Off Limits(8)

By: Callie Harper



Dimly registering shit wasn’t going down the way I’d planned, I shifted my weight, hiding the massive hard-on that pressed urgent and thick against my pants. Leaning against the wall, arms crossed against my chest, I took some deep breaths and waited to see what kind of shit my father was about to pull this time.

The lady he was with looked the part, frosty blonde hair pulled into a tight coif, big unnaturally perky boobs squashed into a form-fitting gown. No wrinkle furrowed her brow, she’d had plenty of work done. Exactly my father’s type. She looked vaguely familiar, but I couldn’t place it.

Leaning down, she hissed, “Jewel, did you knock over that tray of food?”

“No, Mom,” she answered, instantly sounding like an embarrassed kid.

Wait, did she just say Mom?

“Jewel, stand up,” the woman sang out, sounding tense as fuck. She stayed on my father’s arm like the piece of candy that she was and he drew himself to his full height, still an inch shorter than me. “There’s someone I want you to meet.”

As if in slow motion, I watched this play out before me. The redhead I’d had up against the wall, so close to finger-fucking I could still feel her trembling, hot skin underneath my fingers. The one who’d riveted me, drawing me to her with an animal magnetism I didn’t think I’d ever felt before. She was my father’s girlfriend’s daughter.

Of course. Because my life was fucked up. Sometimes I liked to forget about that. But it never lasted long.

“Son, this is Candice Kidd,” my father declared as if he were announcing royalty, the pompous fuck. Candice Kidd, now I remembered. She’d done a few movies back when I was a kid, the types about summer camps where the girl counselor’s bikini tops always came undone but you didn’t get to see anything good because it was PG. Cheap, forgettable, she hadn’t worked in a while. I was sure she needed a steady paycheck, and she stood right next to one now, dripping off of his arm.

And Red was her daughter.

“Pleased to meet you.” Candice stuck out her hand to me and I shook it.

Jewel glanced at me quick, eyes wide, mortified, then looked away like she couldn’t quite believe this was happening. Her lips now parted in shock and embarrassment, but it didn’t stop me from picturing the same things I had been a few minutes ago. Down, boy, I shifted my weight, willing my painfully hard cock to catch up with the program. This was not going down as planned.

“Tuck!” my father boomed out in his fake TV-dad voice. Both performers, it occurred to me that he and this woman might be perfect for each other. “Isn’t it something you and Jewel are almost exactly the same age? She’s a sophomore and you’re a junior!”

“Cool, Dad.” What did he expect, Jewel and I to start playing with a train set or launch into a game of tag like we were six? What the fuck? Part of me wished he’d arrived a few minutes earlier, before the waiter had dropped the tray. Back when my hand had been right on Jewel’s delicious breast, my fingers so close to paradise between her thighs. That would have made for an awesome intro.

Looked like I’d missed that fucking boat. All that lustful admiration shining from Jewel’s big green eyes? Gone. Now she looked anywhere but me and seemed itching to run from the scene of the crime.

There went the fantasy. I should have known. When something seemed too good to be true, it was. That innocent, ‘ravish me as I never have been before’ vibe she’d been giving off? That had to be an act. If there was one thing I knew how to spot it was a scheming gold-digger, and that mother of hers wore that label like a blinking neon sign on the Vegas strip. No one with a mother like that could ever be that unpracticed, that real, that natural. Jewel had a good game going. She had that breath of fresh air thing down pat.

“So your mom is Candice Kidd?” I asked her, condescension thick in my voice. She looked down at the floor, not meeting my eyes.

“Why don’t you go clean up,” her mother urged her with a crazy, bright laugh. I noticed Jewel had a canapé stuck to her dress with a big cream cheese smear.

Candice turned to my father and apologized, “I’m sorry, darling.” The maternal instincts on that one were strong. My father really knew how to pick them.

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