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But here is Finn helping him fold shirts into patterns for dyeing right near the kitchen sink.
God, I love him. He is the best man I know. But I guess I’ve always felt this way about him. But now…now that I’ve had him like this, inside of me, I feel it tenfold.
“So, I was thinking. Windchimes…” my dad starts, bobbing his head, his tongue peeking out of the corner of his mouth as he scrunches the shirt into a heart-shaped design.
Finn stops folding the shirt he’s working on, securing it with a rubber band, and eyes my dad. “What about them?” he asks as I settle in next to them to help.
“I was thinking I could make some. Chickens love them.”
“Do they?” I ask as I grab a shirt and start to fold it. Hmm, this is harder than it looks. Why does my dad’s look like a heart and Finn’s looks like a flower and mine looks like a smooshed toaster waffle?
“Yeah, they like shiny things. And goats like them too,” my dad responds.
I’m not sure what websites he got this from, but it doesn’t seem legit. He probably saw it on Facebook.
Finn grabs the shirt from my hands and fixes it for me. So I let my bored hands wander down and feel his nice, round butt. Hmm, I like his ass. I really like it. I wonder if he’d ever change his mind about me licking it…
“And listen, I was thinking…shit, don’t tell your mom, but I saw this on Pinterest…a goat bridge with instructions on how to build it. I can call it Golden Goat Bridge. Saw that online too.”
He smirks at us and Finn just snorts a laugh.
“Where you gonna put that, Basil?”
“Uh,” my dad looks around and shrugs. “Don’t know quite yet, but Vincent and his buddy will love it. They could just lounge on it all day.”
My hand slides into the pocket of Finn’s jeans and I squeeze.
Finn peeks over at me and then smacks me on the arm with the folded shirt when I don’t stop.
“Ah, you guys, young love,” my dad says holding a shirt over the sink and squirting yellow dye onto it. “I remember when your mom and I were so handsy.”
“You’re still handsy,” I say and then nuzzle up closer to Finn. “It’s ridiculous. You act like you’re sixteen.”
“Can’t help it. Still in love,” he says smugly, and I rest my head on Finn’s shoulder, wanting to crawl inside his clothes and just hold him against me. Skin to skin.
I don’t think I’ll ever get tired of this man. In thirty years, I can still see myself horny for him, wanting to be near him. I will be like this until the day I die.
I never want to be parted from him for the rest of my life.
Shit, I hope I die before Finn.
That thought depresses me for the rest of the night.
twenty-two
LANDON
I haveto pull Finn out the door. Asshole takes his time about it too, chatting endlessly to my parents. I’ve never heard him talk so much in his entire life. And don’t even get me started on how he got my dad on some tangent about cucumbers. They spent thirty minutes discussing fun facts about them.
Note: the facts are not fun.
The only possible fun thing about a cucumber is if Finn took me home, bent me over, and put that cuke right up my hole.
“You took your sweet time,” I whine, shoving him into the apartment. “What’s your deal?” I ask, frantically stripping myself down.
Finn stands there by the door, watching me throw my clothes off.
“Why are you just standing there like that? Move, Finn.”
