Daisy ought to think herself rather lucky that her father had chosen to walk in at that moment rather than a few minutes later when she had fully intended to be on top of her paramour. Of course, a few minutes earlier when they were both fully clothed would have been preferable, but the teenager was not going to be terribly picky as she tried to process exactly what had just happened.
Wincing as she heard her father holler, Daisy slid off her bed, blouse still in hand. She debated what she could do. The easiest route, of course, was to straighten out her clothing and feign contrition by begging forgiveness. It wouldn't take much, she figured. Blush prettily. Perhaps cry a bit. He would quickly brush this under the rug never to be spoken of again, except that would admit that she had done something wrong. And she hadn't. Not this time.
The seventeen year old threw her blouse down on the floor, she'd pick it up later before her mother could notice and make a fuss, and squared her shoulders. Taking a quick moment to smooth her hair down with her fingers, Daisy swaggered out of her room, hands on her hips and clad only in shorts and a bra, bold as brass. Well, it was no worse than a bathing suit, she reasoned. And if her father couldn't deal with the fact that she'd sprouted boobs in the last few years that hardly was her fault.
"Have you ever heard of knocking?" Daisy scowled down at her father from the top of the stairs as she watched him come back inside. "The door was closed for a reason."