Page 1 of Knocked Up by Her Daddy's Friends

Chapter 1

Skye

Ihate attending these fancy charity galas filled with inflated egos and fake smiles. Why my stepfather, Bill, makes me come is beyond me. He constantly complains after the fact that I embarrassed him in some arbitrary way or another and most of the time he pretends I don’t exist. Though the people in this small town love to gossip over the slightest thing, so I guess he’d rather have me seen but not heard on the sidelines than be kept as a secret. We live in Gabriel, Haven County, Texas, if you’ve never heard of it, you’re lucky, nothing much happens here ever.

“What the hell’s taking you so long, Skye? We’re waiting for you!” I hear Bill bellow up the stairs.

I slick some nude lipstick on my plump lips and grab my purse before dashing down the stairs. As soon as I see Bill’s thunderous expression, I realize today will be especially bad since he’s about to get on my case before we even leave the house.

“What the hell do you think you’re going young lady dressed like a common tramp? It certainly can’t be to the most important event of my run to be re-elected as a city council member,” he says sarcastically. “Go change into something more appropriate.”

I know better than to argue back that my dress is, in fact, very modest with only a small amount of cleavage and my shoulders on display thanks to the Bardot neckline. I’d fallen in love with the claret-colored dress when I saw it, it hugs my curves in a way that is sexy yet demure and I feel like an old Hollywood starlet in it. But disagreeing with Bill would be futile so I simply roll my eyes, turn around, and return to my room to change into something Bill would approve of—a tall order since he never seems to approve of anything I do. With a sigh, I hang the dress back up and rummage in my closet for another.

I decide on a green, fitted bodycon dress that falls just below the knee with three-quarter sleeves and a neckline that sits on my collarbones. There’s no cleavage or extra skin on display, but it still clings to my curves in a way I know Bill and my stepbrother Ethan will ridicule. This used to be my go-to dress, as I like that the color brings out the green in my eyes. However, I realize that I must have gained a few pounds since I last wore it, as it’s a little too tight.

“Come on Skye, we’re going to be late!” Bill calls again.

“We’d be on time if you didn’t ask me to change…” I retort.

I can just picture his face turning beet red with frustration. Bill is all about appearances, if I make us actually late there’ll be hell to pay so I’m left with no choice, this dress will have to do. Luckily the gold accessories I was already wearing go with this dress too. I’d have liked to style my hair differently, the classy updo that I’d tamed my curly brown hair into looked demure and classy with the other dress, but with this one, I fear I look more like a pudgy schoolmarm.

Ethan’s snicker as I come downstairs does nothing to boost my confidence. “Looks like you’ll need cutting out of that sausage casing at the end of the night, Baby Sis.”

Ethan’s only a couple of years older than me yet he acts as though there are decades between us. I also hate that he calls me Baby Sis. For one thing, we’ve only been stepsiblings since I was sixteen, so we’ve never formed any sort of sibling bond through a shared childhood. He’s also a typical jock bully that’s going to follow in his father’s footsteps and go into local politics. He’s Bill’s golden child, a spoilt narcissist who enjoys tormenting me.

“Looks like your Walmart suit’s a bit snug and all Ethan,” I reply sweetly enjoying the look of horror on his face.

Appearances mean a lot to Ethan and his father, I’ve no doubt the suit cost a small fortune and Ethan is fastidious about his weight, calorie counting, and working out daily. Insinuating he looks cheap and chubby is bound to have hit him right where it hurts. Usually, Bill would leap to his darling boy’s defense, but today he clearly cares more about being on time when he chimes in before Ethan can respond.

“Enough you two. Get in the car. Now,” he barks, his tone enough to shut Ethan up leaving me with the last word for once.

Bill scrutinizes my outfit, clearly disapproving, but he doesn’t say anything, he simply sighs as though he’s given up on trying to make me into a presentable stepchild that he can be proud of and marches outside to where the driver’s waiting for us. Though quite frankly, I think the only way he’d approve of me was if I was a carbon copy of Ethan or my mother, neither of which is ever going to happen. My mom is a typical politician's wife who sits there quietly and smiles prettily, the traditional good homemaker in return for wealth and security.

