by Amard, Wanda
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Contents
Chapter 1
Chapter 2
Chapter 3
Chapter 4
Chapter 5
Chapter 6
Chapter 7
Chapter 8
Chapter 9
Chapter 10
Also by Wanda Amard
Chapter One
Vinn
I fluff the pillows on the bed behind me and reposition. Whoever thought I, Vinn Thrower, would be lying in bed waiting for a woman to try on a dress so she can do a pretty twirl in front of me and I can tell her how hot she looks in it? Certainly wasn’t in my life plans, but here I am.
I can't decide if I’ve progressed as a person to new heights or have sunk to new lows. I suppose just the fact my dick is wet every night being ridden by a hot as fuck eighteen-year-old put me in a higher category if you’re into that. Which I am. None of my friends can say they have a woman like Kimber.
“I don't know if I like it,” her voice comes from the closet, still hiding behind most of the door.
Women. I will never understand them. A dress is a dress. Who cares how it looks? All that matters is that it provides your man easy access. It hasn't escaped my attention that since it’s cold outside Kimber's not wearing skirts as much. Pants are fucking irritating.
“Doesn't really matter if you like it. You can’t change it now.”
When Kimber told me her brother was getting married soon, I thought she meant they were planning a spring wedding. Maybe a quickie on Valentine’s Day. I had no idea they planned the Saturday after Thanksgiving.
“It's not a fall color.”
“What the hell is a fall color?” I ask growing impatient with the delay. “Just get your ass out here so I can see the dress, Kimber.”
She snuck it in through the door in a big white sack zipped all the way up the front.
It's rude to tease the man in your life.
The closet door slowly creaks open and first there's a bare foot visible and then a long flowing pink gown as she steps past the doorway. A light pink — they probably have a name for that shit, but what the hell do I know? The sleeves are nonexistent, and the top of the dress is held together by thin pieces of fabric, which drape around Kimber’s shoulder and cut off squarely. It's going to make it hard to pop her boobs out the top and take her from behind with all that fabric flowing around her feet, but I’m up for the challenge.
“Why are you smiling?” she asks, leaning against the doorway staring at me.
“I'm thinking about how hot you are in your new pretty dress.”
Kimber nods her head and says, “Uh huh,” as if she doesn't believe me.
“It's true. Want to come over here and sit on big daddy's lap?”
She shakes her head back and forth with an extra look of defiance. “When did you start calling yourself big daddy?”
I shrug. Actually, it just popped out of nowhere. I haven’t given it much thought. Could I be her daddy? “Do you like it?”
“No,” she says shaking her head.
“Then it’s gone.” I wad up a piece of invisible paper and throw it away in an invisible trashcan. “Well, Kimber, you got me all excited. Aren’t you going to take care of it?”
She rolls her eyes and I point at my quickly stiffening dick. Honestly, I was already getting hard at the idea of her being naked in the closet. Then I thought about all the ways I could pull the material up around her head and he really got excited. I can’t help if I’m a horn dog.
“I’m not having sex with you.”
My mouth falls open. “Why the hell not?”
Kimber pops a hip out and sticks a hand on it. “Vinn, this isn’t a regular dress. It’s special. You can't have sex in a bridesmaid dress.”
She’s so cute when she’s wrong. I crook a finger in her direction but she doesn’t come — figuratively or literally. “Kimber, people are having sex in bridesmaid dresses every weekend across America.”
“Well it's Tuesday, not a weekend, and because Hunter’s getting married so quickly, we had to buy off the rack, which is why it's a spring color. I guess someone returned them after their wedding fell through before it happened. I’m a little concerned that means bad luck for my brother, but it’s better than having to get married in brown or something.”
“What are you talking about?” I ask, when all her words run together. Her expression falls.
She shakes her head, getting back to the conversation. “I'm saying nothing can happen to the dress as I don't have time for fixes. The wedding is in like five days.”
When the hell did that happen so quickly? Last I remember, it was the end of October and now we’re two days away from Thanksgiving and a dinner at my family’s house on the north side of the city. Kimber agreed to go and promised to make something like a pie, even though I guaranteed my family wouldn’t give a shit. She wants to do it. What my baby wants, my baby gets, so we’re making a pie tomorrow. Even if no one will appreciate the effort.
But I guarantee after we survive this family Thanksgiving and I get through this damn wedding, I’m absolutely having sex with Kimber in her pink dress.
Telling me I can’t have something is a surefire way to motivate me so I’ll make sure to get it.
“If I get married, I'm not going to make the bridesmaids buy dresses,” she says absentmindedly.
I crawl to the edge of the bed getting myself as close to her as possible, hoping just the proximity alone will make her reconsider the sex thing. “Jailbait, we’re definitely getting married and you can have all the fucking dresses you desire.”
“You want a wedding, right?” she asks. Do women really think men care how the hell we get married? “Because I'm not so sure. It’s a lot of money.”
