I can't stop thinking about that prick. 

Caulter Sterling is a prick.

A filthy-mouthed, womanizing, crude, spoiled, arrogant prick.

The tattooed, pierced, panty-melting-hot son of a celebrity.

I hate him.

He's slept his way through practically every girl at Brighton Academy. 

Except for me.

I'm the good girl. The responsible girl. The 4.0, class president, studied-so-much-she-never-lost-the-big-V girl.

And in celebration of graduation and adulthood, I just made the worst decision in the history of ever. 

I lost my V-card to the devil himself.

It was just one night. So what if it was mind-blowing? Hit it and quit it.

Except I just found out that my father - the Senator, the Presidential hopeful - is marrying Caulter's mother. Oh, and this summer? We're hitting the campaign trail.

One big happy family.

I'm totally f**ked.

I call him “Tool” because he’s a dick.

Gaige O’Neal is nicknamed “Tool” because of what he’s packing. Rumor is, he’s well equipped.

I wouldn’t know. I’ve never had the pleasure.

He’s a cocky, entitled, insufferable a**hole who’s as reckless with women as he is with that stupid motorcycle he races.

He’s also my stepbrother. Lucky me.

It’s been four years since I’ve seen him. Four years since he’s made me so frustrated I could scream. Four years since he’s given me that look, the one that makes me instantly wet.

So it’s just f**ing fitting that the first time I see him in four years, he’s buried beneath three scantily clad blondes.

Now I’m stuck here under the same roof with him while he recovers from a racing injury. An injury that clearly hasn’t affected the use of his tool.

The problem is, as much as I despise him, I just can’t help myself. I want to find out what kind of tool he's working with.