Eyes on Me (Salacious Players’ Club)
Eyes on Me: Part 1 – Chapter 10

Garrett

Mia sounds terrible. She’s currently shaking her ass through an off-key version of “Dancing Queen,” and it’s the worst thing I’ve ever heard, but the crowd has suddenly come to life. Everyone is clapping and dancing and singing along. And she looks as if she doesn’t have a care in the world.

In her cute jean shorts and flowery tank top, she’s beaming as her screechy voice carries across the room. She looks truly free, hopping up and down with the microphone, and I can’t tear my eyes away. Not from her smile or from the way her hips shake with each bounce.

When I glance over at fucking Reese, the Ivy League square at the other end of the table, he’s wearing an uncomfortable grimace as he scrolls through his phone. I want to take the damn thing and throw it into the water pitcher on the table. This guy isn’t Mia’s type at all. He looks dull as fuck, and she’d be bored to tears with someone like him.

I don’t get jealous. That’s not what this is. I just don’t like this guy, and regardless of what’s gone down this week, Mia is still family to me, and I’m her protective older brother. I don’t like the idea of some guy getting a free ticket to her panties just because he graduated from Yale and his parents own a lake resort.

When Mia comes bouncing back to the table, we all applaud her, and she gives a little bow with her red cheeks and messy hair. There’s not a scrap of embarrassment on her face. Must be nice to have fun and not give a shit what anyone thinks. I wish I had a shred of what Mia has.

“Bravo, sweetheart!” Paul says as he stands up to hug her.

“Thanks, Dad.”

She sits down, still next to fucking-Reese, and we have another round of drinks before the parents—ours and Reese’s—all decide to call it a night. I can tell with one look at Mia that she’s not ready to throw in the towel just yet. She still has three more songs to sing.

So we tell them goodbye, but when everyone rises and walks to the door, I stay put. If fucking-Reese is staying, then so am I.

When my mother gets to the door, she calls me over. “Why don’t you come with us?” she asks, looping her arm through mine, and I clench my jaw.

“I’m not leaving Mia here alone.”

“She’s not alone,” Mom replies, actively pulling me to the door. “She’s with Reese.”

“Do you even know that guy? You’re just going to leave your daughter with a complete stranger?”

She balks. “First of all, Mia is an adult. Second of all, I’m not leaving her alone. She’s in a bar, where everyone has known her since she was in third grade. And lastly…why are you so protective of her all of a sudden? I mean, I’m glad you’re finally getting along, and I think it’s sweet you’ve taken this big brother role so seriously, but maybe you need to ease up a bit.”

I pull my arm away from her. “Maybe you need to take your mother role a little more seriously. I’m not leaving her.”

With that, I walk away, taking my guilt with me. I didn’t mean to snap at my mother or blame her for being a bad one, but she’d never really understand why I couldn’t leave Mia here. There are still a shit-ton of unanswered questions where my stepsister and I are concerned, and I’m at the point where I either see it through and do something about all of this new tension or just leave town completely and try to let it go.

I think we all know which route I’m going to choose.

When I sit back at the table, Mia is laughing at something Reese said, and it grates on my nerves.

“What’s so funny?” I mutter, doing a pretty shitty job of appearing unaffected by their sudden friendliness.

“Oh, nothing. He was just telling me about how he had to use his fake ID in college.”

“College? How old are you then?”

“Twenty-three in August,” he confidently replies. My eyes trail over to Mia, but she’s too busy worrying her lip and stirring her straw around in her drink to look up at me.

Is this the kind of guy Mia goes for? A smart guy, close to her age, who’s probably not a moody asshole who owns a sex club and has watched her masturbate not once, but twice, without her knowing it.

Yeah, I did sneak upstairs and peek in on her taking a shower, but somewhere in my sick, demented mind, I figured that if she left it open a crack then she was actually inviting me to do so. And after that fuck me stare she shot me before heading upstairs, who could blame me?

Maybe I should just leave them alone. I won’t leave the bar entirely; I still need to make sure she makes it home safely, but I should probably just replace a lonely corner of the bar where I’m not a pesky third wheel.

Right as I’m about to force myself away from them, the announcer calls her name for another round of karaoke. She beams as she jumps up from her seat and the patrons seated around the bar actually cheer when they see her jog onto the stage.

When the music starts, I immediately recognize the song. “Criminal” by Fiona Apple. Not exactly the same tempo as Abba.

I feel my spine stiffen as I watch her clutch the microphone stand with both hands and hug it close to her body. Oh, fuck. I can already tell by the way she’s swaying to the beat that this is going to be difficult to watch. Not because it’s cringey or because her singing is just as bad as it was before, but because my eyes won’t be the only ones devouring my too-sexy-for-her-own-good stepsister.

I don’t look away for even a second as she sings—still badly—while swaying her hips and practically grinding against the microphone stand. The crowd is eating it up, whooping and whistling, and it only encourages her to do it more.

“Is she always like this?” Reese asks from behind me. When I turn toward him, he’s smiling up at the stage, and it’s like ice to my bloodstream.

“Always,” I reply grimly.

He laughs. “She’s quite a girl. I bet there’s never a dull moment.”

I’m watching her as she crawls onto the nearest table with the microphone in her hand, dancing on her knees and making the crowd go crazy. A couple of older ladies jokingly throw dollar bills at her, and she’s laughing her way through the song.

Her singing might be god-awful, but her stage presence is perfection. Those stage lights love her, and she has a natural ability to control a crowd like nothing I’ve ever seen. So a career in music might not be right for her, but Mia belongs on stage.

“Never…” I reply, but when I glance back at Reese, he’s staring down at his phone again.

