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"In more ways than one," I tease.
"It’s not about the size of the boat," Lazaro reminds us, his voice stern. "It’s about the motion in the ocean."
I rest my cheek on Lazaro’s shoulder. "No need to be insecure. I like your three willies the same."
My three Daddies stop dead in their tracks. I, who didn’t intend to halt my forward motion, nearly trip due to inertia.
I groan as I steady myself. "Hey—no stopping while we’re walking. I wasn’t prepared."
Marcello turns to me. "Did you say… willy?"
"I don't see the problem," I volley.
Lazaro crooks a brow. "We thought only the Brits said willy."
My face scrunches. "You’re wrong."
Santino’s face stitches into a studious mask. "Willyisn’t American—you have to go to the UK to hear it. What a fabulous word. You know, there’s a dating program in England where the contestants strip naked and judge each other based on their bodies. That’s where I first heard the wordwilly—I couldn’t stop myself from cracking up."
I nod. "We used to watch that show in prison."
It’s a fabulous show. Six contestants stand in colorful boxes while someone in search of a partner picks the hottest. It’s a damn shame, though, when the chosen contestant turns them down after the show ends. They go on a date with their clothes on, and sometimes the "winner" will say that they have to drive back wherever they came from—thus no hookup.
I think it’s rude. If you’re the winning contestant, you’d better put up or shut up. Why go on the show if you don't want to smash?
Lazaro smirks. "You totally learned the word from the show."
"Yes. And?" I demand.
"That means it’s not a word that’s native to America," Marcello growls, tousling my hair. "You picked it up from the Brits."
My eyes roll to the whites. "Well, the Brits have stolen enough throughout history to deal with me jacking the word willy."
My three Daddies let out rumbly laughs. Their entire bodies shake, rippling and contorting.
I shake my head in amusement. Wow—thesethree ripped menbelong to me. Boys wouldkillfor a relationship like this.
Faro and Jako join us as we get closer to Nonna’s backyard. "Hey, hunks."
Marcello turns to Faro… and his jaw drops. "You got with Jako?"
Jako’s cheeks flush. "No. I decided to keep an eye on this wild one today. Didn’t want him getting into trouble."
Faro fixes Jako with a glare. "You’re my Daddy. Don't lie."
Jako clears his throat. "Don't contradict Daddy in front of your brothers."
I turn to Santino. "What’s the deal with Faro and Jako?"
"Faro’s been obsessed with Jako for years." Santino pushes out a snort. "Jako never gave him the time of day—he thought Faro was a loon. Which he is."
"I take offense to that." Faro sticks his nose in the air.
"It’s true," Santino says blandly.
"Is not," Faro hits back.
"Is," Santino volleys.
