidden on her back. “It’s the opposite of me,” she laughed. “Slow, purposeful, graceful. I’m a chaotic, land-dwelling mess.”
Hope was captivated. To her, Ashlee was a fascinating, unpolished specimen. Not a polished, calculated threat like the women in Kevin’s professional circle, but a real person with a thick ass, an average face, and a weird, wonderful humor that felt like a cool breeze in a stale room. She was harmless. Delightful.
“You’re hilarious,” Hope said, her cheeks flushed from the champagne. “And you’re so… real. It’s refreshing.”
“I’m a disaster,” Ashlee corrected warmly, topping up Hope’s glass. “But a fun one.”
“I’ll drink to that.” Hope clinked her glass again. She studied Ashlee for a long moment, her earlier suspicion a distant memory. “You know… we should go out. Just us. This week. Get a drink where the furniture isn’t scared of wine.”
Ashlee felt a surge of cold triumph, clean and sharp. She tilted her head, her expression open and pleased. “I’d love that.”
“Great!” Hope’s smile was brilliant, unguarded. She was absolutely in love with her new friend. “It’s a date. Well, a friend-date. A rescue mission from monster-brother land.”
Ashlee laughed, the sound bright and easy in the sleek apartment. The echo of Kevin’s touch was still there, a phantom stain. But as she looked at Hope’s trusting, smiling face, she saw the perfect, unbreakable alibi taking solid form.