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This night just keeps getting better and better.
Eric quickly tosses Derrick onto the chair where we just finished dry humping, and at least I can be thankful my dad didn’t sit there.
“Not that I’m unhappy to see you show up here . . . unexpectedly, without calling ahead first, but what’s going on? Is everyone okay?” I ask, moving over to sit on the love seat across from my dad.
Eric follows right behind me, sitting down so close to me that our thighs are touching, and he throws his arm over the back of the couch and rests his hand on my shoulder.
This is weird. Maybe I should have sat in one of the chairs. We’re look like we’re dating or something. Wait, are we dating? Is that what’s happening right now? Does dry humping equal dating?
“I just wanted to see how you were doing. Everyone is fine. Your sisters are driving me to drink, like always,” my dad sighs, turning to look at Eric. “Never have seven daughters, Eric. It’s a hell on earth unlike anything you can ever imagine.”
Eric looks at me with a shocked expression on his face and mouths the word, Seven?
I just nod.
“My sisters all work with him at Triton Motors, hence the reason he took up day-drinking,” I explain.
“There’s still a spot open for you in sales, Ariel. You know I’d be happy to have you work for me. I think you’d do amazing in sales.”
Eric snorts, and I shoot him an annoyed look.
“Ariel, in sales?” he full out laughs now. “She’d tell the first guy who said he wanted a better deal to go fuck himself.”
My dad laughs right along with him and nods his head.
“That’s true. She has a very colorful language, with an attitude to match.”
“You can both go fuck yourselves,” I mutter, jerking away from Eric’s hand and crossing my arms angrily over my chest. “I already told you, Dad, I started a business with my friends. As much as I love you, I don’t want to work with you. That would not end well.”
My dad snaps his fingers and his face brightens.
“That’s right! The Nifty Stripper Princesses!”
“Close. The Naughty Princess Club,” I correct him.
“We should do a commercial with you girls taking your clothes off in the parking lot. That would bring in a lot of customers,” my dad muses.
“Never gonna happen.”
“Fine. Then just tell me when you’re stripping so I can put it in my day planner. It’s not every day your favorite daughter takes her clothes off for money. Well, shit. Those are words I never thought I’d say. Eh, whatever. Name the time and place and I’ll be there,” my dad says with a smile.
“Not just never gonna happen, but never gonna fucking happen ever,” I inform him.
“Hey, Belle’s dad got to watch her strip for the first time at Charming’s,” Eric says.
It’s true. After Belle’s dad kicked her out of the house and they didn’t speak for weeks, he tried to fix things by showing up for her first night of stripping. He wasn’t even my dad and I felt sick to my stomach for her.
“Belle’s dad wore a blindfold that his girlfriend put on him, and he sat facing away from the stage, throwing dollar bills at an angry biker because he couldn’t see anything. He almost got his ass kicked,” I remind him, giving him another glare to get him to shut the fuck up.
“Fine. Eric, can you at least take a video? I want to put it in the family Christmas-card email I send out to everyone, letting the cousins know how well my girls are doing.” my dad says.
“If you even think about doing it, that dry humping session we just had will be the last one you ever experience because I will cut your dick off,” I whisper out of the corner of my mouth.
Pasting a smile on my face, I change the subject before my dad gets any other insane ideas.
“So, you just stopped by to see how I was doing? Nothing else is going on?”
“Well, I saw the doctor the other day. He says I’ve got a boggy prostate,” my dad says causally. “It’s fine. He said it’s nothing serious. Just a small infection that will go away with antibiotics Have you checked your prostate lately, Eric?”
Eric tries to hide a laugh with a cough, and it just sounds like he’s choking.
“Too much information, Dad . . . Jesus.”
“Maybe I should do a commercial with that. One thousand dollars cash back on any trade-in if you have a boggy prostate!” my dad announces.
“Okay, seriously. I know you didn’t come over here to tell me about your prostate. What’s going on?”
My dad looks down at his lap guiltily, and I feel vindicated that I was right. Until he looks back up at me with sympathy written all over his face.
