[Kayla's POV]
I drum my fingers against the steering wheel, navigating through evening traffic with more patience than I typically possess. My mind keeps drifting back to Travis in that skirt, his face flushed with embarrassment and arousal. The memory of his desperate whimpers as I edged him makes heat pool low in my cunt, but I force myself to focus. I need a clear head for whatever game Megan's playing.
The GPS directs me to turn right, and I find myself pulling into a cramped parking lot beside a weathered brick building. I double-check the address on my phone, eyebrows rising in surprise. This place is definitely not what I expected.
"Chubby's Bar & Grill," I mutter, taking in the neon beer signs flickering in the windows and the row of motorcycles parked out front. "Interesting choice, Miss MIT."
I'd anticipated some pretentious bistro with tiny portions and overpriced wine, the kind of place where the servers wear bow ties and judge your pronunciation of "charcuterie." Instead, Megan's chosen what appears to be a dive bar that's seen better decades.
The inside is exactly what the outside promised, dim lighting, wooden booths scarred with decades of initials and obscenities, the air thick with the smell of beer and fried food. Classic rock plays from ancient speakers, just loud enough to create a buffer of privacy between conversations.
I scan the crowded bar, searching for auburn hair among the sea of patrons, when my eyes land on her in the far corner. My steps falter mid-stride.
Megan sits with her back against the wall, one arm draped casually over the booth. She's wearing nothing but a black sports bra that shows off her sculpted shoulders and, goddammit, a six-pack that rivals my own. Her auburn hair falls loose around her shoulders instead of the tight ponytail from dinner the other night. The lighting catches the definition in her arms as she raises a glass to her lips.
It's exactly how I dress when I want to make Travis stare, when I want his eyes to follow me around the room like a lost puppy. The casual confidence, the deliberate display of strength, the hint of danger. She's mimicking my playbook perfectly.
I approach the table, my jaw clenched so tight it hurts. "Is this supposed to impress me? Looking like some gym rat loser?"
Megan blinks at me, her expression genuinely startled by my aggression. The confidence I noticed earlier seems to waver, confusion flashing across her face.
"What?" she asks, sitting up straighter, her brow furrowed.
"You're copying my shit, aren't you?" I press, leaning forward with my palms flat against the sticky table. "The sports bra, the attitude. You're deliberately trying to be like me."
Megan pushes up her glasses, her expression genuinely perplexed.
"No? I'm not copying anything," she says, her voice softer than I expected. "I just got out of the gym and wanted to have a chill dinner to get to know each other better." She gestures to a gym bag tucked beside the booth. "I feel like we left off on a bad note at dinner, and I was worried about it."
I study her face, searching for signs of deception, but find nothing but what appears to be sincere concern. The realization throws me off balance. I'd come here ready for battle, armored with suspicion and territorial fury, but Megan's apparent sincerity has me recalibrating.
"You just happened to dress like that?" I ask, skepticism still evident in my voice as I slide into the booth across from her.
Megan glances down at herself and shrugs. "This is just how I dress during workouts. It's comfortable." She takes a sip of her water. "I didn't have time to change if I wanted to make it here by seven."
A server approaches before I can respond, dropping a menu in front of me with practiced indifference. "Can I get you something to drink?"
"Beer. Whatever's on tap," I say, not taking my eyes off Megan.
When the server leaves, Megan leans forward, her elbows on the table. "Look, I know this whole situation is weird. Our parents springing their engagement on us, the moving plans, all of it. I just thought maybe we could talk, sister to sister."
The phrase makes my skin crawl. "We're not sisters."
"Step-sisters," she corrects, raising her hands in a placating gesture. "Future step-sisters. But still, we're going to be living together, sharing space. I'd rather we didn't hate each other."
The server returns with my beer, and I take a long pull, using the moment to study Megan more carefully. Her posture is open, relaxed, nothing like the predatory stance she'd taken at dinner when talking to Travis. Either she's an exceptional actress, or there's more complexity to her than I'd initially assumed.
"So, what's the real deal with you and your dad?" I ask bluntly. "Because that whole 'perfect daughter' routine at dinner was laying it on pretty thick."
Megan's confident facade crumbles at my question. Her shoulders slump slightly, and she fidgets with the condensation on her water glass.
"I was just really nervous," she admits, her voice smaller than before. "I've always wanted a brother and I think I came off super creepy on accident."
The raw honesty in her tone catches me off guard. I'd been expecting excuses, deflections, or more of that calculated charm she'd shown at dinner.
"You did come off creepy," I confirm, watching her face for any sign of insincerity. "Asking him to call you 'onee-chan'? Really?"
"God, I know. That was so weird." She covers her face with her hands, peeking at me through her fingers. "I just... I've been an only child my whole life. Dad was always working, and my mom died when I was young, so it was just me. I used to dream about having siblings."
Her embarrassment seems genuine, which irritates me more than if she'd been calculating. It's harder to hate someone who's just socially awkward rather than manipulative.
"And Travis seems so sweet," she continues, lowering her hands. "The way your mom talked about him, how gentle and kind he is... I got excited about finally having that brother-sister relationship I've always wanted."
My grip tightens around my beer glass. "He is sweet," I agree, my voice dropping to something more possessive. "He's also vulnerable. And I protect him."
Megan nods earnestly. "That's beautiful, really. You two are obviously close."
"We are," I say flatly, leaving no room for misinterpretation.
The server returns to take our food orders. Megan gets a burger, and I order wings, mostly so I'll have something to tear apart with my teeth while we talk.
After the server leaves, Megan leans forward again. "Look, I just want us to get along. Maybe we could start over? Pretend that awkward dinner never happened?"
