Free Bend (A Stepbrother Romance) by Ellen Callahan

good,” he said, a note of sympathy in his voice. “That dress you were wearing was fabulous. Truly. You were a knockout.”
    “Thanks,” I said. “Keir’s stylist dressed me up.”
    “Well, whoever she is, she’s a genius. Did you keep her number?” I had her business card, but I wasn’t sure how thrilled she’d be with a phone call from an online tabloid. “Don’t be tight-lipped, girl,” Zach said. “The sooner you spill all, the sooner the story goes away.”
    “I hope you’re right,” I mumbled. We’d reached our destination—a tiny place called Cuppa Cup that sat between a tanning salon and a pharmacy in a grimy old strip mall. The girls and I didn’t exactly live in the best neighborhood, but it did have its bright spots. Cuppa Cup was one of them. The inside was much nicer than the outside—wood furniture, a blackboard menu, all very cozy and inviting.
    Zach ordered our coffees, assuring me it was a business expense. I got us a table near the back, away from the window. Maybe I was being paranoid. I preferred the term “cautious.”
    “So.” He sank into the chair across the table from me and smiled a bright and charming smile.
    “So,” I replied, staring down into my cup. I took a deep breath. At least it’s Zach . He was one of the younger writers around the office—probably close to Keir’s age, actually. He had a real surfer boy look and accent—wavy blond hair, golden tan, bright blue eyes. Not my type—Keir was my type—but all the other women in the office cursed over the fact that Zach had a boyfriend.
    It didn’t stop them from hitting on him. Luckily he found it all very entertaining.
    “I can’t get you an interview,” I told him. “I just can’t. Keir’s pissed.”
    “Neither of you knew about your parents?”
    “Nope,” I said. “I don’t think he believes me, But we were both pretty damn shocked.”
    He pulled out his notebook. “Zach,” I protested, “I don’t want to be the subject of some article. Come on.”
    “It’s gonna happen. Would you rather have me write it, or have someone else make up all the sordid details?”
    I sighed. He had a point, damn him. Damn him and his dimples .
    “Short version? I met him after a concert. He’d just broken up with that model, Kelly what’s-her-face.” My mind flashed back to my pictures, but I didn’t feel like helping this article along any more than was absolutely necessary. “Keir asked me to join him last night at that charity thing.”
    Zach scribbled quickly. “Charity thing. Got it. Very descriptive.”
    “You’re the writer, not me,” I teased. “We drank some champagne, went back to his hotel room, and that’s that. I had no idea that my mother even knew his father at all.”
    “Hmm.” He chewed on his pen. “Think we can talk to your mother?”
    Oh, she’d absolutely love that. It would be the highlight of her year . “No,” I said, “I’d rather not ask her.”
    His eyebrow went up. “Why not?”
    “We’re a little… estranged.” And she’d enjoy it too much .
    “Interesting.” He made another note. “I’d love to talk to her and to Mr. Sonder. It would do wonders for your career, you know, if you could hook us up.” He smiled. “Wendi never forgets a favor.”
    Wendi Whitford, the blog’s editor-in-chief—she barely knew my name. I preferred to keep it that way. Climbing the tabloid ladder was not one of my career goals.
    “If I promise to ask if I see them, and that’s a big if… will you keep the article short?” No way was I telling him about the next day’s visit, no matter what he promised. Zach smirked. I hated how adorable it was. “Promise not to give this to any of the other writers and I’ll do my best to keep the stepsibling jokes to a minimum.”
    “Is that the best deal I’m gonna get?” He nodded. Sadly, he was telling the truth—I just couldn’t envision anything coming out of this whole story that wouldn’t make any of us look bad.
    “So,