My father gives me a look when no one else's looking, one single raised eyebrow, and I get the message loud and clear. I can keep this one, or he'll take her from me. It would work, too. Arlo Keller is, sadly, hot enough to pull a girl half his age. Well, I'm not that sad about it; I got his genes.

"Can we have cake for dinner every day?" Octavia asks.

"Only on days your mom's cooking," Dad counters, earning himself a quick swat of Lisa's tea towel.

"Claire should come every Friday, to save us from my attempts at domesticity," she declares.

"I'm not against that," I reply. "But you could also save us all, and give up on trying to cook."

"How is Lisa going to improve if she doesn't keep trying?" Claire says.

"She's been trying. For years. There's no improvement. Some things are just not fated to happen. World peace. An end to global hunger. Lisa managing an edible meal."

Laughing, I look around, shaking my head a little. She fits in the madness beautifully. Sweet and nice, but not a pushover.

Octavia insists that Claire should read her bedtime story, and while Lisa tries to get her out of it, Claire says, "Oh, that's cool. I'll know where everything is if you ever need me to watch her in the evenings, that way."

Then they all move upstairs.

My father leans in. "I suggest you make it official sooner rather than later."

There's a hint of a threat there.

"Keep your eyes to yourself, old man," I counter.

He rolls his eyes. "I'm not the only one with eyes in this town. And from what I've heard of last week, she enjoys giving a show, too. There will be plenty of wolves sniffing around."

I nod, knowing he's right. Objectively, I know Claire might not have minded the lifetime a lot of my peers enjoyed. If I'd let every guy down in the basement have a turn with her, she might not have minded. She's greedy for cocks. I imagine she'd quite like to have one inside her ass while I pound her pussy. The only problem is, I don't want to share her. Not now, not ever. And Dad's right. That means pissing over my territory before everyone else tries to open that door.

On our way out of the house, Dad opens his arm to give me a half hug. Everyone who knows him would be fully aware that this is a singular event, as it's not my birthday or New Year’s Day.

The fucker just wants an excuse to hug her too, in order to piss me off. And it works.

"I love your family," she tells me on the way back.

How easy it is for her to use that word about them. My hands tighten on the steering wheel. "They love you, too," I reply. It's the truth.

There will be plenty of wolves sniffing around.