She scoffs, “A date? Wouldn’t a date involve actual conversation? Don’t you mean you have a quick f**k to get to?”
I close my hands around her waist and pull her in. In a low voice I tell her, “My f**ks are never quick—they’re long and thorough. And you should be careful, Kate. Now you’re the one who sounds jealous.”
Her palms are flat against my chest, and my face is just inches from hers.
“I can’t stand you.”
“Feeling’s mutual,” I tell her quickly.
And then we’re at it again—my mouth, her lips—joined hot and heavy. My hands are buried in her hair, cradling her head. Her hands grip the front of my shirt, holding me close.
I know what you’re thinking. And, yes, apparently arguing for Kate and me is akin to foreplay. It seems to get us both all charged up. I just hope we get to come before we kill each other.
Just when things are starting to get good, there’s a pounding on the door. Kate either doesn’t hear it or she, like me, doesn’t give a damn.
“Kate? Kate, you in there?”
The cocksucker’s voice cuts through the lust that has us stuck together like glue. Kate pulls away. She stares at me a minute, her eyes guilty, her fingers resting on the lips I just tasted.
You know what? Screw this. Do I look like a goddamn yoyo to you? I don’t play games with people—I don’t appreciate being played with. If Kate can’t decide what she wants, I’ll decide for her. Stick a fork in me; I’m f**king done.
I step up to the door and open it wide, giving Shithead plenty of room as he walks in.
Then I smile. “You can have her now. I’m finished.”
And I don’t even think about looking back as I walk out.
Chapter 11
THANKSGIVING IS HELD AT MY PARENTS’ COUNTRY HOUSE upstate every year. It’s always a small family affair. There’s my parents, of course. You’ve met my father. My mother is an older, shorter version of Alexandra. For all her strong feminist beliefs—she’d been a top-notch attorney before motherhood lured her away—she loves playing the happy homemaker. After she and my father hit the big-time financially, she also dedicated herself to various charitable organizations. It’s what she still does with most of her time now that Alexandra and I have flown the nest.
Then there’s Steven’s father, George Reinhart. Picture Steven thirty years from now with thinning hair and a serious case of crow’s feet. Mrs. Reinhart passed away when we were teenagers. To my knowledge, George hasn’t been out on a single date since. He spends a lot of time at work, quietly crunching numbers in his office. He’s a great guy.
And that brings us to the Fishers, Matthew’s parents. Can’t wait for you to see them. They’re a f**king riot. Frank and Estelle Fisher are the most mellow people I’ve ever met.
They’re almost catatonic.
Imagine Ward and June Cleaver after they’ve smoked a giant bong of marijuana. That’s Frank and Estelle. You’d think Matthew’s parents would be a little more high-strung, wouldn’t you? I have a theory. They had Matthew later in life, and I think he sucked out any energy they had left—like a parasite.
Topping off the mix is Matthew, Steven, Alexandra, and myself.
Oh—and of course the other woman in my life. I can’t believe I haven’t mentioned her before. She is the only female to ever truly hold my heart in her hand. I am her slave. She asks, and I do.
Gladly.
Her name is Mackenzie. She’s got long blond hair and the biggest blue eyes you’ll ever see. She’s almost four. See her there? On the other end of the seesaw I’m currently riding.
“So, Mackenzie, have you decided what you want to be when you grow up?”
“Yep. I wanna be a princess. And I wanna marry a prince and live in a castle.”
I need to talk to my sister. Disney is dangerous. Corrosive brainwashing bullshit, if you ask me.
“Or, you could go into real estate. Then you could buy the castle yourself and you won’t need the prince.”
She thinks I’m funny. She laughs.
“Uncle Drew. How’s I gonna have a baby wit no prince?”
Oh, boy.
“You’ve got plenty of time for babies. After you get your masters in business or your medical degree. Oh, or you can be a CEO and start a daycare at your office. Then you can bring your babies to work with you every day.”
“Momma don’t go to a office.”
“Momma sold herself short, sweetie.”
My sister was a brilliant trial attorney. She could have gone all the way to the Supreme Court. Seriously. She was that good.
Alexandra worked throughout her entire pregnancy and had a nanny all lined up. Then she held Mackenzie in her arms for the first time. She told the nanny the same day her services wouldn’t be needed. Not that I blame her. I couldn’t imagine a more important job than making sure my perfect niece grows up happy and healthy.
“Uncle Drew?”
“Yes?”
“Is you gonna die alone?”
I smirk. “I don’t plan on dying for a long time, honey.”
“Momma says you gonna die alone. She tol’ Daddy that you gonna die and it be days till a cleanin’ lady find your rottin’ corpse.”
Lovely. Thank you, Alexandra.
“Wha’s a corpse, Uncle Drew?”
Wow.
