by Bijou Hunter
On my first morning as a member of this house, I wake with a very serious question in mind. Does Chipper sleep naked? Does he wear pajamas? If he sleeps in underwear, are they briefs or boxers?
Demanding to know the answers, I rush to the bathroom to clean up. I try to rethink my bizarre questions while I brush my teeth. Unfortunately, the moonshine buzz from last night encourages me to hurry down the hallway toward his room.
Then, after realizing I’ve walked in the wrong direction, I switch routes and head toward a bedroom where I hope to find Chipper. First, I catch a glimpse of the mysterious Camel Toe. The fluffy black cat sits at a large window on the left side of the room. She glances back at me, sizes up what I have to offer, finds herself unimpressed, and returns to staring out the window.
I ignore her disdain and rush to the bed. Does Chipper snore? Drool in his sleep? Will he fart when I jump on the bed? Should I laugh or pretend not to notice? Dating is a very complicated activity. Since Chipper never seems irritated when I act like an idiot, there’s no point in overanalyzing anything.
I jump on the bed, thinking I’ll startle Chipper awake. Nope. Face hidden in the pillow, he mumbles about needing five more hours and telling his sister to change the cat litter. I laugh at his babble while pulling back his blanket just enough to find him shirtless.
“Are you naked?”
“Of course,” he says, eyes still closed. “Who sleeps in clothes?”
“Most people.”
“Lame.”
“I wanted to cuddle with you, but I’m afraid to touch your bald-headed yogurt slinger.”
Chipper doesn’t react for a few seconds. Finally, he smiles and opens his eyes. “My dick wants a new nickname.”
“And I want to cuddle without touching it.”
Chipper pulls back his blanket while keeping the sheet over his manhood. I crawl into the spot he’s made for me, and he covers me up.
“I have morning breath,” he murmurs, kissing my forehead.
“I don’t.”
“Are you a morning person?”
“Today, I am.”
Chipper studies me with half-open eyes. “My family meets for breakfast most mornings. Are you ready for that? If not, I can ditch my usual routine.”
“Will they be okay with you skipping?”
“No, they’ll hunt us down and force you to meet them.”
Grinning, I think he’s kidding. He’s not, though. “Oh, well, then why put off what’ll happen anyway.”
“If you’re not ready, we can dodge them for a while. I have an idea on how to keep us off the grid.”
“Sounds like a lot of effort to make them think I don’t like them.”
Chipper yawns widely and stretches his naked body. “Whether you like them or not won’t matter. They’ll wear you down until you become part of the group. That or you’ll run away and start a new life under an assumed identity. My money’s on you assimilating into the group.”
Feeling brave, I place one of my hands on his chest and soak in the heat of his skin. “Do I start my job today?”
“Yes, but I should warn you a lot of your job involves driving around with me.”
“Your job sounds very stressful. Good thing you have an assistant to get you through those long days.”
Chipper studies me before holding his hand over mine. “And unlike with my last assistant, I’m totally making out with this new one. She’s got a great rack and the sexiest fucking freckles. They’re like little dots of seduction across her face.”
“Are we going to mess around now?” I ask, tugging the sheet a little lower.
“No.”
“Why?” I ask, rejected and hormonal and very likely a few days away from a visit from Aunt Flo and her evil crony, the Cramp Demon.
“Because I have to piss and my mouth tastes like turds doused in mustard.”
Tossing off the blanket, I climb out of bed. “Well, my boner’s gone.”
Chipper laughs and throws off his sheet. “Mine’s not.”
“Oh, no!” I cry and run from the room while he laughs at my shock.
In my defense, I have to fit that monster in my virgin vagina soon. Screaming and fleeing feels like the right response.
As Chipper gets cleaned up, I dress in my nicest sweater and jeans. Unfortunately, I’m just bloated enough to make my perfect pants into a vise. I give up on style and embrace comfort with black sweats and a gray T-shirt with a groovy orange design of “Sunshine State” printed on the front. I take a moment to enjoy the memory of when Mom and I bought matching shirts while at Cocoa Beach. She loved the ocean and asked me to spread her ashes where the dolphins hang out.
