by Bijou Hunter
“Why not relief?” she says, giving me a sly half smile. “Are you too good to have relations in the car?”
Even if I live to a million years old, I doubt I’ll ever stop finding the term “relations” hilarious. It’s even funnier when Lily cries it out while horny as hell.
“I’m never too good for anything,” I say, finishing my coffee. “Especially not for a good old pickle poking the pony express.”
“That’s not even a real thing.”
“You can’t possibly know every single thing anyone’s ever thunk up.”
Lily shakes her head. “No, but I would have likely heard it from Colton.”
“Not if I just made it up recently.”
“Am I the pony express?”
“No.”
Giggling, Lily asks, “Who is?”
“No one is.”
“That makes no sense.”
“Why does it need to make sense?” I ask, moving up behind her chair so I can wrap her in my arms.
“I refuse to get into this circular conversation with you again.”
“Because you’ll lose.”
“Of course, I’ll lose. You change the rules during the conversation. How can anyone win with such chaos?”
After giving her head a kiss, I take my empty cup along with hers. Before I return them to the front counter—where I’ll apologize for getting loud by claiming I have a hearing problem that’ll make the woman feel guilty for giving me shit—I lean down to smile an inch from Lily Johansson’s perfect pouty lips.
“The way to win is to also change the rules,” I whisper and kiss her soft, plump cheek. “Embrace the chaos, be the chaos, defeat the chaos.”
“Becoming the problem doesn’t seem like a solid way to defeat the problem,” she murmurs as I leave her.
I ignore Lily’s gaze on my ass and do my bullshit routine with the clerk. She responds to my lying apology by giving me a real one. I call her “ma’am.” She calls me “sir.” We both part ways wearing a smile. She feels good about herself, and I’m positive she won’t run her mouth about the asshole yelling at the coffee shop. People around here always want more details, and it wouldn’t take a lot to figure out that my beautiful companion was the daughter of a man who loves gossip more than most.
Yeah, Cooper Johansson would fucking kill to know this particular rumor.
THE PRINCESS
After Dash sweet-talks the clerk, he also maneuvers us away from the approaching Wanamaker wankers—as Colton calls them. We’ve spent years playing this game hiding from our families. I can’t imagine I’ll be able to keep it up much longer considering I’m already having trouble fitting into my pants. Sooner or later, my parents are bound to notice I’m sporting a gut, and I doubt I can convince them I have a weakness for beer.
“Perhaps, MJ and Audrey’s circular physiques will distract from yours?” Dash offers once we’re inside my car.
“Circular?”
“You know,” he says, flashing me a grin, “because you’ll be round. Wait, is globular a word?”
Laughing, I look down at my stomach, but my solid C-cups block my view. “I should just tell them.”
“Okay.”
My smile fades. “You don’t think I have the courage to tell them.”
“Based on your track record, can you blame me?”
“I wanted to tell you first.”
“So you’ll tell them tonight then?” he asks, grinning to himself about the slim chance of me making a big reveal at dinner.
“No, not tonight. I mean, it’s not family dinner night.”
Still smirking at my wavering confidence, Dash takes my hand in his. “You have time. They’re distracted by Audrey’s new baby. Doubt they’ll notice your circular issue until after the Christmas tree is rotting in a landfill.”
“Pop is more perceptive than that now that I’m living in town. On Saturday, he randomly dropped by and immediately asked why I moved the chairs? They were slightly different after Sissy brought the kiddos over and they wanted to dance,” I say and then sigh deeply. “Pop notices everything.”
“He hasn’t noticed me, and I’ve been around for years,” Dash murmurs while gently tugging my hand from the glove. “Winter makes quickies in the car so much more trying.”
I think to mention winter hasn’t arrived yet. What does it matter, though? “I’m due in early June.”
Dash presses the palm of my hand against his bearded cheek. I shiver at the familiar sensation of my flesh against his. Would I be less addicted to this man if I could touch him at my heart’s content? There was a time when I nearly convinced myself that Dash was only an obsession created by absence.
