Total pages in book: 88
Estimated words: 88895 (not accurate)
Estimated Reading Time in minutes: 444(@200wpm)___ 356(@250wpm)___ 296(@300wpm)
Estimated words: 88895 (not accurate)
Estimated Reading Time in minutes: 444(@200wpm)___ 356(@250wpm)___ 296(@300wpm)
“Seriously?” He mirthfully sighs rather than sliding on the shirt. “You drew a dick on the tag?”
Giggles are attached to me dropping my hands onto my hips. “You had to know it was yours, aye.”
“My dick is bigger than this,” he chirps back, finally pulling it on. “Ohhhh…you meant I had to know this was my shirt and not yours, yes?” Snatching up sweats precedes him playfully kicking his chin to the one I’m wearing. “That’s why you’ve got on my other one. You didn’t know it was mine because there wasn’t a dick drawn somewhere on it.”
“Precisely.”
Blowing him a cocky kiss receives another round of laughs from both of us.
Afterward, we quickly brush our teeth, steal an actual kiss, and rush out to the kitchen area where my parents are patiently waiting with Bear who has his face nestled lovingly in the lap of my dad enjoying fruit and ear scratches.
“Is it his birthday or mine?” I good-naturedly goad upon entering the room.
Bear doesn’t even bother tossing me a look.
He simply opens his mouth for another treat like the spoiled pup he is.
“We were just doing a little bonding.” Dad feeds him another apple slice. “Keeping busy until you were done being busy.”
There’s no reluctance for red to coat my cheeks. “Dad.”
“Relax, mi pequeña rebelde.” His amusement deepens the coloring. “You’re a grown woman. You’re allowed to do what grown women do.”
This cannot be happening.
“Especially in your own home.”
My dad is not actually giving me the sex talk in front of the dude I was just having sex with!
“With whoever you want to do it with.”
“Dad,” leaves me in an even more embarrassed nature.
At that, the blond male beside me crosses over and extends an open palm towards him. “I’m-”
“Frosky,” Dad states in a short, clipped tone during their shaking. “Drafted by Florida. Round two. Thirty-five. Traded to Camelot. Then Michigan. Then Texas as part of the rebuild. You lead the team in points, are about a dozen away from breaking the franchise record, and seven from being the highest scorer this season across the entire league.”
Their hands fall as Tanner stammers, “You’re uh…You’re a fan.”
“No.”
My mom and I flash matching mirth-filled cringes.
“However, I make it my business to know who had their tongue in my daughter’s mouth at midnight.”
“What?!” leaves us in unison.
Dad motions his head at Mom who turns the phone around to show the picture. “Someone captured these two-”
“Peck and his Slayer,” I inform in a mumble, arms folding protectively across my chest.
“-and you two just so happen to be cut off here in the background.” She places the device down on the table beside the grocery bags. “And the only reason I had any idea it was you is because of the meltdown text message your sister sent this morning – in response to ‘Happy Birthday’ – asking for confirmation that that wasn’t you,” Mom gestures to me, “kissing you,” she points to him, “because you would be sure to lose your job if it was.”
Is it just me or does that sound more like a threat than a concern?
“I – of course – took the appropriate PR approach of distract rather than deny, which seemed to appease her enough to get to the small birthday spa and brunch she was hosting.”
That fits the playbook.
She gets to celly with being pampered.
I get to celly by being scarred.
Ah, to be twins.
“I’m Charlotte, by the way,” Mom warmly introduces, hand extended for the taking. “And that’s Amedeo.”
“Pleasure,” he greets in return and offers Dad a polite nod. “Sir.”
Dad grunts, grabs another apple, and feeds it to my dog whose tail I don’t think has stopped wagging since we walked in.
I do my best to regain my composure. “As much fun as this awkward prom moment is-”
“You didn’t go to prom,” Dad interrupts.
“You didn’t go to prom?” Tanner croaks in disbelief. “Seriously?”
“It’s not that big of a deal,” I naturally brush off.
“It’s a pretty huge bloody deal.”
“Maybe if we were closer to sixteen instead of thirty.”
“It’s a pretty monumental moment in adolescence.”
“And you are a pretty monumental pain in the ass of adulthood.”
“Like prom, I am a memory maker.”
“Like not going, you are a character builder.”
“Ya veo por qué te gusta,” Dad chortles under his breath redirecting my glaring to him.
Not helping.
Him understanding why I love Tanner is not at all helpful!
“Why are you two here?” Correcting my tone is easier thought than done. “Not that I don’t want you here-”
“Sounds like you do not want them here,” teasingly murmurs my boyfriend.
“I’m about to unwant you here in two seconds.”
“Tradition,” Mom steers the explanation back on subject, “is a medieval movie – I’m thinking First Knight thanks to the young Sean Connery lookalike at Haworth’s party last night who kept trying to get a peak down my dress – ”