After wiping away a pesky tear, I put on my happy face and go looking for the coffee pot. I smell Chipper’s soapy-clean scent even before he appears just as I fill two cups. I turn to find the tousle-haired stud wearing a maroon-colored thermal shirt and black jeans. My breath catches, and my body reacts intensely to his presence. Thankfully, my loose sweatpants soothe my overheated lady regions. If I’d worn jeans, I think I’d burn a hole right through the crotch.
“I made coffee,” I say, sounding totally coherent and not at all like a sex-crazed maniac.
“What’s wrong with you?” he asks, cocking an eyebrow. “You sound like you’re having a stroke.”
“You don’t have to be so arrogant about your good looks.”
Chipper smirks and runs a hand through his thick, damp hair. “Not true. If I don’t celebrate my genetic win, who will? People today just don’t compliment men the way they used to. I blame the schools.”
I’m now cornered between the counter and a leering Chipper who smells like a solution to the heartbeat happening between my legs. Struggling for an out, I try to distract him by sounding insecure. “Sorry I came on so strong this morning. I think I’m still buzzed from the booze.”
“That moonshine hangs around for a while,” he says and places my palms against his muscular chest. “But never apologize for wanting to get your hands on my amazing body. I know I’ll never regret wanting to devour every inch of your sweetness.”
“Are we having nookie this morning?” I ask, holding him back from kissing me. “Is that what all this talk is leading to? I just want to know so I can prepare. I woke up thinking we were meeting your parents soon, so I told my body to shut down all the urges.”
“And that worked?”
“No. Or maybe I’d be way more excited about touching your chest. Or possibly my brain might be much more focused on how you’ve got such a hard chest. So are we having the sex now or later?”
“The sex?”
“It’s my first time, so it’ll be ‘the sex’ for me. Like the most momentous moment my body has experienced since I started heavily bleeding from my vagina every month for five days like I will be forty-eight hours from now.”
Chipper’s smile widens. “Breezy, don’t even try to gross me out. You can talk about farting blood clots in my hair, and I’d still want to fuck your sweet pussy until your hips no longer function properly.”
“That’s so sexy. Except for the part where I’ll be disabled after the sex. Is there a way you can fuck my sweet pussy until I’m just really tired and satisfied?”
Chipper pretends to consider my suggestion. “I’m sure there is a way, but I don’t know what it is. Sorry.”
Grinning, I finally stop pushing Chipper away—not that I’m strong enough to keep him at bay if he wasn’t a willing weakling—so he can kiss me. The heat from his lips sinks into my stomach before rushing to my chest and then back down to my nether regions.
When I suck on his tongue, I only make the fire intensify until I’m ready to hump his leg to find relief.
“I hate you a little,” I mutter when he pulls back his lips and sips the coffee.
“My dick’s been hard since I saw you in Salty Peanuts. Do you have any idea how it feels to walk around with a constant, raging erection?”
“Um, good?”
&
nbsp; “Sure, the erection holds the promise of a payoff, but I haven’t gotten a payoff because the girl my dick is hard over isn’t a one-night stand. She’s a stone-cold keeper, so I’m taking my time.”
“It’s only been three days.”
“What’s your point?”
Grinning, I take the cup of coffee and walk past him. “What time are we leaving?”
“What’s ten minutes from now?”
“That soon?”
“Food distracts from my dick. Have you eaten at the Waffle House before?”
“No, but they serve breakfast stuff.”
“Yeah. There’s one right next to our office. Hayes was eating there for years before we met him. Now it’s like our second or third home.”
“Well, I look forward to meeting your parents and eating breakfast and seeing your office and everything today has in store. Then tonight, we’ll get naked and have the sex. Probably have more tomorrow before my very intense period starts. You’ll want to get lots of condoms.”
“I stocked up the morning after we met.”
Nodding, I sigh. “I’m nervous.”
