Series: Peach State Stepbros Series by Riley Hart
Total pages in book: 95
Estimated words: 92311 (not accurate)
Estimated Reading Time in minutes: 462(@200wpm)___ 369(@250wpm)___ 308(@300wpm)
Estimated words: 92311 (not accurate)
Estimated Reading Time in minutes: 462(@200wpm)___ 369(@250wpm)___ 308(@300wpm)
Sometimes I want to punch that smirk off Atlas McCallister’s pretty face.
He’s cocky. A troublemaker. A pain.
And, unfortunately, my stepbrother.
We’ve been fire and kerosene since our parents got together, and to keep from exploding into fistfights, we’ve used challenges, dares, and bets to battle out our differences.
Our past bets have been a little inappropriate—scandalous, even—but Atlas’s latest bet has gone too far.
Do I really believe if he loses, my straight stepbrother is gonna mess around with a guy? And not just any guy: me, his rival and nemesis.
Not a chance.
But if he’s so confident he’s gonna win…well, my big stepbro must not know me as well as he thinks…
ATLAS
I love getting under Troy’s skin.
Mr. Former Prom King. Mr. Heartthrob. Mr. Infuriatingly Perfect. Messing with him is too easy. Too fun. Maybe that’s why I’m a little obsessed with him.
Our latest bet is the perfect way for me to test the bisexual waters, and once I dive headfirst into the deep end, I don’t want to stop.
With Troy. My stepbro.
It was supposed to be just a little fun, yet with each touch, I like him more than I should. It wasn’t supposed to go this far. Now I want Troy to be all mine.
But what we’re doing has bigger consequences than our little step bet, and when the stakes are this high, is it worth gambling our hearts when we know this is a game we both could lose?
This is the first book in the Peach State Stepbros Series. It can be read as a standalone.
Trigger Warning: The Step Bet is a steamy romance, but one of the secondary characters struggles with addiction. This may act as a trigger for some readers.
*************FULL BOOK START HERE*************
1
Troy
I want tonight to be fun.
The sort of wild, chaotic, fantastic fun that’s made Alpha Theta Mu’s parties legendary.
The sort of fun that makes all the organizing, planning, and decorating worth it.
The sort of fun that helps me forget.
In only briefs, I search through my dresser for shorts when there’s a knock at my door. “Just a sec,” I call as I hurry into a pair, then answer the door.
“Troy, Troy, Troy,” Colin says, hooking an arm around me while driving his opposite elbow into my stomach and pushing me toward the bed. I figure he’s going to surrender before we make it there, but he’s not satisfied until he’s got me on my back on the mattress.
He rises to his knees. “Fumble!” he calls out, bringing back memories of our time on our high school football team.
“Pretty sure I would have kept the ball.”
He searches around. “Then where’s it at?”
“Fucker,” I say, though he’s got me chuckling.
“Now, I’d be fine with you being up here without a shirt on if there was someone else in here with you, but this is just sad.”
“Not everyone’s as horny as you, man. And I had to finish up some homework on the first law of thermodynamics and wrap my head around internal energy and heat transfer.”
“Troy, no one’s gonna believe you were ever a jock if you talk like this,” he teases with a wink.
“Oh really? Even when I do this?” I flex my biceps, which makes him laugh. “Anyway, if I don’t get it done tonight, I’ll be working on it over the weekend to get it in on time on Monday.”
“Can’t everyone flash a smile and ask for an extension? Is that just me?”
“Pretty confident that only applies to athletes on the school teams,” I say, and his expression turns serious.
I was only trying to point out his privilege, not dredge up shit from the past, but I can tell he’s thinking about high school, when we both dreamed of playing for Peach State. Now he’s living the dream, and my life went another direction.
“Don’t be weird, Colin. I just meant that now that I’m a mere mortal, I’ve gotta get my work in on time.”
I’m worried he’s not going to drop it, so I’m glad when he does. “Well, get some fucking clothes on and get down there so you can get them back off again ASAP.”
I find my tee with the Greek letters of our frat across the front, and then Colin and I head downstairs to join in on the fun in the yard. We enjoy the dance remixes the DJ’s playing as Colin and I beat some guys from Alpha Phi Alpha at beer pong and chat with pledges over cornhole before befriending some girls from Phi Kappa. One named Debbie keeps ogling me and has made up one too many excuses to grab my biceps and pecs, enough that Colin and I exchange a glance. Some point soon, I’m gonna need to let her know I’m as gay as Colin is straight.
“Do you have a girlfriend?” she asks just as shouting nearby draws my attention.
Alpha Theta Mu parties are about fun. We don’t do drama. And we crack down on bad behavior. Hard. Toxic people can go find toxic spaces for that shit.
I recognize my housemate Marty’s voice even before I spot him by the fence along the yard. He’s getting in someone’s face, someone I can’t see yet, but there’s a nagging knot in my gut, some instinct warning me whom it might be, and then the nearby group shifts, revealing who’s earned his ire.
Fucking Atlas.
Of course it’s him.
“You have to go,” I distinctly hear Marty say.
“Chill out, man. What’s the big deal?” Atlas asks, which makes Marty’s face flush red.
I turn to my new Phi Kappa friend, who seems to have noticed my distraction.
“So, do you?” she says. “Have a girlfriend?”
“I’m gay,” I tell her, then politely excuse myself so I can deal with my stepbrother.
Marty doesn’t have experience with a guy like Atlas, not enough to keep his cool during a confrontation. This requires a seasoned pro, someone with years of practice dealing with my full-time stepbrother, part-time pain in the ass.
When I think of an atlas, I think of maps—coherent, useful, reliable. These aren’t my stepbrother’s attributes. He’s what you’d find if you opened the glove compartment and bits and pieces of a map exploded onto the passenger seat. And even if you went through the trouble to tape it all back together, you’d discover it wasn’t printed right—Phoenix in Alabama, London in Peru, Barcelona in Japan.
That’s Atlas McCallister.
Rogue. Reckless. Troublemaker. Having gone through high school with the guy, I can say they’re earned reputations but somewhat overblown. We weren’t so different. We both skipped class. We both didn’t take shit from anyone. And we both had our share of mistakes that got discussed around town.