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“It’s a Saturday,” he remarked. “Evening, must I add.”
Right. The contract stated I should only work on Mondays and Fridays, until I’d found a steady job. But I was bored out of my mind and still felt weird a bit about reading a book in that stupid egg swing now—especially since the twins invited a ton of friend tonight. No one cared I’d vacuumed and mopped the entire house yesterday.
I shrugged, quite enjoying the task. “Yup, and—”
“Then why are you doing their dirty underwear?”
“It’s not dirty—”
“They’re my boys. Promise me to boil those dirty fuckers next time.”
Trying not to think about last Monday, where I almost— almost—ended up with my fingers in my panties to bring myself to orgasm, I sighed and didn’t comment on that statement.
“At least your surround system is the bomb.” I turned up the volume and closed my eyes, ready to attune to my stepdad’s Caribbean vibes.
What I wasn’t prepared for were the lyrics “baby swallow my creamy load” come through.
Embarrassed, I jumped up and punched the button at the radio in the wall to mute the damn thing.
“You go, baby girl! Let it all out. Doesn’t seem like your style but—”
“It isn’t!” I said, my voice strangled. “That… God, someone messed with the system.”
“Sure, sure.” I heard the smile in his voice.
“Just shut up, Cary,” I drily scolded him and laughed while I tried to connect to my playlist again.
“Ah, here we go!” Cary acknowledged the switch of songs. I started dancing as if I felt every accent of the instruments in my limbs. He cheered me on, rolling his tongue around the “r” as he hollered, “Arriba!”
There were five seconds of silence before he erupted into laughter. “I don’t see you, but I know you’ve got it going on,” he drawled, that last word sounding more like “awn”. “Mamacita, watch out, or my boys will eat you alive.”
Startled, my feet stopped shuffling to the beat. “You keep saying that. Can you at least elaborate?”
He cleared his throat. “Yeah, well, fuck. I’m not going to talk about your ass and how you shake it, baby girl.”
I groaned, turning down the music. “Oh my God, Cary.”
“Inappropriate?”
“It is in my dictionary,” I agreed, but smiled anyway, since I’d already accepted his slightly inappropriate choice of words.
“Apologies.” He chuckled.
I accepted because I could live with a stepdad that dipped his toe in some sleezy vocabulary, as long as he knew where I drew the line. Overall, he was attentive and caring. Nothing like my biological father, who I hadn’t heard from in... Well damn, I couldn’t even remember.
I stored that depressive thought away when Cary told me he’d hand the phone over to Mom. I’d almost finished the basket of laundry before her soft voice broke through the speaker.
“Who’s this?” she asked.
“Are you really that drunk already?” I teased. She barely ever drank any alcohol. But apparently, her honeymoon meant par-tay!
“Mi amor!” She called out, delighted to hear me. They’d been gone for a week now. Already way too long if you’d ask me. “No, sweetie, Cary did like you to think I was since he didn’t tell me it was you.”
I snickered. She had her hands full with her husband. “Is he behaving?”
“Barely,” Mom said, and I heard Cary protest in the background before there were kissy sounds on the other end.
God, they were so disgustingly in love.
