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Me: Ha Ha. Cute.
Gabrielle: My man certainly thinks so.
Me: Your man, huh? I thought we weren’t doing labels.
Gabrielle: I didn’t say we weren’t, I said I didn’t know. I didn’t want to freak you out.
Me: Please. Like you could.
Gabrielle: I needed some new bras, and I bought a little something extra…want to see?
Me: Of course
She sends me a photo, of her in white practically sheer lingerie that makes her look ethereal. She’s biting her lip in the picture looking so fucking sexy, I wish I could climb through the phone and fuck her in the fitting room against that mirror she’s standing in front of. A second picture comes through and I almost drop my phone when I see her topless form staring at me blowing a kiss.
Me: Jesus, Gab.
Gabrielle: You like the lingerie?
Me: You look edible, Gabrielle. I can’t wait to rip it off of you with my teeth. When are you getting home?
Gabrielle: That sounds promising. And probably a few hours. Mom is like Santa Claus on crack this year.
Me: When is she not?
I go back to her picture.
Me: And I need your nipples in my mouth, five minutes ago.
Gabrielle: Aaaand now I’m wet.
Me: Show me.
An hour later, I haven’t moved from my room and barely from my bed, enjoying a rare lazy day. I’ve answered a few emails before making a few calls and turning on my out of office automated reply. It’s four days until Christmas and it’s been nice to take some time off for once. I finally make my way upstairs to look for some food but I still don’t hear anything. I assume my mom, Monica, and Gabrielle aren’t back yet because I don’t hear an abundance of chatter. When the three of them are together, I don’t think anyone takes a breath.
“Dad?” I call out into the kitchen before starting the Keurig to make a cup of coffee. “Dad!” I call again, this time up the stairs towards his room. I peek my head into the garage and notice that it’s empty, meaning he’s out too. I walk back into the kitchen to get my coffee when I hear the doorbell. I roll my eyes at the idea of yet another package. Our family room looks like an Amazon distribution center blew up inside a West Elm. “Alexa, show me the door,” I call out and I see that it’s not a delivery person when I take in who is standing on my porch.
This fucking kid again? Annoyance claws up my back and the thoughts take flight that he’s here for Gabrielle. To talk to her. Flirt with her. Ask her out.
Fuck that. It’s time this kid got a clue.
I waste no time moving towards the door and opening it to take in Brandon Woods. The guy seems to think he might have an actual shot with Gabrielle. In theory, he isn’t a bad looking guy, I guess. He’s completely shaven, which is a point for me because I happen to know that Gabrielle likes facial hair, particularly mine and how it feels between her legs. His light brown hair is slightly messy like he either just woke up or he’s trying to look like he’s not trying so hard. He’s a few inches shy of me but still relatively tall and built like he’s not exactly familiar with the gym but not too lanky. He’s wearing an Oxford University hoodie and a pair of sweatpants tucked into boots and in his hands he holds a few packages.
“Can I help you?” I raise an eyebrow at him and he smiles revealing perfectly straight teeth.
“Hey, James, how have you been?”
Not interested in chit chat, tool. What do you want?
“Busy but good. Glad I got to spend a little extra time at home with everyone.” I’m so annoyed I have to be polite and neighborly and not tell him to back the fuck off Gabrielle. My eyes narrow. But don’t test me, I try my best to warn him.
“Yeah, it’s definitely great to be home this year and not spending it in England in my studio apartment with fish and chips and a bottle of Jameson.”
I nod. “So, what’s up?” I ask, wanting to know why he’s here and how soon he can disappear.
“Oh, uhhh they accidentally delivered these next door,” he says nervously as he holds up two packages and I frown at the carelessness of the delivery drivers especially this time of year where people can be less than honest about wrong deliveries. A cynical thought floats through my head. He wouldn’t have swiped these off our porch just to have a reason to come over again, would he?
No.