“I’ll bang you something special, Tatum. No worries there.”
“I meant about meeting your parents.”
Chipper takes my hand and tugs me toward the garage door. “I know what you meant.”
Once in his Range Rover, I gnaw on my bottom lip while imagining what to say to his parents. I can’t get the words right in my head. Panic rises inside my chest until I remain frozen in the passenger seat long after we park next to an old-style diner.
“Not this time, Breezy,” he says, pulling me out of the car. “I’ll carry you if necessary.”
I don’t respond, still mentally hating every word I think to say to anyone ever. Feeling useless in these situations, I walk with Chipper into the restaurant where I immediately spot Cricket, Poet, and the mini-twins in a booth. At the counter, a gigantic, dark-haired man and normal-sized blonde woman sit. They turn in unison when we enter.
“Tatum, this is my mom, Candy.”
Studying Candy, I recognize so much of Chipper in her—smoky eyes, full lips, and strong cheekbones. The resemblance should make her less terrifying, but I only stare dumbly at her.
“Don’t be scared,” she finally says. “I’m too tired to be a threat.”
“Her claws come out around noon,” Chipper says and hugs his mom.
Before I can form a coherent sentence to the beautiful Candy, Hayes stands up to shake my hand. I instantly feel as if I’ve shrunk. Or the world did. I knew he was a giant when he was sitting down, but now he looms over me. I’m surprised my hand doesn’t break in in his monster-sized one.
“You don’t look anything like Chevelle,” he says and sits back down. “Or Bonn for that matter.”
“Real helpful,” Chipper grumbles and gestures toward a booth where another colossal person sits. “That’s my brother, Casper, but we call him Cap since Casper is a dumb name.”
“I liked it,” Candy says, shrugging.
“Then why don’t you call him Casper?” Cricket asks.
“Because I like Cap better. I should also point out Casper’s a better name than you two have.”
“You named us too!” Cricket cries.
“No, Toby Eddison did. We went through this before when you were six years old. I’m not in the mood to repeat myself.”
Cricket grins at her mother’s indifference while Candy mentions how she’s now happily married to a man named after cattle.
Just like that, I’m no longer the center of attention. The family settles into their seats, eats their breakfasts, and fight over who has the worst name in the bunch.
CHIPPER
After my shower and before coffee, I sent a text to my family, warning them not to freak out Tatum. To the shock of everyone involved, they actually oblige. They don’t overwhelm her with questions or act wonderfully weird in the way Cricket did yesterday.
Even Hayes keeps his imposing crap to a minimum, though he does throw in a snide comment to test Tatum’s mettle. He enjoys putting people on the defensive to see how they’ll react. Hayes even pulls that shit with fucking kids. Tatum doesn’t react, though, and he likely figures she’s easy-going. In reality, her frayed nerves leave her barely coherent.
I have her take the inside spot of the booth and scoot in close, so she feels protected. Tatum stares at the menu for nearly ten minutes, even though there aren’t that many fucking choices. I can’t imagine what she’d do with menus from places like IHOP or Denny’s.
I end up ordering her eggs and bacon. Tatum doesn’t correct me. Shit, she barely moves at all. She’s frozen in the same way as the night we went to Bonn and Ruby’s. At least, she doesn’t have a panic attack.
“What happened to my talkative Breezy from this morning?” I ask while we drink coffee and wait for our food.
“I’m fine.”
Grinning at her silly response, I lean over to nuzzle my lips against her silky blonde hair. Her coconut scent makes my dick painfully hard again. Nothing like sporting an erection while six feet from my mom.
“Chipper was a good baby,” Cricket tells Tatum. “So cute too. He was super bald and had really big eyes. Some claimed he looked like an alien. There was even speculation that Mom got nailed by a creature from another world on the same night she conceived me with that dweeb Toby.”
“How would you know any of that when you were a baby too, twat stink?” I ask, throwing my fork at her head.
Poet catches it mid-air, showing off for his woman. Cricket only smiles at me. “We talk about you when you’re not around, and those are the stories I heard.”
