Daddy Knows Best Read Online Free

she said. This time her eyes took me aback, they were pooling, heavy with hurt.
    I mustered all the resolve I could manage, holding myself firm until she accepted defeat. She grabbed her phone and stormed away, a typhoon of slamming doors and thumping footfalls.
    It was a long time before I moved from that kitchen, staying out of her way until I heard her leave the house. I called her name once, twice, three times to be sure, and then, finally, when I was certain she was out of the way, I made my way up to her bedroom.
     
    ***
     
     
    Georgia Tate’s diary was easy to find. Too easy. It ate further at my unease. It was thinly disguised under a stack of paperbacks, its pink satin cover jutting out underneath like a sore thumb. Maybe she’d wanted me to find it the whole time, only I’m not a sneaky fucking snitch.
    I sat down on her bed, flicking through the pages. Yesterday’s entry was bookmarked, as good a place to start as any.
     
    I’m drunk again. Really drunk. Beth and Stacy got in my face tonight, called me a skanky little slut. Beth said I’d been giving Richard the eye. Like fuck I had. He’s the prick who’s been trying it on with me ever since her birthday last September. I can’t stand him, anyway, his breath smells of eggs and by all accounts he has erection problems, Beth told me herself.
    Andrew was kind to me this evening, it even looked like he gave a shit. I tried to tell him who I am, what I want. Yeah, I know... fucking face palm city. He touched my knee, and it felt so fucking good. He sent me to bed, and like an idiot I wondered if he’d come after me. He didn’t. I followed him into his bedroom, yeah, yeah, what’s new? Only this time I went further. I watched him shower, and fuck, his ASS. It’s like steel...
     
    A wave of nausea rose up from my gut. I scanned on, hardly able to look.
     
    I watched him jerk himself off. It was so hot. Part of me can’t help but wonder. You know. Maybe, just maybe it was about me...
     
    I flicked back through the journal; pages and pages and pages of secrets that a man like me should never have access to. Through the nausea my dick was already hard, images of Georgia Tate’s perfect little pussy spread open for me scorching my resolve, burning it to ashes. I found the entry six months earlier. The day I arrived in her life. I could hardly bear to read.
     
    Mother has a husband. A fucking husband!! Out of nowhere, I mean what the fuck?? She dropped me a text message, a TEXT, to let me know I have a new stepdaddy. Fucking awesome. I wanted a stepdad my whole fucking life, and now I’m twenty she decides to marry some random? She’s such a BITCH. They are arriving home today, YES, to MY home, BOTH of them. Hey, Georgia, here’s your new Dad. Like that’s NORMAL. Apparently his name is Andrew, and he’s some hotshot IT executive or some shit. I’m never going to be ok with this, EVER.
     
    My blood turned to ice. Text message? Cynthia told her daughter about me by text message? I thought back to our wedding-day, our early morning conversation.
    “Are you sure you want to do this now? What about your daughter? Wouldn’t she want to be here?”
    Cynthia smiled, brushed it aside, as though it was the most ludicrous suggestion she’d ever heard. “Georgia? No! She’s a big girl, Andrew, she doesn’t need to be here. Believe me, Georgia won’t even care. She’s not that kind of girl.”
    Seems Cynthia knew even less about her daughter than I did.
     
    He’s here. Oh my God, he’s here. Daddy Andrew. I want to hate him, hate both of them, and I DO hate them, but it’s so much more fucked up than I thought it would be. He turned up with a suitcase, just like that. Held out his hand and said ‘Hi, I’m Andrew, but you can call me Dad’ like a real fucking comedian. He’s younger than Mother. Not much, but enough. And you know what? The thing I don’t get, after the ice-queen she’s been my entire life, the frigid, prudish, man-hating