I don't respond. But all I can think is that I seem to lose all sense of reason when I'm in close proximity to Caulter.
The driver pulls up to the house and I hate it on sight. It's a huge white farmhouse kind of monstrosity. The only word I can think of to describe it is wholesome. I roll my eyes at the thought of Senator Douchebag giving a tour of the place to reporters, hanging on his every word as he talks about the importance of family values in this day and age. Meanwhile, he ships his kid off to boarding school so he doesn't have to deal with her and marries a rich celebrity who can fund his campaign. Obviously, he's full of something, but it's not family values.
The housekeeper tells me that my mother and the Senator aren't here yet. She shows me to my room and leaves, but not before giving me a look like she smells spoiled milk. I'm guessing someone who looks like me hasn't ever graced the hallowed halls of the Harrison residence. This place probably sees more polo matches than tattoos.
The room, of course, looks like something out of a beach house design magazine. Apparently I got the male version of the guestroom, with a rustic wooden bed, antique corner desk, blue-and-white quilt on the bed, and a ship in a bottle on a shelf on the wall. The entire thing makes my head ache.
The view, on the other hand...hell, that's another story. The minute I open the sliding door that leads out onto the balcony, I get the perfect panorama: two girls, lying on their stomachs on the dock beside the lake, their round asses barely covered by their bikini bottoms. Now, this I could get used to.
One of those asses I immediately recognize as Katherine's. The other girl with an inked pattern I can't quite see running down the side of her leg makes me think I definitely made the right choice coming to New Hampshire for the summer. If Kate has friends as hot as this chick, maybe this bullshit spending the summer in New Hampshire posing as a member of the Stepford family won't be so bad.
Of course, if this means Katherine will be lounging around in a bikini all summer, this entire thing will be a lot easier to swallow. Swallowing makes me think of that night with Katherine, her fumbling tentative movements as she wraps her lips around my cock. I'm not sure she's ever done it before -- she's no expert, that's obvious -- but the way she looks at me, earnestly, unlike the stuck-up priss I know from school, I want to come the minute she takes me in.
Of course, since the last time I saw Katherine, she was pushing me away like I was a leper, the mature thing to do would be to leave her alone and let her hang out with her friend on the dock.
Fuck that. I've never pretended to be mature.
On my way out to the dock, the housekeeper stops me. I can't remember what her name is. "Do you have things you need pressed?" she asks.
I raise an eyebrow at her. "Do I look like I own anything that needs an iron?" I ask.
She puts her hands on her hips and stares at me, her eyes narrow. "You don't look like you own anything that's ever been washed."
I laugh out loud. She's not what I expect from Senator Douchebag's staff. I like her. "It's a look."
She laughs. “It’s something,” she says, shaking her head as she nods to a platter of baked goods on the counter, like I’ve passed some kind of test that gets me into the club where there’s free cookies and muffins. “Your mother and Kate’s father should be in later this evening. Kate’s outside.”
“Thanks.” I grab a cookie because it seems like I’m supposed to and because she doesn't annoy me immediately. The way she refers to her as Kate makes me think they are close.
Katherine and her friend see me before I even reach the dock, but they just lie there unmoving, watching me. Her friend leans over to her, and I'd love to be a fly on the wall to know what they're saying. When I reach them, I don't even bother to try to hide the fact that I'm taking in the view from above.
“Hey, sis,” I say, punctuating the word for extra affect.
“I told you not to call me that, shithead,” she says, bringing herself up to her hands and knees before flipping over in a huff to sit upright on her ass. I think she's trying to hide her ass from my eyes, which makes me laugh, since the way she's sitting now just gives me a great view of her perky tits. They're barely covered in the white swimsuit, and I can see the darkening of her areolas through the thin fabric. If I'm not careful, I'm going to get a boner standing right here looking at her. I'm fixated on thinking about how to get her back in that hands-and-knees position she was too briefly in.
“I’m trying to be friendly to my new step-sister,” I say, mock sugar-sweet. “Or does it make you uncomfortable to think about the fact that I’m your new brother when you’re fantasizing about me?”