I tug at the dress trying to get her closer, but she steps back and I bend over sighing dramatically but giving up for the time being. “Kimber, we’ll have whatever wedding you want.”
“You don't care?”
“No.” Since she's not looking like she’ll give it up anytime soon, I reposition myself on the bed and make my shoulders comfy against the pillow. We'll try again when she's out of the dress.
“I feel like if it's your wedding too, you should care. Do you want to marry me?”
What the fuck? What’s happened here? “When did our conversation become about our wedding?”
“When you said we were getting married.”
I have no idea what's happened. Something inside of me flashes red warning lights, screaming, “Back away… back away.” Did I miss a part of this conversation or answer a question inappropriately? Did I pass out momentarily and Kimber continued talking and I missed what she said? Did a fucking worm hole open up and I fall through it to my doom?
“I want whatever wedding you want, Kimber. I’d like you to be happy. I’ll just be happy getting to marry you.” I lay on the romantic shit heavily and then cross my fingers, hoping it works.
Slowly, as she digests my words, her face goes from angry falcon lady to a slight smile where the corner of her lips tip up. Then she turns and walks back into the closet without another word.
She's been asking a lot of questions lately about her brother's wedding. What she doesn't understand is there are only two things I care about in the wedding — what time I have to show up and if they serve liquor.
As long as those conditions are met, I don’t give two fucks what they do. John Stamos could fall from the rafters suspended by wires and I wouldn’t give a shit.
That's a lie.
If
John Stamos fell from the rafters suspended by wires and flew over top of the audience, I’d pull out my cell phone and take a video. When something like that happens, you need proof for the Internet. Fuck cat videos.
Chapter Two
Kimber
“We’re here?” Already? The drive to the north side of Lansing should have taken longer. A few days or so. Give me more time to get used to the idea that for the first time since we started dating back in May — if you consider me getting him off in a laundry room at a party the start of our dating — it's been almost a year and I've never met his mother. Is it because she's four times worse than my mother? Or because he’s embarrassed he ended up with someone like me? I’m a lot younger than Vinn. I'm aware of our age difference. It's just that he doesn’t talk about it so I don’t understand how he feels. I don't know what to expect from the situation.
He doesn't talk about his family at all. Besides the fact they were dirt poor he hasn’t gone into details. I barely remember his siblings’ names and there’s six of them, which makes it even harder to remember.
“I'm sure you’ll be fine, jailbait.” He turns the car into the Rotunda Trailer Park with confidence but his words are shaky. As if he's not quite sure I’ll be okay. That makes two of us.
My eyes scan to the side looking for any way to escape. “Vinn, there's a grocery store. We should buy ice cream for the pie.”
Vinn shakes his head. “You shouldn't have even brought a pie and I’m definitely not bringing those assholes ice cream.”
“But they are family.” His car winds around the different streets in the trailer park, getting closer and closer to the back. The trailers are super close to one another. No one has a yard and I’ve only seen a few patches of grass — most of it brown.
“Yeah but what has family ever done for us?” he asks with a sneer. Maybe there’s a reason Vinn doesn’t talk about his family.
Not only am I nervous about meeting Vinn’s relatives, but about the pie. I made it from scratch. I have a lot of free time on my hands and no holiday job, so I've been baking. I made a practice pie on Tuesday after I tried on the dress and Vinn said it was delicious. But he says all my food is delicious. Hell, he eats me and says I'm delicious.
I tried a piece before he stole the whole pie and it was okay, but I’ve never made an apple pie before. I’ve never even had one besides the cheap things they sell at McDonald's so I’m not one hundred percent sure how it's supposed to taste. What if I put in too much sugar and his family hates it? What if his grandfather has diabetes and all the sugar I used causes him to go into diabetic shock? I'll forever be known as the person who killed Vinn's grandfather. He wouldn’t marry someone who killed his grandfather. Probably.
Vinn doesn't understand how much is riding on this pie.
“I can feel you hyperventilating from way over here,” he says slowing down at an undersized stop sign. “You're always so confident. I don't understand why you're scared now?”
“I'm always at home where it’s me and you. What if they don't like me?”
Vinn laughs as if my concerns are not important. “Who gives a fuck if they hate you? Most of them hate me.”
“What if someone makes a comment about the age difference?” I won’t turn nineteen until January, so right now we’re a full ten years apart. Nerves prick my stomach causing me to hold on to the pie tin harder. When I was ten and getting my first training bra, Vinn was twenty and almost in jail.
Vinn smirks. “Then I'll tell them they're jealous they're not getting their dick wet with eighteen-year-old pussy.”
I slap his shoulder with the back of my hand. “Vinn!”
He pulls in front of a small mint green single-wide trailer and parks his car. The road is filled with cars and she has just a tuft of grass on one corner of her trailer. “Kimber, no one in my family is going to say shit to you because no one in my family cares. There's so many of us and we all hate each other. We have enough things to fight about.”
