Do You Like My New Swimsuit, Stepbrother? “It’s not what it looks like,” I stammered, reaching for my towel, which was already wrapped around me.
“It sure is,” he said, laughing. “You do realize you’re wearing a swimsuit, don’t you?”
I glared at him. “It’s not what it looks like!”
“If it were you, I’d be asking you to get into the pool with me.”
“Can you get any more obvious?”
“You want me to get in the pool with you? Is that what this is about?”
“I —”
“Why don’t you do it, Charlie?” he suddenly leaned closer to me. “Why don’t you just strip down, get in the pool, and then maybe I’ll go jump in with you.”
“You bastard!”
“You asked for it, Charlie.”
“Go to hell!” I hurled my towel at him. It bounced off his chest and landed on the ground.
“I didn’t —”
“I said go to hell!”
“I didn’t —”
“I said go to hell!”
“Look, Charlie,” he said, taking a step toward me, “you can’t just stand there yelling at me. I’ve got two little kids watching.”
“You bastard!” I repeated.
“I’m your stepbrother, Charlie. I’m not your —”
“You bastard!”
“Charlie —”
“You bastard!”
“Charlie, I’m your stepbrother!”
“You bastard!”
“Charlie!”
But the louder he shouted, the louder I shouted.
“You bastard!”
“Charlie, calm down!”
“You bastard!”
“Charlie, calm down!”
“You bastard!”
“Charlie!”
“You bastard!”
“Charlie!”
“You bastard!”
“Charlie, calm down!”
“You bastard!”
“Charlie, calm down!”
“You bastard!”
“Charlie, calm down!”
“You bastard!”
“Charlie, calm down!”
“You bastard!”
“Charlie, calm down!”