Fuck this guy. Turning back toward Mia, I watch her finish the song. And when the crowd cheers for her, I cup my hands over my mouth and whoop the loudest. She glances up at me and her eyes twinkle with excitement as our gazes meet.

It’s at this moment that I decide to stop going back and forth with what my body wants. It clearly wants to fuck her. And I guess if that’s what my body wants—and clearly what hers wants too—far be it for me to argue with that kind of persuasion. This new chemistry between us is just physical anyway, so we might as well get it out of our systems. She said she’s been in a dry spell too, so it’s likely just pent-up sexual aggression and a healthy dose of resentment that’s been building for years, but whatever it is, I bet it will make for some out-of-this-world sex.

When she comes back to the table, I stand up to greet her. That douchebag, Reese, isn’t paying attention anyway. So I grab Mia by the waist and pull her toward me. Her eyes widen as I do.

“That was incredible,” I mumble quietly.

“Thank you,” she replies with uncertainty. She must be confused as to why I’m not making fun of her poor singing skills and holding her a little too closely in public.

So I lean down and whisper in her ear, “Leave with me right now.”

Her eyes widen even more at my dark admission, searching my eyes as if she’s trying to confirm what I’m implying. “For what?”

“You know what,” I reply in a deep whisper.

“Can’t you see I’m on a date?”

“No, you’re not. I brought you here.”

“Well, I like him,” she whispers, and I stare at her in confusion. Ouch.

“No, you don’t. You think that guy could possibly give you what I can?”

She flinches and tries to pull away, but I don’t let her get far. “I already told you, we’re not having this conversation. You’ve teased me enough. I’m done.”

“Mia, stop fucking around,” I mutter, feeling suddenly impatient.

“I think I like seeing you so jealous,” she replies with a wicked grin.

This time, she successfully pulls away, moving back to the table to sit next to Reese.

“We need shots,” I mutter as I flag down the waitress, ordering a pitcher of beer and a round of Fireballs, which Reese actually takes this time.

The rest of the night feels like a blur. She sings a couple more songs. I’m her loudest and most obnoxious supporter while fucking Reese continues to pay minimal attention, only giving her his time when she’s back at the table.. At one point, I turn around to replace him with his arm around her, whispering something in her ear that has her smiling.

Suddenly I know what a territorial dog feels like when someone encroaches on their property, touching what is theirs. I have to bite back the urge to snarl as I glare at them. But what right do I have to say anything? Mia is not mine; I have no intention of making her or anyone mine. So why should I steal her chance at happiness for my own stubborn pride?

“I have to go to the bathroom,” I mumble, although neither of them hear me. I resign myself to leaving while I’m at the urinal, ready to put away my selfishness, regardless of how drunk I am and how badly I want to stay.

As I come out of the bathroom, I hear Reese’s voice down the hallway that leads to the back door.

“I’m telling you, it’s her!” he exclaims into his phone. I press myself against the wall, so he doesn’t see me as I listen in.

“No, I haven’t asked her if she’s a fucking camgirl, but look at those pictures I sent you. It’s definitely WickedKitten.”

Goosebumps erupt along my arms and neck.

“Dude,” he laughs. “Of course I’m going to fuck her. She’s been trying to touch my dick all night. As soon as I get her away from her creepy fucking brother, I’ll take her back to my place. I bet she lets me film it, and I’ll send it to you.”

Fuck this guy. My blood turns to scalding in a heartbeat as I march toward him with a sneer pulling on my lips.

“Give me this,” I bark. I grab his phone out of his hand without warning.

“Dude, what the fuck?”

I toss it on the floor as I slam him against the wall. “Listen to me, you little shit. I don’t care what the fuck you saw or what you think about Mia. If you try to lay a hand on her, I promise I’ll break it off, understand?”

He shoves against me, but I’m stronger and more determined, so I lock him against the wall with my forearm pressed to his throat.

“It’s so obvious you want to fuck your sister, you pervert!” he manages to squeak out, although I’ve got him pinned so tight he can barely breathe.

“Yeah, well, I’d rather be a pervert than a douchebag.”

“Garrett!” a familiar female voice screams from the entrance to the hallway. “Let him go!”

On instinct, I pull away, staring at her and wondering just how much of that she heard. Reese sputters and coughs, trying to suck in air as she reaches for his phone.

But Mia gets to it before him, and as she picks it up, she asks, “Are you okay?” Then she glances down at the screen to see her own picture, which we both see clear as day. It’s bright as fuck, and she’s naked, sprawled out on the mattress of her bed. I watch Mia’s face go stark white and her eyes widen like saucers.

I snatch the phone out of her hand and shove it toward Reese. “Delete it. Now,” I bellow.

Mia stands frozen between us as Reese composes himself, not moving with the phone in his hand.

“Now!” My voice thunders through the dim hallway. Finally, he starts punching buttons on his phone, and I watch the photo disappear.

“It was you, wasn’t it?” Reese asks her. “You’re some porn star, right?”

“I’m not a porn star,” she replies.

“Yeah, well, whatever. You get naked for money.”

“That’s enough,” I bark at him, but he ignores me. The way he’s talking to her, flashing her picture around, sharing it with his friends, I know it’s humiliating to her, and it’s making me want to pummel his face with my fist.

Then he reaches out for her, and I see red.

“Let’s get out of here,” he says. “I already know what your hourly rate is, sweetheart. I can pay it.”

My fist flies on its own accord, connecting with his jaw in a resounding crack. Time stops moving for a moment as Mia and I stare at him. Then, at the same time, we look at each other, the energy of the moment sobering us instantly.

Reese is whining about the pain when I grab Mia’s hand and drag her out of the bar in a rush. Before she and I are out the door, she shoots back one quick “Fuck you” to Reese.