Then we snuck away for a weekend when I was supposed to be visiting a high school friend. For three days, Dash and I were together without worrying about anyone catching us. We stayed in a bed and breakfast in Wisconsin—so far from anyone who knew the names, Johansson and Mullen. We hiked the trails, tried every offering at a chili cook-off, and enjoyed a water ski show.
None of the activities were particularly stellar. Dash doesn’t even like chili, but he ate a bite from each table and voted. Despite how much he doesn’t want to care, he’s a man desperate to awake from his self-induced indifference. That weekend, I saw him the way he could be if he weren’t a Mullen. Dash No Last Name is a man freed from the shackles of his family’s legacy.
But our weekend couldn’t last, and returning to Ellsberg broke my heart. Now I have the chance to stop hiding and start living what I’ve only dreamed. The baby is more than my chance at becoming a mom. It’s an opportunity to finally be who I’ve hidden for too many years.
“Am I the first person you told about the Mullen mutt you’re carrying?” he asks while nibbling on my sensitive earlobe.
“Yes.”
“Not even Sissy?”
“I knew she’d tell you.”
“She would too. Sissy can’t keep anything from me. I think she’s under the impression we share a brain, so I need updates on whatever it does while with her.”
Smiling at his description, I whisper, “I’ll tell her today when I see her.”
“It’ll be easier each time you tell someone. Who’s after Sissy?”
I imagine sitting across from my parents and telling them I love Dash Mullen. A wave of fear and panic rushes over me, and I shake away the thoughts.
“My sisters are coming to visit next week. After them, Mom and Pop.”
“Your sisters are bound to react badly, so that’s good practice. Sissy will just bounce around like a happy puppy. Your sisters, though, will prepare you for your parents. Soon, you’ll have told everyone important, and it’ll be done.”
“I wish my parents could be happy for me like they were for Audrey and MJ.”
Dash cocks an eyebrow. “Well then, young lady, you should have gotten knocked up by a suitable man. Maybe a dentist or bank official person.”
“How jealous were you of Jay?” I ask, patting his face. “Oh, a scale from one to a billion.”
Dash levels his gaze with mine and leans forward until our foreheads rest together. I stare into his gray eyes, finding them unreadable. He always seems so passive, but that’s a con. If he didn’t give a shit like he claims, he would have drunk himself to death long ago.
“I was never jealous. Not one bit,” he says, and I can’t help frowning. “He was a fool. Why didn’t he marry you immediately and seal the deal? Idiot.”
Leaning away from him, I shake my head. “You’re the idiot.”
“True.”
“You should be jealous.”
“Why? You never even loved him,” he says and adds, “Or slept with him.”
“True, but I cared for him.”
“On a scale of one to a billion, how much did you care?” he asks, chuckling at his ability to turn my earlier question around on me.
“You’re such a cad,” I mutter under my breath before asking, “What in the blazes is wrong with you?”
<
br /> “My guess is the answer is a mix of rotten breeding, shitty parenting, and way too much pot during my early brain development. I’m lucky I’m not humping your leg while stealing your purse.”
“My mom came from a pathetic family, and she had a pathetic childhood with pathetic parents, but she isn’t pathetic.”
Dash snickers while pulling me closer. “She sounds mighty special. You should give her a hug or something next time you see her.”
“Like I said, you’re a cad.”
“I love when you talk dirty,” he says, kissing me.
I push him off and mutter, “No, thanks.”
“Why exactly are you pissed?”
“I don’t know.”
“Yes, you do.”
I think to explain how I expected more excitement from him. We have a chance to be together for real, and he acts as if nothing’s changed. We’re forever stuck in the moment when we first fell in love. Nothing moves forward.