I’m saved from having to answer when I see Matthew walking down the back steps into the yard.
I close my hands around her waist and pull her in. In a low voice I tell her, “My f**ks are never quick—they’re long and thorough. And you should be careful, Kate. Now you’re the one who sounds jealous.”
Her palms are flat against my chest, and my face is just inches from hers.
“I can’t stand you.”
“Feeling’s mutual,” I tell her quickly.
And then we’re at it again—my mouth, her lips—joined hot and heavy. My hands are buried in her hair, cradling her head. Her hands grip the front of my shirt, holding me close.
I know what you’re thinking. And, yes, apparently arguing for Kate and me is akin to foreplay. It seems to get us both all charged up. I just hope we get to come before we kill each other.
Just when things are starting to get good, there’s a pounding on the door. Kate either doesn’t hear it or she, like me, doesn’t give a damn.
“Kate? Kate, you in there?”
The cocksucker’s voice cuts through the lust that has us stuck together like glue. Kate pulls away. She stares at me a minute, her eyes guilty, her fingers resting on the lips I just tasted.
You know what? Screw this. Do I look like a goddamn yoyo to you? I don’t play games with people—I don’t appreciate being played with. If Kate can’t decide what she wants, I’ll decide for her. Stick a fork in me; I’m f**king done.
I step up to the door and open it wide, giving Shithead plenty of room as he walks in.
Then I smile. “You can have her now. I’m finished.”
And I don’t even think about looking back as I walk out.
Chapter 11
THANKSGIVING IS HELD AT MY PARENTS’ COUNTRY HOUSE upstate every year. It’s always a small family affair. There’s my parents, of course. You’ve met my father. My mother is an older, shorter version of Alexandra. For all her strong feminist beliefs—she’d been a top-notch attorney before motherhood lured her away—she loves playing the happy homemaker. After she and my father hit the big-time financially, she also dedicated herself to various charitable organizations. It’s what she still does with most of her time now that Alexandra and I have flown the nest.
Then there’s Steven’s father, George Reinhart. Picture Steven thirty years from now with thinning hair and a serious case of crow’s feet. Mrs. Reinhart passed away when we were teenagers. To my knowledge, George hasn’t been out on a single date since. He spends a lot of time at work, quietly crunching numbers in his office. He’s a great guy.
And that brings us to the Fishers, Matthew’s parents. Can’t wait for you to see them. They’re a f**king riot. Frank and Estelle Fisher are the most mellow people I’ve ever met.
They’re almost catatonic.
Imagine Ward and June Cleaver after they’ve smoked a giant bong of marijuana. That’s Frank and Estelle. You’d think Matthew’s parents would be a little more high-strung, wouldn’t you? I have a theory. They had Matthew later in life, and I think he sucked out any energy they had left—like a parasite.
Topping off the mix is Matthew, Steven, Alexandra, and myself.
Oh—and of course the other woman in my life. I can’t believe I haven’t mentioned her before. She is the only female to ever truly hold my heart in her hand. I am her slave. She asks, and I do.
Gladly.
Her name is Mackenzie. She’s got long blond hair and the biggest blue eyes you’ll ever see. She’s almost four. See her there? On the other end of the seesaw I’m currently riding.
“So, Mackenzie, have you decided what you want to be when you grow up?”
“Yep. I wanna be a princess. And I wanna marry a prince and live in a castle.”
I need to talk to my sister. Disney is dangerous. Corrosive brainwashing bullshit, if you ask me.
“Or, you could go into real estate. Then you could buy the castle yourself and you won’t need the prince.”
She thinks I’m funny. She laughs.
“Uncle Drew. How’s I gonna have a baby wit no prince?”
Oh, boy.
“You’ve got plenty of time for babies. After you get your masters in business or your medical degree. Oh, or you can be a CEO and start a daycare at your office. Then you can bring your babies to work with you every day.”
“Momma don’t go to a office.”
“Momma sold herself short, sweetie.”
My sister was a brilliant trial attorney. She could have gone all the way to the Supreme Court. Seriously. She was that good.
Alexandra worked throughout her entire pregnancy and had a nanny all lined up. Then she held Mackenzie in her arms for the first time. She told the nanny the same day her services wouldn’t be needed. Not that I blame her. I couldn’t imagine a more important job than making sure my perfect niece grows up happy and healthy.
“Uncle Drew?”
“Yes?”
“Is you gonna die alone?”
I smirk. “I don’t plan on dying for a long time, honey.”
“Momma says you gonna die alone. She tol’ Daddy that you gonna die and it be days till a cleanin’ lady find your rottin’ corpse.”
Lovely. Thank you, Alexandra.
“Wha’s a corpse, Uncle Drew?”
Wow.
I’m saved from having to answer when I see Matthew walking down the back steps into the yard.
