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Duffy loitered at the door, still not ready to leave.
I arched an eyebrow. “Can I offer you anything? A drink? Advice?Anal?”
She bit down on the edge of her fingernail, frowning at the floor.
“I just wanted to say thank you.”
“You already have.”
“No. Not for the visa. For bringing me here. I really appreciate it.”
“Don’t mention it. Now go get me a couple of painkillers. My headache’s killing me.”
We crammed into Kieran’s Saab.
The journey to the apple orchard felt like being a part of a clowns in a car circus act. There were no seat belts to be found in the damn thing, and one of the windows had collapsed into itself, now permanently open. Duffy had to sit on top of me, which was great for my morale and tragic for my cock. Kieran drove like he was blindfolded, veering between lanes and casually stealing red lights, while Mrs. Markham kept whacking his neck from the back seat with shrieks of horror. Meanwhile, Tim, in the passenger seat, belted out Slade songs to a CD in Kieran’s stereo. It felt like I’d taken a molly that had transferred me back to the nineties, if I was adopted by an unbalanced yet endearing family.
“I still can’t believe that radio show rated Slade behind Pink Floyd in that greatest British bands special,” Tim complained loudly as Kieran zipped past a row of Scouts, almost running them overGTA-style. “Shoulda gone on air and given them a piece of my mind. Your mum stopped me.”
“People like Pink Floyd,” Duffy explained, wiggling her ass over my erection unintentionally while trying to pull her dress down. “They were experimental.”
“McDonald’s made bubble gum flavored broccoli once,” Tim reminded her. “That was an experiment too. It was alsoshite.”
“If it makes you feel any better, if the competition was about who had the better hair, Slade would ... well, still lose,” Kieran offered.
Duffy laughed, her ass bouncing on my crotch.
My penis was seriously going to snap in half if Poppins didn’t get off me in the next ten minutes.
“What do you reckon, Riggs?” Tim stabbed me with a look through the rearview mirror.
I think your stepdaughter is about to inflict permanent damage on my reproductive organs.
“About what?”
“Pink Floyd. As a band.”
“Not a fan,” I said decisively. “As a band, as a racing horse, et cetera. Grossly overhyped.”
“Good man, good man.” He smiled to himself, then twisted in his seat to look at Duffy. “You should dump that posh boyfriend of yours, Brendan, and date this bloke instead. A bit old, yeah, but we like him better.”
“Tim!” Duffy’s eyes almost popped out of their sockets.
“Yeah, Tim.” Kieran neglected the wheel in favor of thwacking his stepdad’s shoulder. “Duffy doesn’t want to hear what everyone is thinking.”
“Even if BJ and I don’t work out, Riggs and I are just friends,” Duffy announced.
“Did you move in together because you’re very poor, Duffy?” Mrs. Markham implored tactlessly, just as Kieran slowed down and peered through the windows, in search of a parking spot.Thank fuck.“Is Riggs paying your rent for you?”
“No, Mum. I still have some savings.”
“Let us know if you need anything, is what your mum’s saying,” Tim clarified. “Because we can always pull some strings and find money to give you. There’s no shame in getting a bit of help. Things are not so dreadful anymore.”
“I even got my dental done last month—finally!” Mrs. Markham squeaked. “I can’t stop smiling now. I no longer have to cover my mouth when I do.”
Okay. I was starting to see what all the hype about family was about. Must be nice to have a support system to lean on. I guess Icould lean on Christian and Arsène if I really needed someone, but it wasn’t the same. These people were imprinted into each other’s existence permanently.
Kieran pulled into a gravel parking spot right in front of a sprawling wrought iron fence. There were lines upon lines of apple trees behind it, as far as the eye could see. Ribboned straw baskets were stacked neatly by an entrance booth, with a price sheet written in cursive letters.
