Moving In

I still can’t believe this is my life now.

Three weeks ago Mom married Mike Callahan in this ridiculous beach ceremony in Malibu, and just like that—boom—we left everything behind.

Our crappy little walk-up in Queens, the corner deli that knew my egg-and-cheese order by heart, the basketball court where I’d spent half my teenage years getting my ass kicked by the same six guys. All gone. Now I’m living in a mansion in the Hollywood Hills that Mike's family has owned since before I was born. Marble everywhere, a pool that looks like it belongs in a music video. My room alone is bigger than our old apartment’s entire living room.

Mom’s happy, though. Like, actually happy. She laughs at Mike’s lame dad jokes and lets him kiss her in the kitchen like they’re teenagers. I get it-Dad’s been gone five years, cancer took him fast, and she deserves this. It'd be terrible of me not to support her after all she's been through but every time I see them holding hands I feel this weird twist in my gut. Like I’m betraying Dad just by being here.

I told her I was cool with it, put on a happy face at the wedding, even gave a half-decent speech. Inside? I’m still pissed we had to move across the country so she could be with someone other than Dad New York was home. This place feels like a hotel used to cover up pain

Chloe and Cassie - Mike’s girls. They’re both eighteen, same as me, but I'm slightly older. Blonde, blue eyes and basically identical except Chloe’s the loud one who runs everything and Cassie’s the quiet one who apologizes for existing.

Chloe’s the loud one. Cheer captain, always in charge, walks into rooms like she’s doing you a favor by showing up. First week here she threw a “blended family barbecue” and invited half the football team. I stood by the grill feeling like the awkward cousin nobody invited

. She kept tossing me smirks across the yard, calling me “bro” in this teasing way that made my skin crawl and my stomach flip at the same time. I told myself it was just because she’s hot and confident and I’m not used to girls like that living down the hall.

Cassie’s quieter. She reads a lot, wears big sweaters even when it’s eighty degrees, she’s the one who actually asked me if I needed anything the first night-extra blankets, a different pillow, whatever, sweet, too sweet some times, makes me feel guilty for how much I miss my old life..

They’re cool about it, I guess. Chloe keeps dragging me to the pool like I’m her new project -- “Come on, Ethan, you’re gonna melt if you stay inside with those boxes forever.” We’re the same age, living under the same roof, sharing the same last name now.

I’ve read enough Reddit threads and seen enough movies to know how this shit usually goes with step-siblings -- Teens get bored, hormones kick in, one thing leads to another… NAH. Hard pass for me. That’s p**n-brain nonsense. This is real life. My mom would literally murder me, and Mike seems like the type who’d quietly disown whoever started it.

I’m not about to be that guy.

School’s another level of unreal. Private academy, everybody driving cars that cost more than my old neighborhood. The only person who’s been normal to me is Sophia Ramirez, our class rep - curly hair, sharp eyes, always in those blazers that make her look way too put-together. She showed me around on day one, explained the stupid dress code, and actually laughed at my dumb joke about getting lost in the cafeteria.

That laugh has been stuck in my head ever since.

Which is which brings me here now, door halfway shut because the latch is still weird from when I slammed it earlier, lights dimmed, shorts shoved down around my thighs.

The house is empty—Mom and Mike at some fancy fundraiser, Cassie at her book club thing, Chloe… who knows, probably out with her cheer squad -- Perfect timing.

I’m leaning back against the headboard, hand moving steady, eyes half-closed. In my head it’s Sophia after school, empty classroom, her sitting on the desk, legs wide open to glance at her delicious pussy, with that blazer open and whispering my name slowly while those curls bounce.

The fantasy feels so real I can almost smell her vanilla shampoo. My breathing’s getting rough. I squeeze a little tighter, thumb sliding over the tip, hips lifting-

Boom

*The door instantly swings open without a knock.

“Oh… my... god…”

My hand freezes mid-stroke.

Chloe's standing there in tiny sleep shorts and an oversized USC hoodie that slips off one shoulder. Hair soaked,water dripping off like she's just come from bath or something. Phone in one hand, half-eaten apple in the other.

Her blue eyes drop straight to my lap, to my hand, then to the very obvious, very hard situation I’m in - literally

For one terrifying second she just stares. Then her lips curve into a slow, amused smile...