I’m eavesdropping on the couch banger’s conversation and can’t help but grin when I hear the guy pulling the fuck and run on this chick.

Too bad he’s doing a pussy job at it.

There’s an art to ditching a woman after sex. She needs to feel satisfied, rewarded in the end, in case you ever want to come back for seconds. I’ve pulled the fuck and run so many times I’m a fucking expert. I might have to throw this guy some tips.

Any decent person would’ve turned around and left the room if they walked in on two people fucking, but not me. Don’t get me wrong, I’m not creeping in people’s bushes at night and watching them get freaky like some voyeur. I don’t get off on that shit. But that was too good to walk away from.

The last thing I expected after traveling across the country was to find my dad’s perfect, new family wasn’t so perfect after all. I almost pissed myself when I heard the moaning and grunting as I made my way downstairs, following the directions of the maid. I silently prayed I wasn’t about to walk in on my dad railing his wife … or mistress, knowing him.

Instead, I found something less revolting and much more interesting–my new stepsister. I thought the little blonde princess was going to have a heart attack when she saw me.

I grab the doorknob when I hear the guy leave, slightly twisting it while debating whether or not to go fuck with her some more, but stop myself. I don’t need her going and telling my dad I’m harassing her or some shit. She looks like one of those girls with a giant stick up her ass. I’m sure she wouldn’t give two fucks about making trouble for me. At least, I have blackmail on her. It’s always good to be one step ahead of people.

I throw my bag down on the king size bed, and my blood starts to boil as I take a look around. My dad has been out here living large in a house that’s practically a fucking mansion but didn’t even have enough damn courtesy to pay my mom a dime of child support when I was growing up.

He didn’t even have enough backbone to pick me up from the airport. His overweight driver attempted to muster up some bullshit excuse, but I knew the real reason. He doesn’t want me here. That makes two of us. The only reason I’m here is because of a court order.

* * *

I glance up from my phone when my bedroom door flies open. My dad appears in the doorway, his haughty eyes assessing me, and he shoves his hands in the pockets of his dress pants.

“Son,” he says, his eyes darkening, and he shuts the door behind him.

He doesn’t want anyone overhearing our conversation because he knows I come without a filter. That’s what happens when you grow up without a dad, you say anything that’s on your fucking mind and don’t give a shit about it.

“Long time, no see,” he goes on.

I scoff. It’s been eight years since I’ve seen him. I was thirteen. He’d only came around a few times before then, but the last time I thought he was staying for good. He took me out for pizza, gave me fifty bucks, and told me he’d see me the next day. That never happened.

It’s been two years since we’ve had an actual conversation. He called to talk to my mom, and I told him to fuck off. He thinks I’m a disrespectful prick, and I think he’s a pompous, self-centered asshole. I don’t know what the hell my mom ever saw in him.

“What’s up?” I ask, hoping he isn’t going to try some fatherly bonding bullshit. This guy makes me sick.

“Dinner will be ready in ten minutes.”

“I’m not hungry. Long flight.”

He shakes his head. “Too bad. I’m sure you’re not accustomed to this, but we eat dinner together every night as a family.”

I toss my phone down next to me and stare straight into eyes that are strikingly similar to mine. “You’re right. I’m not accustomed to it because my mom had to work two jobs to support us. We didn’t have the time or money to sit around a table and act all fucking proper.”

“You watch your mouth,” he warns, his finger flying up in the air. “I’m only going to say this once. You will respect my family and me …”

“I’m not your family?” I ask, cutting him off and holding my hand to my chest. “I’m so heartbroken.”

“You’ll meet my wife, Melinda, and her daughter, Addison tonight. Don’t mess with them, especially Addison. I will not lose my marriage because of you. I’m giving you enough time to get a job and save up for either your own place or a ticket back home when your time is up. You’re old enough to be on your own. I’m only doing this for your mother.”

I scoff. “Oh, now you want to think about her.”

He snarls, turns around, and slams the door shut on his way out.

* * *

Dinner is baked chicken and broccoli and was prepared with love by their cook/maid/whatever else she is, Sally.

How fucking precious.

