Stepbrother Forbidden (Stepbrother, Where Art Thou? Book 2) Read Online Free
Author: Aya Fukunishi
meth habit. His jaw was too sharp, and the line of his beard cut across it in a way that made his narrow face look pinched and cruel. The ridiculous beanie he wore wasn't helping matters.
She realized she was staring, and had yet to speak. "Umm... I'm Sophia. Look, umm..." she hesitated. She really wanted to tell him she wasn't in the mood for company, but a mixture of the alcohol already in her system and the welcome distraction from the conversation going on behind her stopped her from telling the guy to take a hike. "Never mind. Thanks for the drink." She took a big gulp, draining a third of the bottle in one go.
Robbie grinned and took a sip of his beer. "I don't think I've seen you around here before. You new in town?"
"Yeah," she replied. "I mean no, not really. I'm from Queens, but I just just moved to a place a few blocks from here."
"That's cool, that's cool." Robbie stared at her a little too long for comfort. "I'm here all the time. Got a cool little studio just around the corner. It's expensive, but hey, you gotta spend money if you wanna live in the big cit-ay , right? That's what I always say."
"Uh huh, I guess." Sophia was already wishing he hadn't sat down. It wasn't so much the conversation that was the problem, though that wasn't exactly sparkling, but the way he looked at her. He just stared, unblinking, like some kind of creepy reptile. She was almost certain he was trying some shitty pick up technique he'd read in a book or learned at a seminar. Maybe it worked on some girls, but Sophia really didn't enjoy being the focus of anyone's attention. He looked like he was weighing her up, and it was creeping her out.
"You know," he said, finally, "that outfit is really nice, but I'm not really digging your pants. I think girls with big thighs should wear something a little looser."
Oh Jesus, she thought. I was right. He's a fucking pick up artist. She'd read about one of these guys just a couple of weeks earlier. Some creep who gave seminars to teach guys how to score with women had been barred from the UK (or Australia, she couldn't remember the details) because his techniques amounted to borderline sexual assault.
"Are you serious? You're not trying to neg me, right?" she asked, incredulous.
"Ummm... no, I'm just... y'know, I'm just making conversation." Robbie looked suddenly uncomfortable, as if it hadn't occurred to him that a girl might have heard about the fucked up tactics used by pick up artists. He was 'negging' her: making a negative comment in an effort to knock her confidence and make her more susceptible to his advances. She'd read all about it, but she'd never imagined it would feel so fucking creepy to hear a guy try it for real.
"Just making conversation?" She was going to enjoy this. "OK, my turn. Your beard is really nice, but I think it'd look better on a real man. Oh, this is fun. You wanna go again?"
Robbie shifted awkwardly in his seat, uncertain how to go on. "No! I mean, I don't know what you're talking about. I don't even know what negging is."
Sophia took another swig from her bottle. She could tell the alcohol was going to her head. She knew she should probably shut up and just tell Robbie to leave, but she needed this. She desperately needed to let off some steam and distract herself, and this creepy dude made the ideal vessel to pour her frustration.
"OK, you don't want to play? Then I'll go again. You're alone in a bar on a Friday night, trying to hit on a woman with techniques you learned from creeps who think that women are objects to be used at their leisure and thrown to the gutter when they're done. I'm guessing you don't know how to have a real conversation with a woman, how to treat her like an equal fucking human being. You don't know how to talk to a woman without your little Internet-assembled bag of tricks to fool her into bed, and without them you'd end every night the same way, alone in your apartment,
She realized she was staring, and had yet to speak. "Umm... I'm Sophia. Look, umm..." she hesitated. She really wanted to tell him she wasn't in the mood for company, but a mixture of the alcohol already in her system and the welcome distraction from the conversation going on behind her stopped her from telling the guy to take a hike. "Never mind. Thanks for the drink." She took a big gulp, draining a third of the bottle in one go.
Robbie grinned and took a sip of his beer. "I don't think I've seen you around here before. You new in town?"
"Yeah," she replied. "I mean no, not really. I'm from Queens, but I just just moved to a place a few blocks from here."
"That's cool, that's cool." Robbie stared at her a little too long for comfort. "I'm here all the time. Got a cool little studio just around the corner. It's expensive, but hey, you gotta spend money if you wanna live in the big cit-ay , right? That's what I always say."
"Uh huh, I guess." Sophia was already wishing he hadn't sat down. It wasn't so much the conversation that was the problem, though that wasn't exactly sparkling, but the way he looked at her. He just stared, unblinking, like some kind of creepy reptile. She was almost certain he was trying some shitty pick up technique he'd read in a book or learned at a seminar. Maybe it worked on some girls, but Sophia really didn't enjoy being the focus of anyone's attention. He looked like he was weighing her up, and it was creeping her out.
"You know," he said, finally, "that outfit is really nice, but I'm not really digging your pants. I think girls with big thighs should wear something a little looser."
Oh Jesus, she thought. I was right. He's a fucking pick up artist. She'd read about one of these guys just a couple of weeks earlier. Some creep who gave seminars to teach guys how to score with women had been barred from the UK (or Australia, she couldn't remember the details) because his techniques amounted to borderline sexual assault.
"Are you serious? You're not trying to neg me, right?" she asked, incredulous.
"Ummm... no, I'm just... y'know, I'm just making conversation." Robbie looked suddenly uncomfortable, as if it hadn't occurred to him that a girl might have heard about the fucked up tactics used by pick up artists. He was 'negging' her: making a negative comment in an effort to knock her confidence and make her more susceptible to his advances. She'd read all about it, but she'd never imagined it would feel so fucking creepy to hear a guy try it for real.
"Just making conversation?" She was going to enjoy this. "OK, my turn. Your beard is really nice, but I think it'd look better on a real man. Oh, this is fun. You wanna go again?"
Robbie shifted awkwardly in his seat, uncertain how to go on. "No! I mean, I don't know what you're talking about. I don't even know what negging is."
Sophia took another swig from her bottle. She could tell the alcohol was going to her head. She knew she should probably shut up and just tell Robbie to leave, but she needed this. She desperately needed to let off some steam and distract herself, and this creepy dude made the ideal vessel to pour her frustration.
"OK, you don't want to play? Then I'll go again. You're alone in a bar on a Friday night, trying to hit on a woman with techniques you learned from creeps who think that women are objects to be used at their leisure and thrown to the gutter when they're done. I'm guessing you don't know how to have a real conversation with a woman, how to treat her like an equal fucking human being. You don't know how to talk to a woman without your little Internet-assembled bag of tricks to fool her into bed, and without them you'd end every night the same way, alone in your apartment,
Readers choose
Barbara Seranella
Max Allan Collins
David DeLee
P.R. Principe
Ronald Kelly
Varios autores
Johanna Lindsey
Stephen Moss
Deborah Fletcher Mello