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“I don’t think so. The last thing I want to do is piss all over a partnership,” he says.
“At least fuck her, man.” I sigh, resting my head on the backseat.
“No, and you’re not living vicariously through me. Go fuck someone yourself,” he says, laughing.
Fuck if I don’t wish I could.
“Hey, you good, man?” he asks, nudging my arm.
“Yeah, just feeling sorry for myself.”
“Well stop that shit. We’ve got too many good things happening right now.”
He’s not wrong. If we can really pull this off, then maybe I’ll be able to cut ties with Riley and her dad once and for all. Maybe I’ll finally be able to financially support my mother instead of that asshole having the upper hand.
“You’re right.”
“Wanna celebrate at the beach house this weekend?” he asks.
“Abso-fucking-lutley,” I say.
“It will probably be the last time for a while. I have a feeling our lives are about to change,” he says, grinning.
His excitement is contagious, and I can’t help but smile back. Mitch really is the best fucking friend a guy could ask for.
* * *
This entire week has flown by, and I can’t help but feel a sense of deja vu as I’m tossing bags into the back of the truck.
“Remind me again why we’re taking her?” Mitch asks.
He’s referring to Riley. I don’t want to take her, just as much as literally no one wants her to go, but I can’t afford another nonpayment on my mother’s account. If it were just me and Mitch going, I think I could have gotten away with flying solo, but for some reason, Riley has a fucking problem with Delaney and Marley and won’t let me go anywhere alone with them. She already gives me a hard fucking time about Marley living in the same house. In fact, I’ve had to stay at her house the last few days just to prove to her there’s nothing going on.
“Mitch, please,” I say, giving him a look that I hope he understands.
He puts his hands up in surrender.
“Let’s fucking go!” Delaney says from the front porch.
I watch her carry her bags out to the truck, tossing them in.
“Shotgun!” she calls, running over to the front seat.
“Are we fucking ten years old? I didn’t know I had to call shotgun,” I say, flipping her off.
It only makes her laugh.
“Children, let’s not fight,” Marley says, walking out of the house, looking like a fucking breath of fresh air.
She’s wearing a pair of light cut-off jean shorts and a tan halter top that criss-crosses at her neck. Her hair is piled on top of her head in a messy bun, and she’s got on a pair of big black sunglasses.
“Yes, Mother,” Delaney says, laughing with her head hanging out the window.
I walk over, grabbing her bags, trying not to react to the contact when our fingers brush.
Once we’re all inside, Mitch turns to look at me from the driver’s seat.
“Do we need to pick up Riley?” he asks.
