Chapter 4

• Mike didn't reprimand it this time since it was right. She was a bitch. A fucking bitch in fact. Well, fuck her. Wait, no. Wrong insult. He sighed, pulling an old shirt over his head, as images of her boobs jiggling while bouncing on the diving board filled his head.
• How did she always know how to push his buttons so well? Practice maybe. They were always going at each other like that; Mike winning some, Danni winning more. He always managed to get in a few good hits though, before she threw the inevitable knockout blow. Unfortunately she'd gotten used to the insult 'Hoover', and it wasn't winning any fights for him anymore. He'd have to come up of something else.
• He went downstairs and avoided looking into the kitchen. The laughter had died down but he wasn't going to take any chances of starting another volley. All four of them were in there yapping at each other. Why the fuck were they so damn talkative. Mike could spend a week in the house and not say a word. Not his damn sisters though. Yap yap yap blah blah blah fucking blah. Plus, the conversations they had were so damn ridiculous! Hair and makeup, boys, parties, reality television, it was all retarded to him. It was like he was living near a PMS tornado in an estrogen hurricane, desperately trying not to get swept away and still dealing with raging hormones to boot.