I grab my fork and immediately start to dig in but freeze up when I hear a loud cough. All eyes are on me. I slowly set my fork back down on my plate, looking around the table and wondering what everyone is waiting for.

“Grace,” is all my dad says.

They all bow their heads, and Melinda starts praying. I know I should probably be doing the same thing, but I’m using this time to take each one of them in.

I knew as soon as I walked upstairs to meet Melinda she didn’t like me. Her words were nice, but her upper lip curled when I said hi. Her eyes swallowed in my tattoos like they were foreign objects to her, which pissed me off. Tattoos aren’t so fucking taboo anymore. I’m sure mine aren’t the first she’s seen.

Melinda looks like an older, more frigid version of Addison. Her blonde hair is cut at the base of her neck, and she’s wearing a formal black dress and pearls.

I glance down at my clothes. I’m sporting an old, tattered concert tee from last year’s Coachella and ripped jeans.

My eyes move to Addison, the basement-sex-girl and my new stepsister, and she’s not keeping up with grace either. Instead, she’s staring straight at me. Her baby blues dart away from mine when I give her a wink. She could barely muster out a simple hello when her mom introduced us. I acted like I hadn’t met her … or seen her pretty little ass naked.

She’s not wearing a dress like her mom, but she certainly looks a few steps up from me. Her blonde, almost white hair is down in loose waves that hit the peak of her chest. I wish she were showing more cleavage in her black tee. I only caught a glimpse of her tits earlier, but they looked pretty damn good from a distance.

Her skin is on the fair side, but sun-kissed, most likely from hanging out by their pool in the backyard. She’s attractive. I’ll admit that, but not my type. I don’t usually go for the snotty, rich chicks.

“Zeth, honey,” Melinda says when she’s finished, her voice soft-spoken. “I want to go over the house rules.”

“Rules?” I ask, snatching my fork back up. “I’m twenty-one years old.”

I’ve never had rules, even when I was younger. My mom was always working twelve-hour shifts and didn’t give a shit about where I went as long as I helped with the bills. When I moved out at seventeen, I still helped her with money as much as I could. I’ll never abandon her like Leonard did.

“But you’re living under our roof, Zeth,” my dad says with annoyance. “There are rules here.”

I take a bite and wipe my mouth. “Lay them on me then.”

I’ll sit here and listen to their rules, but I know damn well I’ll be breaking every single one of them.

“Curfew is at midnight during the week and one on the weekends,” Melinda begins. “Any guests you have over must leave by those times as well. If your company is of the opposite sex, you must be in open areas at all times. They are not allowed in your bedroom.”

This has to be a joke. “You’re kidding, right?”

I glance across the table at Addison, and she won’t even look at me. She’s staring at her broccoli like it’s the most intriguing thing on Earth. She’s nervous as hell I’m going to open my big mouth and ruin her good girl image.

I do have to give the girl some credit. She broke the rules, and I love nothing more than a rule breaker. Plus, I have some dirt on my lovely little stepsister if she tries snitching on me.

I look back at Melinda. She’s giving me a blank look, clearly telling me she’s not kidding.

“Got it. Looks like I’ll be screwing girls in your open family rooms then. I do want to pre-warn you of possibly reconsidering that rule if you don’t want your couch broken. I tend to be pretty wild in the sack, and I’ve been known to break furniture, especially when I’m drinking.” I click my tongue against the roof of my mouth and signal to my lap. “No whiskey dick for this guy.”

Addison chokes on her water, my dad drops his fork, and Melinda’s mouth falls open.

“Zeth,” Leonard says in warning.

I shrug. “Don’t get mad at me for being honest. I don’t have the money to be replacing furniture.”

“No sex under this roof, period,” he sternly clarifies.

“We don’t believe in pre-marital sex in this house,” Melinda adds.

“So when you say we, you mean everybody?” I ask, looking back at Addison, who’s now nervously playing with her napkin.

“Yes, I mean everybody. My daughter doesn’t need to be exposed to your … indiscretions,” Melinda answers, like the word even makes her uncomfortable. “If you feel like you need to participate in that type of behavior, go somewhere else. Not in my home.”

I grin. “I’ll be sure not to corrupt my virginal stepsister.”