“I’m here if you want to talk,” Izzy says.
My cousin is nothing short of perfect. Her skin is flawless, her hair is spot-on, and her outfit is to die for. But all my cousins are perfect, especially Sal’s kids.
Meanwhile, I’m in a hideous strapless chiffon nightmare with so many ruffles on the front, I might as well not have tits because no one can see through the layers anyway.
“Thanks, Izzy. I’d rather not talk about him. Let’s talk about you instead. I’ve heard some pretty interesting rumors.”
“Rumors?” She raises her perfectly shaped brown eyebrow and smirks. “Like, what kind of rumors?”
“I hear you have quite the man on your hands. I don’t know how you do it. I mean, if some guy bossed me around, I’d probably knee him square in his junk.”
I keep my response tame so as not to hurt her feelings. I don’t know how much she wants to share, and honestly, what she does in the bedroom is none of my damn business.
Izzy laughs, covering her lipstick-stained mouth with her hand. “It’s not what you think.”
“He doesn’t boss you around and tell you what to do?”
She waves me off. “Only in the bedroom. But everywhere else, I’m the boss.”
The bartender walks over and glances at us, perking up a little even though he’s got one foot in the grave. “What can I get you, ladies?”
“Three bottles of whiskey. Top-shelf.”
“Three?” He leans forward like he didn’t quite hear me right. “You sure?”
I nod and hold up three fingers. “Three.”
“It’ll be a moment,” he says before disappearing.
“A man better give me a whole lot of pleasure for him to tell me what to do in the sack.”
“He does.” She’s beaming, and part of me hates her just a little bit more. “And it’s not as bad as you think.”
It’s my turn to raise my eyebrows and stare. “I can’t wrap my head around it.”
“You haven’t known pleasure until you completely surrender. You should try it sometime.”
I want to tell her to fuck off, but I can’t. She looks entirely too happy, and her husband is a fine specimen of a man. He could probably make me drop to my knees and beg for an ass-whoopin’ too. He’s that good-looking. They make a perfect couple with all their perfectness.
It’s irritating.
“Here you go,” the bartender says, saving me from saying something I’m almost sure I’ll totally regret.
“Ready?” I ask her, grabbing the bottles, and dip my head toward the two stacks of glasses the bartender slides across the bar.
She scoops the glasses into her arms and follows me toward the tables where my cousins have already made themselves comfortable.
Our parents aren’t there. They’re on the dance floor, putting Fred and Ginger to shame.
“We’re not waiting for them,” Morgan, Fran’s son, says as he grabs a bottle as soon as I set the whiskey down on the table.
“Never thought I’d see the day when they’d all be in the same room again.” Joe, my cousin, ticks his chin toward the dance floor as he kicks back and takes the glass of whiskey Morgan hands to him. Suzy, Joe’s wife, is at his side, curling into her husband but not drinking.
“It’s crazy.” Michael, Joe’s brother, leans back and shakes his head.
I stare at my cousins, wondering what life must have been like for them. Here, there’s only us, but there in Florida, they have each other. We used to have Morgan, but that was before my cousins lured him away from us with promises of warm winters and an amazing job.
I hate them all just a little. I shouldn’t, though, because they’re family. But it’s hard not to feel that way. They’re all happy and tanned, not looking as pale or miserable as my brothers and me.
