Total pages in book: 99
Estimated words: 94883 (not accurate)
Estimated Reading Time in minutes: 474(@200wpm)___ 380(@250wpm)___ 316(@300wpm)
Estimated words: 94883 (not accurate)
Estimated Reading Time in minutes: 474(@200wpm)___ 380(@250wpm)___ 316(@300wpm)
“I wouldn’t rush,” I add, when she doesn’t respond right away, “but she’s eighty-two and had a heart attack a couple of years ago. She’s doing a lot better now, but she’s obviously not going to be with us forever, and—”
“I would be honored,” Makena cuts in, giving my hand a squeeze. “Really. Sorry, I left you hanging. I was just…” She shrugs, a little self-consciously. “I was just surprised, I guess. It’s been a long time since someone asked me to meet their family.”
“Well, you’ve already met the less enjoyable members of mine,” I say. “Figure you should meet the fun one, too.”
She exhales as we start back down the path, still hand in hand. “Speaking of the less enjoyable members of your family, what are your mom and dad going to think about you shacking up with your old babysitter?”
I shrug. “I doubt they’ll care. These days, they don’t have a lot of energy to care about anything except making each other miserable in court. Dad only came to two of the Voodoo games last year, even though his condo is literally ten minutes away.”
She makes a sympathetic sound. “I’m sorry.”
“I’m not,” I say, smiling down at her. “I’m excited. You’re going to love Oxford. Tons of kick-ass places to eat breakfast.”
“Well, you know how much I love breakfast,” she says. “Especially when it comes with strawberries.”
The callback to this morning makes my cock twitch.
“Careful,” I warn. “Keep reminding me of how good you taste, and I might have to go down on you again before bed.”
“Oh no,” she murmurs, her eyes dancing. “That would be terrible.”
Spoiler: it’s not terrible.
It’s amazing, and after I’ve tasted her and fucked her and wrapped her up in little spoon position for the night, I feel like the luckiest man in the world.
Tomorrow, I’m taking my gorgeous, sexy girlfriend to meet the only family that matters. Tonight, I get to drift off, holding my future in my arms.
Right where she belongs.
Chapter
Twenty
MAKENA
Our audiobook for the drive is killer. David Sedaris is a genius, and by the time we reach the part about his evil Parisian French teacher, I’m laughing so hard my ribs hurt.
Parker glances over at me with a satisfied smile, as if my giggles are a personal victory.
“The teacher called someone a ‘dirty toilet’? Really?” I gasp.
“In front of the whole class,” Parker confirms, grinning as he takes the exit for Oxford. “But don’t worry, David gets vengeance. Eventually.”
I wipe tears from my eyes, catching my breath. “And I thought my French teacher in high school was awful. At least she never called me a dirty toilet.” I huff again. “Though, honestly, my French was so bad, she could have, and I probably wouldn’t have noticed. Thank God my pastry courses in Paris were taught in English.” I shrug. “And butter and sugar are a universal language.”
“They sure are,” Parker agrees. “Speaking of, pass me another gas station gluten-free donut.”
I wrinkle my nose. “Ew.”
“Stop judging me,” he says as I pass the bag over. “If you’re too snobby to eat them, someone has to do it.”
“Do they?” I ask, arching a judgy brow.
But he just grins and tears into a stale old-fashioned with the enthusiasm of a man who appears to be able to eat all the junk food he wants without gaining a pound. Nope. His body is a temple to physical perfection…and I can’t wait to worship at it again tonight.
I sigh, grinning at the flat, Mississippi landscape zipping by outside.
We’ve been on the road for hours, and I haven’t thought about insurance claims or flood damage or even the increasingly exciting prospect of opening my own food truck once. The day has just been this—Parker’s smile, stories so funny they make us wheeze, and the easy rhythm we’ve found.
“Okay, audiobook break for real-life story time,” Parker says, reaching over to turn off the stereo as he takes the exit for Oxford. “I need to prepare you for Nana.”
My chin tucks back into my neck. “Prepare me? Why? What kind of preparation does your grandmother require? I thought this was the family member you actually like.”
“I do. She’s the best,” he says. “She’s just absolutely and completely full of shit. Eighty-two, but acts twenty-two. Never met a raunchy joke she wouldn’t tell you. Twice. Specializes in nosy questions. Has zero patience for dumb rules or dumb people or anyone getting in the way of the fun.”
I hum beneath my breath. “Interesting. Sounds like someone else I know.”
He winks. “Well, at least you know I came by it honestly. Just don’t expect some sweet Southern lady with good manners. Even her crochet is obscene.” At the edge of downtown, he turns onto a tree-lined street, where the houses are old and grand and dripping with Southern Gothic charm.
“Obscene crochet?” I ask.