I couldn’t be more different from my mother, both in looks and personality. She’s far slimmer than me thanks to her strict diet and fitness regime, I’ve tried them all, but nothing seems to work, even when I lose weight my tits and ass stay stubbornly large, and though we have the same chestnut-colored hair, hers is shiny and perfectly maintained through her weekly salon trips while mine is more of a tangled, frizzy mess. Her nails are perfectly manicured—French tip or classic nude pink only—while mine are bitten and usually sporting brightly colored chipped polish.

Personality-wise, my mother is a ‘bury your head in the sand’ kind of person who believes that if you ignore problems they go away. She hates confrontation and always wants to keep the peace, which usually means taking Bill and Ethan’s side. Apparently, I take after my dad. I never met him, and Mom doesn’t like to talk about him much. Despite her prim and properness now, it seems she had a wild phase when she was my age and got knocked up by a dude in some motorcycle gang. I can only assume that saying I take after him means she thinks I’m some hot-headed, stubborn, and reckless person since that’s how she usually describes him. I wish I could say those words don’t describe me, but I’d be lying.

Mom squeezes my hand as I climb into the car beside her giving me a small smile. “Perhaps you can come to Pilates with me this week, and you really must try the keto diet I’m on, I’ve lost three pounds since I started,” she says proudly, gesturing at her flat stomach as though she needed to lose any weight.

“Sure, Mom,” I reply to please her, though we both know I probably won’t.

“Bill just wants what’s best for this family. He’s very nervous about the upcoming elections,” she says, as usual coming to his defense.

I nod and smile at her, not bothering to voice how I really feel about Bill. I can understand why she’s so eager to please him and keep the peace. Having to raise a kid alone at twenty-one, can’t have been easy. Her wealthy parents cut her off for years and we had to struggle to get by. It’s probably why I find all these diets she tries to put me on so hard, I was raised on microwave meals.

Mom was always beautiful and naturally slim, though working three jobs meant she was always active, which probably helped too. I’m not hugely overweight, but there are certainly some extra pounds I could afford to lose. Other than that, I feel as though I’m distinctly average-looking. When we walk into a room Mom is the one who people turn to stare at, often remarking that they think we’re sisters and how young she looks.

Today’s function room looks almost identical to every other event I’ve been dragged along to since Mom married Bill—circular tables with crisp white linen clothes on them and extravagant centerpieces, ostentatious chandeliers, waiters in black pants and waistcoats handing out champagne and canapés, a musician playing the piano on stage in front of a small dancefloor, and the same familiar faces, a veritable who’s who of Haven County.

Mom, Bill, and Ethan quickly get to work rubbing shoulders with the most important people and networking with ease while I trudge along behind them trying to stay quiet and not do anything that might piss off Bill. The three of them look like the perfect family. Bill’s not an unattractive man, though I secretly think he looks ridiculous with his bad-dye job to hide his gray hair and bright white veneers. Ethan looks exactly like his dad when he was younger, an all-American boy, captain of the football team, with a bland standard-issue haircut to match his personality. Bill and Ethan are wearing identical tailored suits and my mom looks incredible and classy in a cream silk dress with nude pumps and diamond studs in her ears.

I’m the odd one out. The one who doesn’t belong here.

As usual, I’m left behind to fend for myself while they work the room. Like a lamb thrown to the wolves. I’m cornered by a wealthy elderly benefactor, John Higgins, one of Bill’s biggest investors. Somehow, he always manages to find me at these things and spends the entire time talking to my chest. I grit my teeth and politely talk to him, giggling at his sexist jokes and pretending he doesn’t make my skin crawl.

God, I hate these events. They’re always the same, mind-numbingly dull and fake. Not one person actually has fun, it’s all about money and power, the pursuit of it, or showing it off.

“Excuse me, I have to visit the ladies' room,” I say when I can no longer stand being in this horrible man’s presence.

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