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Now here I am three hours later, sitting in my parents’ backyard, drinking a beer, listening to my mom go on and on about how me and my sister need to get our shit together and find significant others to settle down with so we can give her and my dad the grandbabies she’s been dreaming of, all while smiling like an idiot at the text message that just rolled across my screen.
Claire Bear: Thanks for the iced coffee. And for putting me to bed. My limp noodle legs are in recovery mode today.
Me: Aren’t you forgetting something?
Claire Bear: Nope. Don’t think so.
Me: I feel like you’re forgetting an important thank you.
Claire Bear: Oh! Thank you for not crying like a baby when I kicked your ass in ping pong last night. That would have been embarrassing. For you, not me.
I fight the urge to roll my eyes at that one. Kick my ass she did. It was awful and sexy as hell. She was so incredibly cocky when she did it, spewing trash talk, line after line. Claire let loose last night and it was a sight to see.
Me: …And?
Claire Bear: I think I remember something in the elevator. Not sure.
Me: You think? Shit, guess I’ll need to try harder next time.
No I won’t. The girl was wild for me in that elevator. Her body loved every second of it, and I loved the way she reacted to me, the way her back arched off the wall, the way her fingers raked through my hair, her nails biting into the flesh of my shoulders. I loved every moan, every whimper, every plea, and watching her watch us, staring down at me with wide eyes, her gaze darting from one mirrored wall to the other.
Claire Bear: No next time. Stop getting in my head. And my pants.
Me: It was a dress.
Claire Bear: And where’s my underwear?
At home in my laundry basket, but I’m not about to tell her that. I stuffed her panties in my back pocket when I peeled them off of her last night. I don’t know why; I just did.
“Avery Austin Beck, stop ignoring your mother!” A swift slap to my shoulder catches my attention. A glance up has me meeting my scowling mom’s narrowed gaze. “Did you hear what I said?”
“Yeah, Avery,” my sister Harper teases, jamming her toes into my knee. “Listen to your mother and stop smiling like a jackass at your phone.”
Mom shoots Harper a look, the kind that can still make both of us—and Dad—cower. “You too, Harper! It’s time for you to meet a man! Or a woman, if that’s what you’re into.”
I chuckle and Harper groans, throwing her head back over her patio chair, her dark hair spilling behind it. “I’m not a lesbian, Mom! Just because I haven’t met…Ugh, I’m not having this conversation with you! I’m twenty-five! I’ve got tons of time!”
Mom points an angry finger at me. “Don’t you laugh, mister! You’re turning thirty next year! Time is running out!” She slaps the back of her hand in her palm three times for dramatic effect.
I stand up and pat her head like I would Sully. “Okay, crazy lady.” I join my dad at the smoker, watching him check the ribs and sausages he’s been tending to all afternoon. “Stop leaving me alone with them.”
He shakes his head, eyes wide, maybe a little scared. “Ave—you gotta help me out here, buddy. Your mom’s on my case about this baby shit every week. I wanna be a grandma. I wanna spoil my grandbabies. That woman needs a baby in her life, and I’m afraid if one of you don’t give it to her, she’s going to suggest we try for a third.” Turns out his terrified expression is justified.
“Right, well, I’m not ready to be a dad anytime soon.”
“Maybe you could just get a girlfriend,” Dad suggests. “Bet that would get your mom off your back for a while. And mine. God, I need a break.” He sighs, dragging both hands down his face.
“Retirement getting to you already, old man?”
He throws me a sideways glance and snorts. “You have no idea.” But then he meets my mom’s gaze across the yard and winks at her, his smile exploding across his face, because no matter how crazy she drives him, she’s the love of his life.
I love my family, but an entire day with them can be entirely too exhausting. I think that’s why I collapse onto the couch when I get home. My phone vibrates on the coffee table and I feel a surge of excitement thinking it might be Claire.
The disappointment that follows when I realize that it’s not Claire, but Sam, a gorgeous, leggy blonde who I hook up with whenever she blows through the city, is confusing, to say the least.
Samantha: Hey handsome. Just got into town. Here for the week. I can be over in an hour?
A picture accompanies her words—her bare legs, crossed and a perfect shade of shimmering bronze, a pair of strappy black heels on her feet, fire engine red toenails peeking out.
