The guy from the bar turned out not to be a serial killer.

He did, thankfully, turn out to be gone by the time I woke up.

I sat up slowly, the room spinning and my stomach threatening to up heave its contents.

As I rummaged through my nightstand, in search of Tylenol for this goddamn headache, my phone started buzzing.

When I picked it up, I saw my mother's face on the screen.

Almost immediately her frantic voice filled my ear.

"Aimee, you're late! You can't tell me that you forgot what today is because I've been reminding you for weeks!"

I glanced at my alarm clock which read 4:50 PM.

Shit.

Had I really slept through the whole day?

"Uh, no, I'm on my way," I lied, jumping out of bed. I shimmied out of my leather skirt, a brief flash of the handsome man from last night springing into my head, the way he'd slipped that talented hand under my skirt...

"Are you even listening to me?" Marcy said. "Honey, you were supposed to bring dessert. You knew Richard's son was arriving today and joining us for dinner!"

"I'm on it."

"Are you really?"

"No. But c'mon, mom, what did you expect? You're practically forcing me to meet him."

"Aimee," she sighed "I know adjusting to all of this has been hard. Me, dating Richard and with your father gone- well I know it's been a tough couple of years. But this means a lot to me. Would you at least try? For me?"

I sighed.

"Fine, mom. I'll be there in 20." Thirty if traffic was good to me. The less time I had to spend with my Vaseline-smelling stepfather and his Vaseline junior son the better.

I knew it wasn't fair to resent mom for starting over. It'd been five years since dad's murder, after all.

Five years looking over my shoulder, thinking that whoever had killed dad could still be around, watching us, waiting on the right moment to attack.

Considering that the intended target had been dad and I and it had only been by some stroke of fate that Ally had been the one in our home that day, waiting for me to get back from soccer practice, it was hard to ever feel at ease.

Of course, after all that time, mom had every right to move on but that didn't mean I had to be happy about it.

I went to my mirror, in search of a brush.

When I looked up, I gasped at the two reflections staring back at me.

One was of myself— a young woman with naturally curly, waist length hair and bright violet eyes.

The other was of my dead father.

"Dad!" I gasped. "You scared me."

Despite it being an almost daily occurrence, I still wasn't used to it.

The first time, I, Aimee Matthews had seen a ghost, I'd been high. Back then, it'd been easy to chalk it up to a hallucination. A trick of my mind induced by bad weed.

Until I'd sobered up and the ghosts never left.

"Sorry kiddo. Why the sour face?"

"I've gotta go meet your replacement's son." I muttered.

"Oh, c'mon," He teased. "I'm the dead one and you don't see me crying over it."

"You would if you knew Richard. He's boring, has zero social skills and he smells like Vaseline."

"Give him a chance."

"His son is coming to stay with them for a while. Something about finishing college here. Dad, it's bad enough I have to be around Richard now I have to be around Vaseline Jr too."

"Give him a chance anyway."

Sighing, I took a brush and hastily ran it through my black hair, realizing he was right.

Luke had a way of doing that, talking stubborn fools into agreeing with him. It was part of what had made him so successful as a lawyer.

I blew out the air trapped in my cheeks and smoothed out my green, twill jacket.

"Fine. You can go now dad. I got this"

"Try to keep it together, kiddo."

With that, he disappeared.

I stared at the place his reflection had just been.

"I might be fucking schizophrenic but yeah, don't worry dad, I'll keep it together."

***

I pulled into the driveway of my parent's two-story home.

The same home Richard had invaded six months ago when mom invited him to move in. His minivan was parked outside and next to it, a black, ostentatious Beemer.

As I approached, I noted that the siding and wrap around porch needed a paint touch up and the lawn needed trimming, but overall, it wasn't too shabby.

Dad's years as a lawyer had really paid off. He'd practically spent his life's savings on this two story craftsman with the sprawling green acre lot. Too bad he never got to enjoy much of it.

Internally, I sighed.

Missing dad was a dull ache that never really went away. Even if I could still see his ghost, to never be able to hug him again was unbearable. So this whole house, containing memories of him in every corner, was the reason I'd moved out the first chance I'd had.

Drawing in a deep breath, I shouldered the door open, juggling a box of cupcakes Damian, my best friend, had saved me from having to buy. Because Damian, with his insatiable sweet tooth always made sure I had a stash of sweets in my apartment.

The smell of lemon and butter wafted down from the kitchen. My stomach grumbled as I wound around the hall.

I tossed the cupcakes onto one of the decorative tables, following the scent of food to where mom stood stirring a pot of mashed potatoes.

"Oh, good, you're here!" She squealed.

Marcy rinsed her hands out in the sink and turned to me.