“You know what I am?” I ask and lean back my head. “I’m like those grapes trapped in the gelatin desserts Aunt Tawny always makes. Every time the bowl moves and the gelatin jiggles, I get my hopes up that I’ll be scooped out to freedom. It never happens, of course, and Mom eventually tosses the food.”
“Your family throws away perfectly good gelatin?” Dash asks, revealing genuine horror. “Never before did I believe the Johanssons were uppity, but, damn, how can you waste fucking dessert?”
“You’re missing the point.”
“If the point was that your family’s got it too good, then, no, I caught it loud and clear.”
A long minute of silence passes between us. I’m frustrated by how I can’t take control of my life. He’s disappointed by the loss of what I assume was a treat in his horrid little home. We’re so far from being on the same page that I wonder how we fell in love in the first place.
“Wanna hear what Sissy told me the other day?” he asks while staring out the side window at the Wanamaker wankers. “She said your biggest problem is you don’t know who you are.”
“And what did you say?”
Dash turns his head and sighs. “Your biggest problem is you think it matters who you are.”
“What does that even mean?”
“It means you’ll be dead eventually and the world will move on as if you never existed. So why care who you are? Why care where you fit? Just do what makes you happy because you don’t have forever to enjoy being alive.”
I feel a smile on my lips. “That’s a morbid yet rather empowering sentiment.”
Dash holds my hands in his. “Lily, you’re a good person. And a bad one. You’re selfish and selfless. You’re up and down. You’re black and white. You’re not one thing or another. Just accept you don’t fit in any box and stop worrying about why you can’t shove yourself into one. Just be you and do you and enjoy the good shit and try not to focus on the bad shit. Keep life simple before you waste your life by not living it.”
Dash is never sexier than when he gets riled up about something. “I love you.”
“And I love you.”
“It should be that easy.”
“Sure.”
“Do you want to sneak over tonight and sleep at my place?”
“Sure.”
“Do you not want to sneak over tonight and sleep at my place?”
“Sure.”
“You’re a rascal, and I don’t mean that as a compliment.”
“Nor was it taken as one,” he says, and finally breaks into a smile. “You opened a can of worms by making this kid, and I think you probably aren’t ready for the mess you’ve created, but I do believe you’re plenty fucking strong enough to handle whatever happens.”
“Thank you,” I say, squeezing his hand. “You don’t have to come over if you don’t want.”
“Lily, even if I didn’t love you, I want to get laid, so, of course, I’ll come over.”
Laughing at the sincerity behind his words, I exhale loudly. “Rascal isn’t strong enough of a word to describe you.”
“Scum is a good word,” he says and leans over to kiss my cheek. “I need to bail on you now if I want to chill with you later. Until then, you just remember how much I wanted to nail you in this car, but you distracted me with your talking. I’m sure you’ll feel very guilty about that soon.”
“No doubt,” I mumble, wearing a smile.
Dash kisses me softly, so effortlessly stealing my breath, and reminding me why I return to him despite the obstacles. He is the only one capable of making me feel this way.
THE CHAPTER WHERE THE PRINCESS TAKES HER SWEET-ASS TIME
THE LOSER
Fatherhood never interested me. Not only because I figured I’d be a shitty father. Mostly, I saw no reason to spread the Mullen seed to another generation. Sissy and Cy have already created more than enough future fuckups. There was no reason for me to increase the world’s burden.
A logical man with no desire for children would have snipped his balls to avoid my current situation. Lily said she was on the pill and condoms were a hassle, and I am nowhere near being logical. So here we are.
I hope the mutt is all Lily. I don’t know science, but perhaps, her DNA can devour my DNA—shitting it out for good. Doubt that’s possible, but weirder crap’s happened.
At least, the mutt will have a stable mom. That’s more than any other Mullen could ever claim.
Cy’s mom once tried to drown him in the pool when he wouldn’t stop crying. Sissy’s mom shoved her on the ground so much that my sister got in the habit of just falling backward whenever anyone reaches for her. My mom refers to me as a shit eater and tells her friends I’m a gay pervert who fucks corpses. She even put that shit in a Christmas letter.