His argument actually makes sense.
Vinn’s mom's trailer is old and the steps creak as we walk up to the front. The door is a little off its hinges, but it opens fine. Inside the trailer sits a newer couch and even updated carpet. There are pictures of kids on the walls at various ages, but it looks like she hasn’t updated any in at least ten years.
There isn’t a family shot of them all together, but two images of Vinn hang on one wall with at least a few of his sisters and brothers. I don't have time to stop and spend time guessing who they are before his family starts the greetings.
“It's about time you show up, fucker. Been waiting on you to eat.” A man hits Vinn on the back. He’s about the same height as Vinn but obviously older if you consider the speckles of gray in his beard as signs of age.
“Yeah, Mom wouldn’t let us touch the food until you got here,” someone I can only imagine is a sister complains. Their noses are the same, and she has a similar rounded face as the brother who hit Vinn on the back.
Vinn rolls his eyes. “What a great way to introduce yourselves to my girlfriend. Everyone, Kimber.”
He pushes me forward and then quickly points at random people throughout the room, yelling out names as if I'm supposed to remember them. There's a Veronica and a Stacy and a Joseph and a Harold and a few other names I've already forgotten by the time he finishes his rounds. I smile and nod as if I've taken in every single one, but I can only hope they realize it's an impossible task.
“Well let me meet her,” an older woman with the same bone structure as Vinn yells walking toward us. She drops her cigarette in an ashtray even though it’s only half gone and pulls me into a big hug, the smoke smell wafting out of her clothes as they swish against mine.
“My name is Martha but you can call me Mom.”
“What’s one more kid. Right, Ma? Not like you remember our names,” the tall brother who I'm pretty sure was called Harold says laughing and all the other siblings chime in.
There's more than five other men and women here, so I assume Vinn’s siblings have spouses as well. There’s no way I’ll remember anyone at this rate.
“Where the hell is Tim?” Vinn asks.
His mom turns away scoffing. “They offered overtime at the factory and he needed the money. Always putting family after cash.”
“There's no harm in wanting more money, Mom.” Vinn takes the pie from me and passes it over to a woman’s waiting hands, who smiles and then gives me a silent thank you.
“You still get to meet three of the six,” Vinn says in my direction.
“Where's the other one?” Either I did my math wrong or we’re missing a sibling. Six kids. I’ve already met Vinn and one is at the factory, but it still leaves one short.
A quiet hush falls on the room and I worry I've said something wrong. Vinn drops his arm around my shoulder and pulls me tightly.
The brother, Harold, shakes his head. “We lost track of Victor a few years ago.” The silence stretches only a second longer and then, just like that, the place goes back to loud conversation as if losing a sibling is normal.
Hell, maybe in this family it is. So far everyone has been warm and welcoming — not what Vinn had me worried for. I worried we’d walk into a huge catfight and they’d be screaming obscenities at one another. Around me siblings are gently joking and having conversations where everyone seems to be happy. The room is squished full of people, but also laughter.
It's what I've wanted from my own family on a holiday.
Chapter Three
Vinn
Every second we sit crammed into my mom’s tiny ass trailer, Kimber becomes more comfortable. I'm happy because I want her to enjoy my family and be someone who could get along with them for the occasional family holiday. One per year, nothing more. A funeral or out of prison celebration might make two, max.
But I'm also worried and nervous because sooner or later the mood in the room will change. The Thrower family has never gone through an entire holiday without
at least one fist being thrown. And I don't expect to start now just because Kimber is here. I hope we get food and get out before it starts. There's a smaller hope I can keep Kimber unaware of the drama that’s ripped my family apart over the years. I've tried to keep her sheltered as long as possible. I didn't want to give her any reason to leave me when she found out exactly who she was shacking up with, but the truth has to come out eventually. I hope my dick turned her into a sex-crazed maniac who can't see herself with anyone else besides me before that day comes.
Regardless of how she learns the story, from the way her family gets along Kimber's familiar with family drama. At first glance her parents appear almost normal, but over the months I've seen hers is closer to mine than I’d have imagined.
When you grow up surrounded by the shit that goes on in the Rotunda Trailer Park your senses become dull to the drama. Once Dad died — a drunk driving accident when I was sixteen — things only got worse.
“Okay, everyone. Sit your asses down so we can eat.”
The main table only sits eight, enough to feed all of us when we were kids and would be happy for the occasion, considering we never got together for a meal. Couples sit at the table and others fill their plates knowing they’ll have to balance them over their knees on the living room couch or chairs. A card table is set up in the corner and I steal two spaces there. I'm almost thirty damn years old and here I am sitting at the fucking kids’ card table at Thanksgiving.
“You go up and get food first,” I say. “I'll stay here and save our spots.”
Kimber's eyes widen in fear like she can't believe I'm going to leave her alone, but she doesn't understand these seats are prime real estate. If we give them up someone will steal them. I wasn’t kidding when I told her my family are fuckers.