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“God, can you stop the cheesy one-liners. What is Mary-May-I, seriously?”
“Isn’t that some kind of kid’s game shit?” I ask, my brow crinkling up in frustration. I need to figure out how to make her sweet again. I saw it at her mom’s. Now I just have to figure out how to keep her that way. I’ve never had to work to get a woman. This is a new experience for me, but I think I’m going to enjoy it.
“That’s Mother-May-I, doofus,” she grumbles.
“Well, hell, I don’t know. I didn’t play games as a kid.”
I fluff my pillow, recline back with my arm behind my pillow, and settle in. It was a rough day at practice. Coach is riding my ass harder than a sailor with a two-dollar hooker, that’s been out to sea for five years straight without leave. In hindsight, it was probably a bad move kissing Marigold in front of all her family. Although, if I think about it, my biggest mistake was probably grinding her against my cock.
I personally happen to think that was worth it.
“You didn’t play any games?”
“Nah, no time. Too busy trying to keep out of the reach of my mother’s latest boyfriend.”
“That doesn’t sound like fun. Why did you have to stay out of reach?” she asks, her voice soft.
I should change the subject. I don’t talk about my personal life with others. Most wouldn’t understand and to be frank, I rather not talk about that shit. I’ve spent a lifetime putting it behind me and I don’t like to revisit it.
“Most didn’t appreciate having kids around when they were trying to get their dick wet. They weren’t shy about teaching me the hard way to stay away either.”
“Didn’t your mom to tell them to get the hell out?”
“Mom wasn’t wired that way, honey,” I murmur, taking in how upset she sounds. That shouldn’t make me happy, but hell if it doesn’t. She’s not trying to pity my ass. She’s outraged and that feels fucking good.
“She’s a bitch, then.”
“Figured that out a while back, baby.”
“I’m sorry you had that, Slater,” she whispers.
“Have I mentioned I hate my name?”
She laughs and I smile because it’s a beautiful sound.
“I think I’ve picked up on that. My mom seems to love it…A.C.”
“Babe, your mom is crazy. You know that, right?”
“I guess you figured out the real reason she’s calling you A.C.,” I laugh.
“I knew that from the beginning,” I mutter. “I hate that damn show.”
That makes her giggle—which is fucking cute. “I never watched it.”
“Me either, but that’s all I’ve heard for as long as I can remember.”
“I can sympathize. Growing up all I heard was, Mary, Mary, quite contrary how does your garden grow?”
“Give me the names of every asshole that asked you that I’ll visit them. No one should know how your garden grows but me.”
There’s a moment of silence and then she all but cackles. “Oh my God, you nut.”
“I’m serious, baby.”
“You mean you’re a lunatic,” she argues.
“Nope. I’m a possessive motherfucker.”