My siblings and I were born within a year of each other. After the clusterfuck of having his three girlfriends getting knocked up at the same time, my dad got snipped.
“Kids are the fucking worst,” he declared a million times during my childhood.
Once I leave the orchard, I try to push Lily and the baby out of my thoughts. They linger at the edges, though, because she’s always on my mind. I arrive at my house to find my sister waiting for me on the porch. I swear Sissy’s the biggest Lily fan on the planet. In fact, I’m relieved my girl doesn’t swing toward chicks or else I might have to worry about my sister stealing her away.
“Someone had fun,” Sissy asks, poking me in the gut before we walk into the house.
Ignoring her question, I gesture toward Hart and Haydee sitting at the kitchen table. “Why are the kids here?”
“They’re sick.”
“Of going to school?”
Sissy nods, causing her blond waves to bounce. “Yes. They hate it.”
“Who doesn’t?”
“They say it’s too hard.”
I pour a cup of coffee and sigh. “They’re in kindergarten and second grade. How fucking hard could it be?”
Sissy stares at me because she refuses to answer questions once she feels a conversation heading in the wrong direction.
“Where’s Cy?” I ask when she doesn’t answer.
“I don’t know. He said you need to make the deliveries to Hampton.”
“Fine.”
“Can I come?” she asks, bouncing in her chair.
“No.”
“I don’t like staying at the office all the time.”
“If Topher shows up and no one’s here during work hours, he’ll go slap-crazy. Are you in the mood to take a beating?”
Rubbing her swollen bottom lip, Sissy considers her options. “I still want to go.”
“No.”
“Why?”
“Because I don’t want the kids coming to the college while I drop off drugs.”
“Why?”
“They creep out the customers.”
“Why?”
“Because.”
Sissy’s big, round eyes search the room for the answer. Finally, she remembers to use her words.
/> “Can I go to the college and you stay here?”
“No.”
“Why?”
“Because.”
“Because why?”
“Because I don’t want to get stuck with your kids.”
“Why?”
Sissy doesn’t ask “why” a billion times a day to be annoying. Her brain is dumb like a child’s, and kids naturally ask a billion questions a day. I glance around her to where Haydee and Hart now sit on the floor scribbling with crayons on what I hope is spare paper and not something important.
The blond dummies don’t hear a single word we’re saying, and I could easily trash their little asses without them noticing. My niece and nephew aren’t bad kids, but they’re like having two Sissys—asking twice as many questions, getting confused twice as often, and needing twice as much babysitting. Compared to Cy’s two hellish kids, though, Sissy’s are angels.
Lily’s big news probably makes me soft because I agree to switch jobs with Sissy for the day. Sure, she’ll likely fuck up the deliveries and no doubt I’ll need to fix shit later, but she’s stir-crazy, and I decide to give her a break.
Then she gets her hair stuck in the zipper of her oversized jacket, and I worry she won’t survive the trip to the college.
“Are you stoned?” I ask while cutting her hair free.
“No. Do you think it would help?”
“Couldn’t hurt.”
Twenty minutes later, a blitzed Sissy sits in the passenger seat. Her kids are strapped in their booster seats in the back while I drive a thirty-year-old SUV from our lot. If Topher finds the house empty, he’ll lose his shit. Fortunately, Sissy will be too stoned to care.
Mind on work, she goes over the list of customers waiting for their deliveries.
“Ten,” she says before turning up a .38 Special song playing on the radio.
“Can we get a hot dog?” Haydee asks.
“Maybe later,” I tell the seven-year-old. “First, we need to get work done. Or we could drop you off at school.”
“Lame,” Haydee declares.
“Lame,” five-year-old Hart repeats. “School sucks.”
“I’d homeschool them, but I don’t know anything,” Sissy says, giggling. “I can do math. Would that be enough?”