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Finn
Ahouse sitter.
A. Fucking. House sitter.
My old man’s had his fair share of bad ideas in his days, but this one? This one takes the cake by far. I’m gone one week, and he lets a complete stranger into the house to watch Lexie while he’s off sipping cocktails with some gold digger in Santa Monica.
“Dude, will you just get that broom out of your ass?” Axel, my moronic friend, drags a hit of the joint in his hand. “Worst-case scenario, the girl stays and you get a plaything for the summer. Boo-fucking-hoo.”
“That’s not the point, shithead.” I lean back into my driver’s seat, kicking my feet up on the dash. “The point is my dad ran off to the beach house and left Lexie alone with some rando the first chance he got.”
“Bro, you really need to see someone for your obsession with that dog. That shit can’t be healthy.” Axel snorts, guiding his lighter to the bong on his lap.
He seals the opening with his mouth and inhales a gust of smoke. I smack him on the back of the head, sending him into a coughing fit. The guys love to say I’m too attached to my dog to mess with me, and, fine, maybe I am overprotective of Lexie. So what? It’s not like Mom’s around to take care of her.
Ignoring Axel’s choking, I open the window on his side to release the smoke irritating my lungs. I scan the parking lot by the town’s springs.
It’s empty.
No surprise there.
Silver Springs isn’t exactly famous for its entertainment, and yes, that’s just a nice way of saying my hometown is fucking boring. It’s even worse now that Xavier, the asshole I call my best friend, is off at basketball camp for the summer. Admittedly, I should be there, too.
Too bad they kicked me out.
It turns out giving wedgies to other players isn’t the camp’s definition of “team spirit.”
Eh, it’s probably for the best.
If I’d known Lexie was going to be stuck with the psycho in my house all summer, I would have ripped off Ridge Garcia’s underwear from the get-go.
Letting my head droop against the headrest, I pluck my phone out of my pocket and select my dad’s number. The faster he kicks this Gemstone girl—or whatever her name is—to the curb, the better.
The phone rings five times before he picks up.
“Hank’s phone.”
Either Dad got a voice transplant, or I’m talking to the blonde parasite leeching off him.
I cut to the chase. “I need to talk to my dad.”
“Oh, hi, Xavier, is it? I’m Sonia. Your dad’s told me so much about you.”
I wish I was even the tiniest bit shocked, but I’m not. My dad talking some bimbo’s ears off about my best friend instead of his own kid? Sounds about right.
“Wrong person.”
“Shit, Brody, then?” she says nervously.
This is getting ridiculous.
“I’m Finn. Brody’s my big brother.”
The line goes quiet for a moment.
“Finn. Of course. Your father talks about you all the ti—”
I cut in. “Selma, just give him the fucking phone, will you?”
