His wife strolled into the family room then, carrying a glass of iced lemon water. Gabe looked up from his book.

“How’s it going out there?”

She nestled into the sofa beside him. “I think Violet’s having some issues with her girlfriend.”

“Our daughter has a girlfriend?”

His wife gave him a faux disapproving glare. “She’s been dating Fern for three whole weeks.”

“Our daughter’s girlfriend’s name is Fern?”

Celeste suppressed a giggle. “Wait till you see her lip ring.”

“Christ.”

“She’s a nice kid, but I don’t think Violet’s that into her. She seems to have a crush on a new girl. She’s a little older, more conservative.”

“Sounds like a step up from Fern.”

“Come out and say hi.”

He started to make an excuse—one more chapter, one more drink—and then he remembered. . . . He was Violet’s father: her engaged, present, hands-on father. He got up off the couch. “Let’s go party.”

Celeste led the way to the pool, where a gaggle of unappealing misfits congregated around the bar. They were underage, but his wife had, surprisingly, allowed an alcoholic punch to be served. (“It’s cranberry juice, ginger ale, and a tiny bit of vodka,” Celeste whispered. “Don’t tell them how weak it is.”) Gabe pasted on a pleasant host-dad smile, but he was afraid it looked like a grimace.

“Violet,” Celeste called, “introduce your friends to your dad.”

“Everyone, this is my dad,” Violet mumbled. “Dad, this is everyone.”

There was a chorus of muttered greetings, but Gabe didn’t hear them.

Because he’d spotted her. She was standing next to his daughter, sipping a glass of punch, looking gorgeous in a white T-shirt and cutoff jeans. He could see the outline of a red bikini under her top, and the fuck-off necklace he had bought her sparkled at her throat. He felt a surge of anger, fear, and lust. Natalie’s eyes met his, reflecting his ambiguity.

I hate you. I want you. I’m going to ruin you.

Why was she here? What the fuck was happening? Gabe felt the weight of sixty odd eyes on him and realized he should respond. “Hi, kids.” His voice sounded high-pitched and strained.

Natalie stepped forward then, her smile saccharine. “Thank you for having me in your home,” she said sweetly. She turned to Celeste. “Violet said it would be all right if I spent the night.”

No. No fucking way.

“Of course,” Celeste said, “We’ve got plenty of room.”

Fern, with the lip ring, suddenly marched off toward the house in a huff, and Gabe worked out what was going on. Natalie was the new girl, the older girl Violet had a crush on. Natalie was using his daughter to get to him. She had befriended Violet, maybe even kissed her, maybe even more. And now she was here, in his home, planning to spend the night. Rage and fear blurred his vision, but he still clocked Natalie giving his daughter’s hand a sympathetic squeeze. His sugar baby was a psycho.