Page 43 of The Virgin Playboy

Even from outside the door, you could hear the blended sounds of Soca, Motown, and top 40 going on in separate parts of house, as her aunt opened the door for us.

“Oh, who is this?” A woman with like, really noticeably hazel eyes that contrasted her dark skin answered the door, squeezing my shoulder, but directing her words towards Jaq.

“Hey, Auntie Jill, this is my partner, Graham. Graham, Aunt Jill.”

“Hey!” a man I recognized from Jaq's book launch, dragged out, happier than I thought he’d be to see us. But then again, I’d be that happy after not seeing Jaq after a while.

To my surprise, he came in to hug me first, before hugging his daughter. “Nice to see you again, Graham, isn't it?” he recalled, but I'm sure Jaq had mentioned me at least once after the bowling alley.

“Nice to meet you again, sir.”

“Call me Winston,” her father corrected. At least I was off to a good start.

“You have a lovely home, by the way.” As I didn't even get to finish that thought before a dog aggressively ran out past everyone else, trying to sniff and discover new bodies. The dog tried to climb up to my waist, as I bent down to greet them, and they crawled into my lap, licking my face.

“Aren't you a cute little anxious one? Look, how cute you are. What's your name? Cute little one.”

“Marshmallow Cocoa had babies again, and they all inherited the temperament of that damn mother of theirs. We may not keep them all, but we had a soft spot—well, my wife had a small soft spot for this one, so we named her Bacon.”

It didn't take long before a litter of pups, including the notorious Marshmallow Cocoa, limped up, all desperate, and seeking the attention of a stranger. “This is interesting,” Winston remarked.

“What?” so distracted by a mountain of pups and a mama bear, that I was dividing my attention between the two.

“Marshmallow Cocoa is very much like her owner. She don't like nobody,” Winston admitted.

“She especially don't like me,” as Jaq bent down, relieving me of one of the pups' attention. “Well, she likes me sometimes. They got her a few years ago to replace me after having to deal with the painstaking devastation of losing me to Atlanta. So, she side eyes me because you can't replace a damn original. Ain't nobody coming to see Otis,” she joked in Marshmallow Cocoa’s direction.

“I've tried to make it clear to her, but he has a hard time understanding.”

“Well, she makes such beautiful puppies,” as I scratched behind her ear and she laid her head on my lap. “Don't you make beautiful puppies, girl?”

“Now, are you breeding her?” Jaq asked her father. “Or are you just subjecting her to the strays on the street?”

“Jacqueline, we don’t have time to monitor who she mates with,” Winston followed up.

“So, she just be getting ran through?” Jaq joked.

Winston used a squeaky toy to get the puppy's attention to follow him as he whistled to keep Marshmallow Cocoa in line. “That's my daughter, a regular comedian. Why don't you come in the kitchen and backyard and meet everyone,” Winston offered, as I hopped up, anxious to meet Jaq's extended family.

We all passed a living room to a bunch of cousins watching American football, some on Jaq's mother's side, some on her dad's. “Graham, this is my aunt's son, Dwayne. This is my uncle's son, Denny and Caleb, and that stud in the corner is my cousin Nevaeh.”

“Man, fuck you, Jaq,” Nevaeh countered.

"You know, I'm just playing.” As she gave her cousin a hug, then facilitated our individual introductions. An inside joke about them going to the store broke out, as Jaq admitted that if she had been alone, she would have went to that store with them.

In the kitchen, some of her older family members were either checking on the food or playing dominoes at the table. As the aunt I had already met sat down, Jacqueline’s mother stood. “How nice for you to join us,” as she leaned in to hug me, which actually didn't surprise me. Moms were more affectionate, and they gave the best hugs.

“Thank you for having me,” as I leaned out, bombarded by a firm handshake.

“You must be the boyfriend,” a man I learned was her uncle on her mom's side.

“That I might,” I smiled uncomfortably, after he wouldn't take his eyes off me.

“You play a sport or something, you got the build of a linebacker. Tell me that's not going to waste,” he accused.

“I wish I could say it wasn't,” I laughed. “I like sports, I just don't play any.”

“Oh, what sport do you watch? Football? Basketball?”