“Yeah, that. They know we’ve been gettingit on.”
She barks out a laugh. “Oh my god. Do not say ‘getting it on,’ you dork.”
“You know you love my dorkiness.” I shoot her two finger guns, then turn and wipe flour off the counter. Claire and Bea insisted on cooking for me this morning, which was considerate, but they left behind quite the mess.
“It’s not your dorkiness I love.”
I freeze, a dirty rag mid-swipe, all the air sucked from my lungs.
Unfazed, she spanks my ass with a dish towel and says, “I lovethis dick.”
My lungs inflate, and I take a deep breath. “Who’s the dorky one now?” I laugh, praying I don’t sound unsettled.
Why did I think she was going to say she loves me? Like,meas a person. Not me as thebodywho’s fucking her. That’s impossible anyway. This is a seasonal hookup with an expiration date.
Yet I can’t deny that it stung a little when she said she loves my dick, and not me. Shit.
There’s no way I’d miss the arrival of my buddies. I doubt anyone on the property did. They’re loud. Thunderous, even. The booming footsteps up the stairs of the porch are followed by thethwackof the screen door, and then they’re calling out.
The first summer they visited, Benji walked right into my house. Raymond scolded him for invading my privacy, but Benji flippantly replied, “We’ve told each other the most fucked-up shit. Barging in is child’s play at this stage.”
And he wasn’t wrong.
The only problem with their intrusive entrance today is that I’ve currently got my pants around my ankles in the bathroom,and last I saw, Claire was relaxing on the couch in the living room. I finish and wash up quickly, then hustle down the hall where I find Claire sandwiched between my closest friends.
Her cheeks are flushed when they finally release her, but she’s wearing a giant smile. I shouldn’t be concerned about introducing her to them. She will be nothing but pleasant and professional. But that knowledge doesn’t stop the butterflies swishing in my stomach.
When my friends spot me, they tackle me with hugs and slap me on the back.
“Where’s Dolly?” Benji asks, craning his neck so he can peer behind me. He’s about a decade older than me and has light hair like mine, but in the last couple of years, he’s grown his out past his shoulders. It’s wavy and unruly, and last summer, Bea got a comb stuck in it, then proceeded to cry for an hour.
“She’s with my parents for the week. I thought it would give us more time to hang out.”
Each of their faces falls a little. They love my daughter like their own, but after two beers, they’ll be thankful for a kid-free weekend.
Raymond’s stepchildren are grown and scattered across the country and Zion’s kids are in middle and high school. Benji doesn’t have any kids.
“Tell our favorite girl we missed her.” Raymond’s attention drifts from me to Claire. “Looks like you’ll have to be our favorite girl for the week, then.”
Smiling genuinely, she does a little curtsy. “Happy to fill the role.”
“Hope this egghead’s been good to you this summer,” Zion says, locking his arm around my neck and rubbing his knuckles over my head, successfully mussing my hair. He’s Black and bald, with a well-kept beard and loves ruffling me up.
Claire winks. “Oh, he’s been a very goodboy.”
The three men laugh, and Zion drapes an arm around her shoulders like they’re old pals. “This is going to be a fun week. So, Claire. Tell us about yourself,” he says as he leads her to the kitchen and helps himself to a beer from the fridge.
She’s back on the clock, so she won’t drink. But I’ll check with Jessica and get her to cover one night so Claire can let loose with us.
She sticks around for a bit, holding her own with my friends, but when she receives a phone call about a guest with a hurt ankle, she scurries to the clinic.
“So,” Ray drawls once it’s just us guys. “What’s going on?”
At fifty, he’s the oldest of our crew, and it doesn’t surprise me one bit that he’s the first to ask.
“What do you mean?” It pisses him off when I play dumb, but that’s half the fun.
Benji smacks me on the back of my head. “Dude, don’t be dense.”
