“Alex Rodriguezwisheshe were half the MVP Theresa Rodriguez is,” Josh says, and everyone chuckles.
“But isn’t there yetanothername you go by, Theresa-T-Rod?” I ask innocently. “I’m sure I’ve heard you introduced by yetanothername at some point. You’re the girl with infinite names.”
“Tessa,” my sister shouts. “But you’ve gotta earn the right to call her that, Rum Cake.” She smiles at Samantha. “Has my brother earned the right to call you Tessa yet, honey?”
“Nope,” Samantha says quickly, and everyone laughs.
Kat smiles at me. “Patience, Rum Cake.” She winks. “Charm her and you never know what might happen.”
Everyone laughs again.
Samantha’s eye twitches. “Any more questions, Ryan?”
“Yeah, one more, actually.” Everyone turns to look at me, huge smiles on their faces. Obviously, everyone’s enjoying this unexpected game of tennis. “What exactly is your occupation,T-Rod? Sorry, I didn’t catch that. I could have sworn you said you were a—”
“Oh, for the love of God!” Kat bellows. “Come on, Captain! Yes, we can all see T-Rod’s gorgeous, but you’re just gonna have to wait ’til the opening party later tonight to hit on her.”
Everyone laughs raucously and shouts all sorts of stupid things about poor T-Rod needing a bodyguard and me being the biggest ladies’ man in the entire family and she’d better watch out and blah, blah, blah. (If ever there was a moment when I’d strongly prefer to belong to a normal family, now would be it.) And the whole time, I can’t take my eyes off Samantha. It makes no sense, since she’s a fucking sociopath and a liar and a mind-fucker of epic proportions, but, hot fucking damn, the more I stare at her across the lobby, at the way she’s blushing and fidgeting and basically looking like a woman walking the plank on a pirate ship, I can’t stop wanting to wrap her in my arms and tell her it’s gonna be all right. And then strangle her. And then fuck her ’til she screams for mercy.
Fuck!
Samantha’s been looking down at her toes for a long beat, and when she finally looks back up, her eyes are hard and decidedly unfriendly... and my cock lurches at the sight of her.
“No, it’s fine, everyone,” T-Rod says evenly, her dark eyes locked with mine. “I don’t think I’ve explicitly told you all what I do yet.” She smiles, but her eyes are filled with nothing but murderous rage. “I’m Josh’s personal assistant. I’ve worked for him for six years—I started with him straight out of college and he’s like a brother to me—so I couldn’t be more thrilled for him to marry someone as wonderful as Kat.”
The entire crowd cheers and raises their drinks—and, all the while, Samantha’s flashing me barely disguised daggers of hate. “Does that answer your question,Ryan?”
I nod slowly and flash her a snarling smile. “Why, yes, it does. Thanks so much.”
Samantha takes a huge breath, looks at the crowd, and flashes yet another fake smile. “Great. So, unless anyone else has any further questions, I’ll just direct you to my phone number at the top of the itinerary.”
I roll my eyes to myself.NowSamantha’s giving me her phone number? Fuck my life.
Samantha-T-Rod-Tessa continues. “So if there’sanythingyou need this week, please find me or call me and—”
“Aw, hell no,” Josh bellows, cutting her off. “Starting tonight, T-Rod’s a guest this week, just like everyone else. If you guys need anything, you should call... T-Rod, who should they call?”
“Marnie or Laila.” She points out two women in the crowd, and both of them wave and confirm they’re here to fulfill our every wish, need, and desire all week long and that T-Rod is most definitely one of the guests.
“Okay, everyone, you got that?” Josh says. He puts his arm around Samantha’s shoulders. “T-Rod’s promised Kat and me she’s gonna let loose and have fun and drink far too many mai tais tonight, so I hope I can count on all of you Morgans to help me hold T-Rod’s feet to the fire on all her promises.”
There are enthusiastic shouts from Morgans far and wide, most of them male, all of them pledging to personally shove T-Rod down a greased chute toward debauchery, but no one in the crowd is more enthusiastic in his pledge to ruin T-Rod’s good name (whatever the fuck it is) than my little-brother-the-manwhoring-stripper. I can’t hear every word Keane’s raucously shouting across the lobby toward the obvious object of his dick’s desire, but I can most certainly make out the word “pleasure” and the wolfish grin on his Captain-America face.
Motherfucker.
Samantha or T-Rod or Tessa (or whatever the fuck her name is) gets down from the bench and is immediately swarmed by Kat and my mom and several other enthusiastic Morgans, so I march straight across the room to my horny-as-fuck little brother, and, without warning, grip his neck from behind, yank him forcibly back, and whisper hoarsely into his ear through clenched teeth: “Don’t even think about it, Peen Star—she’s off-limits, motherfucker.She’s mine.”
24
Ryan
Keane wrestles free from my grasp and stumbles forward, rubbing the back of his neck where I gripped it like a vise. “Jesus, Dr. Spock. Take a chill pill, brah.” He scowls and rubs his neck. “Ow.”
In reply, I whack Keane across the top of his head five or six times in rapid succession like a rogue ceiling fan, and he takes cover under his muscled forearms, laughing his ass off. “Jesus, Rum Jungle. Did you take a crazy-pill today? Calm the fuck down, Fuck-i-nator.”
But I’m not done. I grab a fistful of Keane’s T-shirt and lean into his face, the vein in my neck bulging, my teeth bared. “I saw the way you were looking at her, fuckwit. Stuff your eyes back into your head and your pecker into your pants and back the fuck off,Ball Peen Hammer.”
“I was just appreciating the girl’s bountiful assets, which any man can plainly observe, thanks to that lovely sundress she’s wearing. You don’t have to—”
