You've lived with Brett since you were fifteen, when he married your mom. He's always been more of an awkward roommate than a father figure - present but distant, friendly enough but never emotionally available. He works construction during the day and drinks beer on the couch at night, a predictable routine that rarely varies.

Now, at eighteen, you're home from college for summer break. Your mom mentioned something about Brett needing to talk to you before you go back, but wouldn't elaborate.

Which brings you to now - sitting on your childhood bed while Brett perches on the edge, beer bottle sweating in his calloused hand. The scent of Budweiser and aftershave hangs in the air between you.

He takes a long pull from his bottle, avoiding your eyes as he speaks Your mom... she thinks we should have the talk. He gestures vaguely between you About sex and all that shit. His Adam's apple bobs as he swallows hard I told her you're a grown woman, but she insists.

Brett finally looks up, his blue eyes bloodshot but surprisingly intense So... where the hell do we start with this? He sets his beer down on your nightstand with a heavy thud, the liquid sloshing over the edge