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He shook his head and stole the rum from me. “Well, we aren’t all fucking go with the flow types, Xavi.”
I was proud of that. A lot of people saw it as a weakness or a sign of immaturity, but being able to adapt to situations without letting them overwhelm me was my superpower. Despite how heated I just got about Trisha and Clark, I handled most things pretty well, in my opinion.
“Okay, so I’m totally a bottom, right?”
Maddox stopped. “What? You’ve fucked?”
“Not yet, I just know.”
“How?” He laughed. “How could you possibly know that?”
“It’s just something I know. Can’t explain it.” Like my ass clenched in anticipation whenever I thought about it. I shrugged and kept walking, hoping we’d run into Nate and Devon somewhere along the way because I had no idea where they went. “But like, how do I do it?”
“Bend over and take it.”
“No. Absolutely not. I’ll take it however I want to take it, so butt out of that part. Pun totally intended.” I ducked and weaved, thinking there was a June bug out to get me. Just a moth. “I’m asking about the preparation part. You know, the lubing and the stretching.” I looked at my brother. “You know?”
Maddox grimaced. “Oh, I know. Don’t make me tell you.”
“Maddox, you demanded flip fucks in great detail and got sucked off in the back seat of—”
“Ugh.” He waved his hands around, embarrassed. Poor guy. “Do not remind me. Just… fingers and a lot of lube, okay? Fingers first. Tongues, even. Then comes the begging. Since you’re apparently a bottom, you’ll be the one begging. You’ll know when you feel ready. Are we done?”
“And don’t even get me started on the box spring/mattress confession.”
“I hate you,” he said.
Okay, lubed fingers and begging. Didn’t seem so hard. Wait, tongues? Where?Where did the tongues go?I couldn’t wait to find out. There’d be no tripping because I knew exactly where I wanted Nate’s dick to end up, so all I had to worry about was the prep, the vibe, and sticking the landing.
“Where’s the prostate?”
“Oh my fucking god.”
* * *
“I need to weed whack something!”
Nate seethed, angry at the world because Patrick Harris called to warn us that my mom went to him for a loan. Nate threatened him into keeping us in the loop, and now he was all agitated about it.I loved him for it because she was my mom and my problem, but it was like he was holding onto my anger for me. I felt numb. Detached from it at the moment. She’d failed so many times that it almost felt like a familiar coming home party or some shit.
“Weed whacker!” he shouted. Demanded.
Uh oh. When Nate was really mad or worked up, nothing would calm him down like the instant satisfaction of either weed whacking or power washing. I ran into the shop, knocked over a bunch of brooms and shovels we never used, and yanked out the old weed eater. Still had some gas in it, so I rushed out to hand it to Nate before he blew up.
His lighter had finally died, and without a cigarette, he was a blond monster in work boots and cutoff jean shorts that were, admittedly, too short, as much as I hated to say it.Because damn, he had nice thighs despite how insecure he was about them. I fiddled with my bracelets and eye-fucked his legs and biceps every time he pulled on the weed whacker. Shit, was he really mine? More than my best friend? Like I earned him somehow for real?
On the sixth yank of the ripcord, the engine fired up, and Nate got to work whacking at weeds around the shop. My first instinct was to get him a new lighter, but maybe that made me a terrible quit-smoking-buddy, so I sat on the picnic table instead. He went around the other side, disappearing from view, so I watched Karen be a delight.
“Thank you for your business and have a wonderful rest of your day.” Karen beamed at the customer, handing him his invoice. “Please rate us on Google.”
The fuck does that mean?
The customer, who was weirded out about Karen’s politeness, or maybe her muumuu, or maybe her hair, gave her a weird look that didn’t deter her, taking his invoice and the key to his boat. It was docked behind the shop, so at least we didn’t need to tow it anywhere.
“Hey, sunshine child,” I shouted at her. “Come take a break before we get written up for child labour.”
Karen did not take a break. She answered two more phone calls before coming out to sit with my lazy ass in the sun, tugging up the length of her weird dress thing. “What a beautiful day,” she said.
“You seen your mom lately?” I asked, mainly because I hoped her mom was better than mine. Mine tried with certain things, like the dinners, but we’d never been her priority, and I hoped that Karen was a priority to someone.