She was in her mid- thirties, young really to have a twenty-year old daughter and hot.

Yes, my mother was a milf, and Damian never let me forget it.

"How do I look?"

"Hot," I told her, scooping up a glazed carrot from the cooling rack and popping it into my mouth.

"Well, you had to get your good looks from somewhere!" She teased, smacking me affectionately on the arm. "Richard, honey, Aimee's home!"

The smell of Vaseline hit me before I saw him. Richard strolled into the room, a nice enough middle-aged man wearing khakis and a mint green polo.

"Hiya, Aimee. Glad you could make it!"

"Now that everyone's here we can get dinner started!" Marcy cheered, practically jumping as she clapped her hands.

I resisted the urge to cringe.

Life with Marcy could be hard.

Hard because she'd regressed into a ball of excited energy after losing dad and that was sometimes difficult for me to be around.

Even though it'd been years since his death, a part of me still mourned him.

Maybe always would.

Because dad had been the foundation of our family and we, the walls.

And walls could crumple.

"Sucky weather we're having, huh?" Richard droned.

"That's Oregon for you."

"Can I offer ya some wine? My son brought it from Romania. Son, get in here, I'd like you to meet your new sister."

I cringed at the word sister.

Related we were not.

As Richard poured me a glass of expensive looking red, I heard the soft padding of feet coming from the dining room.

The man who'd had his hand up my lady bits last night appeared in the doorway.

Color drained from my face.

Our eyes met across the room, his mirroring my surprise, and my hand jerked away from Richard causing wine to slosh all over my jeans.

"Fuck." I muttered.

What. The. Freaking. Hell.

This guy was here, in my childhood home after having his fingers so far up my...and he was Richard's son!

I could feel Christian's eyes on me as he set down his glass of wine on the marble counter, quickly reaching for napkins.

"Oh, my!" Marcy cried. "Aimee, your jeans."

"Uh-huh..." I said, taking the napkins Christian offered me and dabbing them across my legs. The more I did it the more the stain spread. And damn it, the waft of his cologne across my face brought memories rushing back from the night before.

"Aimee, this is my son, Christian."

I stared, unable to close my mouth.

In what world did average and socially awkward Richard create that?

The mom, I decided as I gave up on my jeans. The mom must have been hot, it was the only explanation.

Christian held out his hand, an amused smile curling his lips.

I stared at it until mom elbowed me.

"Pleasure," He said in a smooth and silky voice. "And you are?"

"I'm, uhh...I'm, um, I'm--I'm gonna go find Taylor."

I darted from the room, racing up the stairs, my heart thudding in my chest while my cheeks burned with embarrassment.

Forget my six-year-old sister Taylor, what I had to do was disappear.

I tore the door to my old bedroom open, closed it and leaned against it, breathing hard.

Okay, so Richard had a ridiculously handsome son who looked like a European model and I may or may not have thrown myself at him while I'd been drunk last night.

Okay, so I definitely had thrown myself at him.

Like a freaking Frisbee.

But it was okay. It was okay because...well, I couldn't think of a single reason why it was okay.

Get a hold of yourself, girlfriend, it's not that bad, I thought, as I rummaged through my old dresser in search of some pants.

I mean, with any luck, he was as drunk as you were and doesn't remember a thing.

My fingers found a pair of sweats towards the back of the drawer and I sighed in relief.

I was in the middle of peeling my wine-soaked jeans off when the door opened.

"What the hell!?" I yelled, throwing my pants at a shocked Christian.

He caught them with one fist, turning his head to the side, eyes cast to the carpet.

"I'm sorry," He said. "I forgot my phone. I didn't know you were in here."

"What are you doing in my room?"

"Your room?" He repeated, clearing his throat and rubbing the back of his neck. "Well, um, Marcy told me this was the guest room."

I glanced around the room, suddenly horrified to find two suitcases by my closet.

"Get out!" I snapped.

"Okay," He said. "I'm not looking. I just really need to...get...my...ah, here it is."

He picked up his phone and waved it in the air as proof.

As he turned to leave, I blurted. "Hey, about last night. You should know that that was a one-time thing. It's never happening again."

"Don't worry, I wasn't under the impression that we'd be getting it on under your mother's roof."

"That we'd be getting it on at all." I corrected.

Christian smirked as he finally, unabashedly turned to look at me.

His eyes swept along my body from my toes, to where I clutched my sweat pants in my lap and finally up to my face.

"You're welcome by the way."

"For what?"

"You kept thanking me last night. You know, for the orgasm."

A furious blush spread across my chest and up along my neck. I could feel my ears burning.

"You fell asleep before I could say you're welcome."

With a wink, he turned and left, leaving me with my mouth hanging open.