Devil's Game

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“For fuck’s sake … they’re like weasels in heat. I’m gonna puke.”

I nodded, agreeing with my sister one hundred percent.

Barfing was the only reasonable response to this shit.

We stood in our dining room, which connected to the kitchen through a pair of pocket doors. Dad had Mom up on the counter, legs wrapped around his waist, his tongue so far down her throat it should’ve triggered her gag reflex.

“You do realize we’re watching you, right?” Kit asked loudly. Dad pulled away and turned his head to glare at us. Mom winked, but she didn’t have the grace to blush.

“Take another ten minutes to fix your hair or something,” he said. “Then come back down for breakfast.”

Kit growled next to me. She had Dad’s temper. I wish I did. I always followed the rules, and it kind of sucked. Kit called me a daddy’s girl and maybe she was right. But I just really hated pissing him off.

“It’s the first day of school and I don’t want to be late,” she declared. “You can screw each other any time, but this only happens once a year. I’m hungry.”

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