But now that Mom said all that, Gisele’s press release makes a little more sense.
What? You think I’m kidding? I’m not. Not only that, the way she talked on the phone about him, this one really did sound serious. So much so, I was almost curious to meet William.Almost.
“If you don’t get your lazy butt up here in five seconds, I’m coming down there and—”
“I’m up!” I yell loud enough for her to hear. The last thing I want is for Gisele to slither down the steps and mock my new digs. “I’m up,” I say again for emphasis.
“Hurry up!” she shouts again.
Slowly, I crawl out from the dark pit known as my bedroom and tromp up the steps following the scent of coffee, ooh, and bacon. Just what I need to get through this godforsaken breakfast. At the top of the steps, I squint so hard I can barely see. I’ve got to use the smells emanating from the kitchen to lead me to the motherland. When I make it to the kitchen, I feel my way around until I have a cup in my hand and the nectar of the gods flowing down my throat. “Mm, fuck.” I sigh with relief. I can feel the caffeine bringing me back to life.
“Nice jammies,” says a fake-ass, sweet-as-honey voice.
“Gizzy,”(pronounced jizzy)I grumble hoarsely. “What up?”
“Well, Josephine, it’s good to see you too. Looking good in last year’s homeless collection, I see.”
I snort because that was kind of funny.
“You even smell the part.” She sniffs.
Fuck off.I think it but don’t say it. Instead, I drink more of the good stuff.
“You’re being rude to my guest. If you’d open your eyes, I’d introduce you.”
“What if I was blind, for realz?” I’m talking, but my eyes are still closed. I like fucking with her. “Would you tell me to just look? See? If so, that’s not very PC of you, older sister.” She hates it when I bring up the fact she’s older. She’s sort of vain.
Ignoring my insult, she snaps in her curt voice, “Open. Your. Eyes. Josephine.”
Only risking the bright light in one eye, I slowly open the right one. I have to blink a few times for him to come into focus. I open up the second one, so I don’t get this wrong. I want to jokingly say, “I can see. It’s a miracle.” But this is not the time for jokes. William is tall, dark, and handsome.Reallyhandsome. He’s dressed in a suit.A suit? For fuck’s sake. It’s Christmas Eve, William.You can dress down.
I guess his suit makes sense because my sister’s wearing a pencil skirt with a sweater set and pearls. Yep. Pearls. They were my grandmother Gisele’s, so it makes sense she’d get them when she graduated high school. It’s okay, Grandma Foster made me a quilt for my graduation, and it’s the best gift anyone has ever given me. She worked her tiny ass off on it. Anyway, the thing is, the suit looks good on him. Perfect actually. Like it’s bespoke—you know, made just for his broad shoulders, trim waist, and tall frame. He’s got to be over six feet. His dark hair is styled perfectly too, like he just stepped out of a salon. His olive skin and dark eyes look perfect with his square-ish chin that’s shaved smooth. And I suspect he smells good. Hell, Iknowhe smells good. You wanna know how I know that?
Because I fucked William for about three hours last night. Except he wasn’t William then. He was Billy.
I bet you didn’t see that coming, did you? Speaking of coming… sex with William “Billy” Mathers was the best I’ve ever had. He was a giver, if you know what I mean.
And now, knowing he’s my sister’s one truelove makes me remember my hangover. So much so, I race back down to the basement to my man-bathroom and puke.
Happy. Fucking. Holiday.
Chapter Two
So,you probably get that I don’t really like my sister very much. But I don’t hate her. I actually love her in my own way, so I need to tell you that there’s absolutely no way I would ever cheat with one of her boyfriends. I’m not that person. I’m loyal and true.
No, the person who deservesallthe blame in this is Billy—er, William. He’s the cheating, asshole scumbag.
I can’t tell her, though. That’d ruin Christmas. My mom will lose her shit. She’ll cry and carry on, and I can’t take that right now. Then, there’s Dad. Even though it’s zero degrees outside, he’ll still hide in the garage and sulk. He’ll plug in the fire hazard that is his space heater, and he’ll stay out there. For days.
While we all agree this is William—er, Billy’s fault, it’s going to be hard to convince my family of that truth. Then, you know what will happen? They’ll kick me out. They won’t be able to look at me. Their “bad seed” Josephine. Always causing problems, always fucking up. Yeah, they’ll kick me out.
God, fucking Clancy. This is her fault too. She’s the one who talked me into going up to Billy at the bar. Sure, I told her I wanted to lick him from head to toe (which I did, btw), but she should never have double-dog dared me. That’s onher. You just don’t double-dog dare a drunk person. Ever.
“Josephine,” my mom singsongs down to me from the top of the stairs. God, she’s chipper. “Are you coming back upstairs?”
“Yeah,” I groan loud enough for her to hear. “In a second.” That acknowledgement buys me a little time before she feels the need to yell down to me again.
“Breakfast will be ready momentarily. Get yourself cleaned up, honey. Chop-chop.”
