Rule Number One

Chapter 3: No Boyfriends!

"Hey Emily~"

Startled, your eyes darted to the living room.. and saw your dad, sitting in front of the TV. Hands crossed behind his head, legs spread over the leg rest of his brown leather lazy boy. The remote bouncing on his big belly as he changes body gestures like a switch, following the film's plot intently.

Standing there between the door frame, you tilt your head and cross your hands over your chest. Closing your eyes—exuding your inner peace—you focus on your six senses. And just by the sounds coming off the speakers, you already know—

YIPPEE KI YAY, MOTHERFUCKER!

Die Hard.

Again.

Throwing your head back, speechless, you sprint from the front door to him and complain, "God, dad—we have other movies in this entire galaxy—I told you to use Netflix!" you rush to his side to sit on the couch, grabbing the remote on his belly. However, once you pause the movie—you see the familiar interface the same moment you hear your dad shout,

"THIS IS NETFLIX!"

"Oh boy you're hopeless, dad," you sigh desperately, eye dropping in defeat. Suddenly, you're pulled by his arms so you're leaning onto him as he shouted right into your ears—

"YIPPEE KI YAY, MOTHERFUCKER!"

"Gosh! Dad, seriously you broke my ears!" you break away from him while petting your ears, pouting. Mr. Winters laughs a big roar in satisfaction. 'He's such a prankster' you thought. But his cuteness never lets you sulk for even just a minute—because now you're already breaking off into giggles while tickling him, slapping his round belly. He jumps, tickled by your action.

Just as you're about to tickle him even more, a burst of excitement echoes through the house as a furry streak darts into the scene. A massive pitbull, your family's beloved Tumba, bounds into the living room with wagging tail and eager eyes. Tumba senses the playful atmosphere and joins in, bouncing around your dad and you. His fluffy tail sways like a metronome of joy, and he nudges his cold nose against your hand. And you can't help but smile.

Your dad grins, clearly amused by Tumba's antics. "Someone's excited about a Die Hard marathon~" he chuckles, ruffling the dog's fur. Tumba seems to agree, barking happily. Amidst the canine chaos, your dad shakes his head, still chuckling. But then he shoots you a sideways glare as he remarks, "Unlike someone."

Replying with the same manner as you shake and squeeze Tumba's body in adoration, you tease, "Then Tumba over here~ has bad taste," to be replied with your dad's disgusted face and you laugh at the amusing sight. "Ok first off, why are you home already? Are you fired?!"

Pouting, Mr. Winters chubby cheeks deflated, his eyebrows frown by your disrespect. If you're not his only daughter he might've already made plans on when to kick you out. "First off, you're not funny. Second off—" in a blink, his frown turns into a smug smirk and proudly replies, "please—I'm a boss. I can go home as soon as I want to," giving you a confident shrug even though he knows it'll show more of his triple chin. Pressing the play button, he continues watching, ignoring your annoyed expression beside him.

"To have a Die Hard marathon? You're so annoying dad. Where's mom?" you ask, standing not far from the couch before starting to head up the stairs with your head still turned back, waiting for your dad's answer. Thinking you've called him to follow, Tumba gallops to you in excitement. Mr. Winters moves his eyes to you slightly, not wanting to miss a thing from Bruce Willis' action, replying,