Page 19 of Daddies' Little Troublemaker

Ugh. I bend at the waist, feeling sick.

“Hey,” he says. “Are you okay?”

“Fantastic.” Saliva gathers in my mouth.

“You look like you’re going to puke.” He steps forward, hesitant as if he’s afraid I’ll lash out at him. His warm hand moves over my upper back, sliding the damp strands of my hair out of the way so he can rub a soothing circle over my skin. “Breathe in slowly, and out slowly. Deep breaths. You’re safe, everything’s okay.”

“It’s not okay,” I say, my voice quiet.

“It will be. Just breathe, Evie.”

The nickname causes me to stand up straight and scowl at him. “Nobody calls me that.”

“Sorry, it’s the name you gave us.”

Us. Him and his friend.

I explain, “Well, I couldn’t think of a fake name fast enough.”

“Well, it suits you.”

He steps back, and I immediately mourn the loss of contact between us. His hand felt so good on my skin.

But it’s wrong.

“Whatever.” I probably shouldn’t be rude to this guy—my step-uncle—but all of my defenses are up.

His lips pull into a line of disapproval. “My brother must never find out about what happened between us.”

“Like I would tell him!”

“And it will never happen again.”

Rolling my eyes, I say, “I thought that was a given.”

“You are a brat,” he says.

“And you are a dick.” I can’t believe I said it out loud. He’s supposed to be my uncle, and here I am disrespecting him. It isn’t like me.

But I guess I’ve gone through four of the five stages of Finding Out One Mistakenly Fucked Her Step-Uncle: disbelief, bargaining, nausea, and now anger. Next, I hope, is forgetfulness: the complete obliteration of my memory.

There’s nothing else to be said. We did the thing, now we’re sworn to secrecy, and now I’m going back out to the pool to wait for that fifth and final stage of forgetfulness.

I’m no longer scared of walking past him. In fact, I fucking flounce as I traipse past. Let him see how little he affects me, let him see how little I care.

Once outside, I drop my towel and dive into the pool, hoping the water will cool my anger. I don’t know why I’m so pissed, but I suppose it’s an improvement over nausea.

* * *

Lincoln

While I unpack, I catch sight of Evelyn when she steps out of the pool, her curves fully on display within that tiny bathing suit, water clinging to her smooth skin. She settles into a lounge chair and puts on sunglasses before picking up her phone. The sugary pop music gets louder. A woman sings about heartbreak and hedonism, repeating the words so often they cease to have meaning.

Evelyn looks toward the window, sees me staring. Flips me off.

When I first called her Trouble, I had no fucking idea just how much trouble she would be.

7

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