Prick / Page 10

Page 10



I don't even know what water sports are, and I don't think I want to know. "You're the most disgusting person I've ever met."

"Oh, give it time, Princess," he says, dropping his pants. I can see his cock from the side, and his right ass cheek. I can't believe he just stripped down in front of me like I'm not even here. "You ain't seen nothing yet. And I'm going to be around all summer long."

I don't know if that's supposed to be a threat or an innuendo, and I don't want to know. Not even bothering to try to hide my irritation, I huff out of the bathroom and shut the door behind me, probably too loudly. Back in my room, I resolve to stay the hell away from Caulter. He's a crude pig who is clearly just trying to get a rise out of me. And it's totally working.

Did he just say that I'm really going to be stuck with him all summer?

I knew I'd be sent to our vacation home in New Hampshire for the summer while my father finished up his term in DC before the Senate broke for summer session. That's usually how my summers go. But having Caulter join us? Bad boy Caulter is the last person I'd really expect to fall in line and play along with some "we're one big happy family" routine.

I wonder what Caulter has up his sleeve. That's what I should be focusing on. Instead of what he has in his pants.

"Good morning, Katherine," Ella says. It's only seven, but I've already been out to my car to grab my bag, and in and out of the shower. There was no sign of Caulter in the bathroom this time, thank God. At least that's something. "Did you sleep well?"

I blush, remembering the dream. Nightmare is a better word for it. Did I sleep well? With vivid dreams of Caulter's dick running through my head, followed by the greeting I got in the bathroom this morning? I wonder if I'm ever going to sleep again. It's like my life is turning into some kind of porno. But without the sex, I remind myself. There's going to be no more sex.

Even if he has the sweetest looking body I've ever seen, tall and lanky with washboard abs. He's off limits. And not just because he's my new stepbrother -- I mean, we're not even related, sure, but I can't even fathom the scandal that would involve -- but because it's Caulter. He's the crudest, filthiest, sluttiest guy I've ever met in my life. I have absolutely no business wanting him.

I'm afraid the summer is going to involve a lot of cold showers.

I clear my throat. "I slept great," I said.

Ella sips from a glass of what appears to be green sludge. It's seven in the morning, and she's perfect, even without a lick of makeup, her skin alabaster and unblemished. She's wearing yoga pants and a tank top that cuts off at her midriff, revealing her trim abdomen. Standing here in front of her makes me suddenly aware of the five pounds I gained writing my graduation speech a few weeks ago, when I was subsisting on energy drinks and candy. I just know she's the kind of person who doesn't eat sugar. Or caffeine. And who wakes up at some ungodly hour in the morning to do yoga and meditate before she heads to the gym.

"I told your father it was probably best to not disturb you last night," she says. "The way you found out about the engagement was...abrupt. And I'm sure you're exhausted after finals and graduation."

I nod. I don't know what to say. I know she's being nice, trying to console me or whatever, since it was probably my father's idea to spring that shit on me with no warning, but it's just too damn early in the morning for some kind of bonding experience with the breathtakingly gorgeous and much too perfect celebrity standing in my kitchen. "Is my father around here?"

"He's out for a run," she says. "It's one of his longer runs. He's training for a marathon."

Of course he is, I think. I don't remember my father being into running. "Is there coffee around here somewhere?"

"We've cleaned out the pantry," Ella says. We, I note. "Your father doesn't drink caffeine anymore. But there's an herbal coffee alternative on the counter. It's so much better for you than coffee, and it has a cleansing effect."

I turn toward her, my un-caffeinated brain refusing to process what she's saying. Have I actually descended into the seventh circle of Hell? "So there's no coffee in the house," I say, my voice flat.

Ella looks at me, her expression so earnest it makes me almost want to forgive her. "I - I should have gotten some."

"It's okay." I turn and lean against the kitchen counter. Am I expected to stand here and politely converse, without even having a coffee? Is that how they do it in Hollywood? It seems cruel and unusual. "I'm just going to go find a coffee shop."


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