“You were an ugly baby,” I lie.
“You weren’t. So, so cute. I mean not Cap cute, but who is?”
We look at my younger brother who stares at his phone and very obviously doesn’t acknowledge us.
“Fucking adorable,” I coo.
“You were both very gassy babies,” Mom says from the counter. “I was always bouncing you and patting your backs to get out the burps and farts.”
“These stories are so helpful. Thank you very fucking much,” I grumble and elicit smiles from my mother and sister. Next to me, Tatum’s rigid body loosens up. “We’re baking pizzas tomorrow at my place. Who wants to come for dinner?”
Cricket shrugs and looks at Poet who says, “We’re leaving for Tumbling Rock on Saturday, so it’ll be nice to spend time with you Butternuts before we go.”
“I’m a fan of not cooking,” Mom says.
“Will you bring the large men with you?” I ask her.
Mom looks at Hayes who stops reading his phone long enough to shrug. Cap makes the same move but less convincingly since he obviously wants to come.
“Then we’ll have the entire gang over for dinner. I’ll make cocktails and Mom can show Tatum pictures of me as a bald, giant-eyed, gassy baby.”
This comment gets a grin out of my mom and the silent chick to my right. When I catch Tatum smiling behind her hair, I feel like a million fucking bucks. She’s a tough nut to crack at times, but I’m beginning to understand how she thinks.
Breakfast arrives, and Tatum eats without prompting. She isn’t frozen any longer, and I catch her reacting to the conversation at times. When Cricket talks about shopping for Christmas and the mini-twins’ birthdays, Tatum lifts her head a bit more. I wonder if she likes shopping. I do know she is a fan of kids, so maybe it’s just shopping for kid crap that interests her.
Breakfast ends without drama, but my text is likely to blame for the lack of fireworks. I did learn how feeding Tatum during a stressful situation helps her relax. Plus, shopping with Cricket should prove to be a nice bonding experience. I add those new items to my mental checklist on how to make my woman happy.
TATUM
Cricket speaks with such ease, unconcerned over the reaction to her words. Win or lose, she’s comfortable in her skin. I focus on her with the hope of soaking in her confidence.
Pushing the front strands of my hair behind my ears, I want to stop hiding, freezing, and fearing. I need to be stronger now that my mom is no longer here to guide me.
Cricket sits next to Murphy who leans across the table to feed Minnow. The little girl takes her sausage and leans across the table to shove it in his mouth. Poet shakes his head and says something about twins being weird.
“Stories about childhood are important,” Cricket muses. “Even embarrassing ones like how Poet shit his pants during an extremely violent bout of the stomach flu. See for anyone else the image of him vomiting so hard that he squirted diarrhea might be gross. Or even funny.”
“I’m eating,” Hayes grumbles.
“Good job, buddy,” Cricket says and then focuses on me. “But when I heard that story about Poet from his stepmom, Justice, I found it charming. He was so young back then. Probably didn’t even shave yet. I imagined him crying afterward and needing love from his parents to help him calm down.”
“How old were you when this squirting took place?” Chipper asks—of course.
“I think he was like sixteen.”
Poet snorts. “Try twelve.”
“Well, then don’t make fun of twins anymore.”
“Try to stop being weird.”
Cricket cocks an eyebrow. “Try to suck a melon-sized dong.”
“Try to stop making me think of you on your knees.”
“Try you two shutting the fuck up,” Hayes growls.
“Your angry father is right,” Candy announces. “You’re acting like shitting children. I mean, shitty.”
While Cricket laughs at her mom’s dig at Poet, Hayes sighs. “Didn’t you say something about shitting in the bathtub after giving birth?”
“No, I didn’t, but thanks for confusing me with some other whore. Try not getting any knee action for a long while.”
Hayes gives her a dark look. “You never get on your knees.”
“I’m in my forties, honey. Of course, I don’t get on my fucking knees. What if I can’t get back up? Or what if my knees make such loud old lady creaking noises that I can’t hear your Life Alert go off?”