I study her face, searching for any hint of deception. "Why did you pick this place for dinner? It doesn't seem like your scene."
"It's not my scene," Megan admits with a shrug, brushing a strand of auburn hair behind her ear. "I just figured you'd be on edge if I took you somewhere fancy. You know, somewhere with tablecloths and wine lists that make you feel like you're being judged. This place has good food."
I blink, surprised by her perceptiveness. It's exactly what I would have thought if she'd invited me to some upscale bistro, that she was trying to establish dominance through social class or whatever. The fact that she anticipated this reaction and deliberately chose a dive bar to make me comfortable is... annoyingly thoughtful.
'Or is she playing me?'
"Smart," I concede, taking another sip of my beer. "I hate pretentious restaurants."
"Low key, I love those restaurants though, but I grew up with them," Megan says with a small laugh, running her finger along the rim of her water glass. "Private school, fancy dinners, all that nonsense. Sometimes it's nice to just eat somewhere real, you know? But to each their own."
"Sure, sure," I mutter, studying her face for any sign of insincerity. The server arrives with our food, dropping plates in front of us before disappearing back into the crowded bar.
I lean forward, the scent of hot wings wafting between us as I lock eyes with Megan. "Look, I appreciate this little... bonding attempt. Maybe we can be friends, eventually. But I need to make something absolutely clear." I lower my voice, each word sharp and precise. "Stay the fuck away from Travis."
Megan's eyes widen, her burger forgotten halfway to her mouth. "What?"
"You heard me," I continue, keeping my voice steady despite the anger simmering just beneath the surface. "I saw how you were looking at him at dinner. The comments about swimming together. All of it."
"I wasn't…"
"I don't care what your intentions were," I cut her off, picking up a wing and tearing into it with deliberate aggression. "Travis isn't available for whatever sisterly bonding fantasy you've cooked up in your head."
Megan sets her burger down slowly, her expression shifting from shock to something more calculated. "You're very protective of him."
"I am," I agree, licking hot sauce from my thumb without breaking eye contact. "It's my job."
"Your job," she repeats, her head tilting slightly as she studies me. "Interesting choice of words."
I maintain eye contact, refusing to be the first to look away. "Travis is mine to protect. Mine to worry about. I don't play well with others when it comes to my brother."
Megan leans back, her fingers drumming thoughtfully against the table. Her eyes scan my face with an intensity that makes me want to squirm, but I refuse to show any weakness.
"What does Travis think about that?" she asks, her voice soft but pointed. "About being yours? Does he get any say in who he spends time with?"
The question hits me like a slap. My fingers tighten around my beer glass as heat rushes to my face. The audacity of this woman, questioning my relationship with my own brother.
"Travis and I understand each other perfectly," I reply, keeping my voice level despite the fury building in my chest. "He knows I have his best interests at heart."
Megan takes a bite of her burger, chewing thoughtfully before responding. "I'm sure you believe that. But I've known a lot of people who thought they knew what was best for others." She wipes her mouth delicately with a napkin. "It rarely works out well."
"My brother is his own person," I snap, tossing a stripped chicken bone onto my plate. "I just happen to know what's best for him because I've been there his entire life."
Something unreadable flickers in Megan's eyes. She sets her burger down and leans forward, lowering her voice.
"It's almost like you love him more than a sister should."
My blood freezes in my veins. I keep my face carefully neutral, years of practice hiding my true feelings coming to my aid.
"I love him exactly as much as I should," I reply evenly.
Megan's lips curl into a knowing smile. "I've read a lot of manga, Kayla. Step-sibling stuff, mostly." She shrugs casually as if discussing the weather. "The dynamics are... fascinating."
"I don't know what you're implying," I say, though my heart is hammering against my ribs.
She takes another bite of her burger, chewing slowly before answering. "I'm not implying anything. I'm saying I understand complex relationships."
We stare at each other across the table, a silent battle of wills. Finally, I decide to shift tactics.
"Travis is probably crazier than I am," I say with a soft laugh, wiping hot sauce from my fingers. "But that's why he needs me. He's impulsive, reckless. He'd throw himself into the fire just to see if it burns." I meet her eyes directly. "And there are a lot of people who'd be happy to watch him burn."
"And you're the only one who can protect him from these hypothetical arsonists?" Megan asks, one eyebrow raised.
"I'm the only one he wants to protect him," I snap, leaning forward with sudden intensity. "You don't understand our relationship. Travis loves how I care for him, how I watch over him." My voice drops lower, fierce and certain. "Ask him yourself when you get the chance. He likes our situation as much as I do."
Something shifts in Megan's expression, a subtle softening around her eyes. She sets her burger down completely and wipes her hands on a napkin, her movements deliberate as she considers my words.
"Look," she finally says, shoulders dropping slightly. "I'm not trying to come between you two. I just..." She hesitates, vulnerability flickering across her face. "I just want to be a family. Will you consider giving me at least a chance?"
The sincerity in her voice catches me off guard. I'd come prepared for war, not this quiet plea for acceptance. I study her face, searching for deception but finding only a genuine longing that makes something uncomfortable twist in my chest.
I exhale slowly, feeling the fight drain out of me. Something about her earnestness is disarming, like watching a puppy repeatedly run into a glass door, annoying but hard to stay mad at.
"Fine," I sigh, setting down my half-eaten wing. "I'll give you a chance at this whole sister thing. But," I lean forward, my voice dropping to a dangerous whisper, "if you pull any weird shit with Travis, I will literally cut out your uterus."
Megan blinks once, twice, then throws her head back and laughs, the sound rich and genuine. Several nearby patrons turn to look at us.
"Deal."