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When did he…learn to…have so much fucking bass in his voice?
And so much fucking weight in his balls?
Where the fuck has this shit been hiding?
Where the fuck was this shit when that tramp, he wouldn’t take to the prom keyed his car or when the bank wouldn’t give him a loan to help us expand the business?
What is it about our little cotton tail that brings out his big bad wolf side?
And why the fuck am I just waiting for my turn to be gobbled up?
“Mutt,” our woman stomps her white boot covered foot in frustration at the same time she redirects her attention to me, “tell him I don’t. Tell him I don’t have room in my bag for all three.”
“Sir,” the Kid devilishly begins, leading me to lower the shirt I’m holding to conceal the way my cock is starting to swell, “tell her she does. Tell her my closet or yours has plenty of fucking room for all three.”
Thankfully this argument – like most of the shit they put me in the middle of – is not only mostly harmless, it’s easy to fucking split from.
An impish grin is swiftly presented to the pair in tandem. “How about I just tell you both that I’m gonna slowly but surely walk the fuck away from this conversation?”
Her shake of the head is attached to a small giggle while his is accompanied by an amused grunt. “Pussy.”
“Yeah, that’s what I’m trying to keep the chance of stayin’ in, Kid. You’ll learn.”
Laughter leaves them both prompting me to turn on my heels and head for the counter with a wide grin on my face.
I should probably hate how stupid I look smiling.
How goofy I get over something like listening to them laugh.
Fuck, how excited I get over all of us spending time together versus just the two of them.
And they do spend a shit ton of time together without me.
To the point I’m thinking about cutting hours for the first time since I started this shit a little over a decade ago.
I’m not jealous.
I’m just…not…happy about missing shit.
With either of them.
Doesn’t matter if it’s a dishwashing event turned wet t-shirt contest or a midnight Speed Racer streaming marathon because someone couldn’t sleep.
I wanna be around for it.
Fact?
No one goes out of their way to make me feel like the third wheel.
I just…I spend a lot of time driving around alone…wondering…thinking…wishing…I was home instead.
Helping the kid change sparkplugs.
Letting Rabbit doodle on my work boots.
Getting blown by whoever is up for it on the entry stairway to a classical music soundtrack.
You know…small shit.
