The Only Rule: The Casual Rule 3

by AC Netzel

  “Are you all right?” Ben wraps an arm around my waist.

  I nod and smile wistfully. “It’s strange not seeing him there.”

  “I know.” He pulls me into a hug and kisses my forehead. “I know.”

  “I’m glad my mother got the dog. She won’t be lonely anymore.”

  “She’s going to spoil that dog rotten.”

  I chuckle. “She definitely will.”

  ~o0o~

  We’re well into the main course. It’s our modern day version of the traditional Italian Feast of the Seven Fishes Christmas Eve dinner. My oldest niece Olivia has given us a break by sitting with Joe at the kid’s table.

  For the past two years, we were stuck there by default. Having adult conversations during dinner is nice for a change. Well, as adult as it could get with my inebriated brothers.

  Our niece Emma walks by with a plate of food and completely ignores us. I laugh to myself, remembering the first time Ben came to Christmas Eve dinner. She was five, crawled in his lap then shamelessly flirted with him. Things have changed. Now, we barely exist. Her cousins, her friends, and her cell phone are her world. And I suppose that’s how it should be.

  I wish I could claim I was the “Cool Aunt.” But somehow that title was bestowed upon, of all people, Allie. Despite the fact that they only see her a few times a year at family parties and she’s not ‘technically’ their aunt. But when they do see her, it’s a party to remember— especially when she takes out her mini sombrero.

  Ben is deemed the “Cool Uncle” because he’s a published author with eight books under his belt. Their closest link to someone famous, I guess. Even the younger generation of my family is obsessed with celebrity. It’s probably a dominant gene. I want to tell them he wouldn’t be published without the guidance of his trusty editor. It takes a village, blah, blah, blah. But I keep it to myself. His name is on the cover. His picture’s on the inside sleeve. He’s the star.

  But I’m the star of his book’s dedications. It’s the one thing he and Vivian keep from me until they’re published. His books may focus on sports, but his dedications focus solely on me. And boy, they are romantic.

  My mother finally sits down to eat. She looks around the table, smiling.

  “What are you smiling about?” Sophie asks, smiling back.

  “This. All of you here. This is what it’s all about,” my mother answers.

  My oldest brother, Frank, stands and walks behind my father’s empty chair, wine glass in hand. “Now that Mom has finally graced us with her presence for more than a minute, I’d like to make a quick toast.”

  The room quiets down, and all eyes are at the front of the table.

  “To Dad. I know you’re looking down at this room full of life you helped create and smiling. We’ve been blessed with your strength and love. That’s why, despite the fact that your chair is empty, our hearts are full. It’s almost like you’re still here… talking baseball, smoking your stogies on the back deck, and telling fart jokes along with the rest of us. You made a strong family, Dad. And for as proud as you were of us… The feeling was mutual. Thank you for the time we had. We wish we had more. We love you and miss you. Merry Christmas in heaven.”

  We raise our glasses and drink. I look at my mom teary-eyed, wrapping her arm around my grandmother’s shoulder. Sadie pops out of nowhere and jumps on my dad’s chair, wagging her tail at the head of the table.

  “Dad’s replacement,” Mark jokes. And just like that, we’re laughing.

  Because that’s what we do.

  ~o0o~

  “Men folk, it’s time for the man walk,” my brother Mark announces, grabbing a box of cigars off the dining room credenza.

  “Come on, buddy. It’s time for your maiden man walk,” Ben says to Joe.

  “You are not taking our innocent son on that walk,” I say sharply.

  “Yeah, I am. Your father invited me on my first man walk. Now, I’m taking our son. It’s tradition.”

  “It’s a disgusting tradition. You’ll turn him into a Neanderthal toddler.”

  Joe walks next to me and pouts, his eyes big, pleading. Adorable. “Please mommy. I wanna go with Daddy.”

  Ben raises a sly brow. I already lost this battle.

  I sigh, pursing my lips. “Okay. Don’t let go of Daddy’s hand.”

  Joe grins, his dimples dimpling, matching his dad’s dimpling dimples. Be still my heart, these two together.

  Ben leans down and gives me a swift kiss on the lips. “Love you.”

  “Don’t ruin our son,” I warn.

  He laughs, grabbing Joe’s hand and leaves the house with the rest of the Neanderthals.

  The remaining family members, all female, do collective eye rolls as the front door closes, then continue with their conversations.

  “So, when are you going to announce it?” Isabelle whispers in my ear, patting her very round stomach.

  I frown. “Announce what?”

  “Baby number two.” She lifts a brow. “You haven’t had a drop of that wine in your glass. That’s a giveaway in this family.”

  “I’m not…” I begin to say, but I’m interrupted.

  “Don’t bullshit me. Does Ben know?”

  I shake my head. “I was going to tell him later tonight.”

  She chuckles. “He’s going to die. Remember how excited he was the first time you were pregnant?”

  I nod, grinning. “He read Oliver Twist to my stomach for months.”

  “No morning sickness?”

  “No, thank God. Just horny. All. The. Time.”

  She laughs. “Hormones are fun, aren’t they?”

  “Hormones got me into this predicament,” I joke.

  ~o0o~

  Twenty minutes pass and the front door swings open. The men leisurely stroll back in the dining room, laughing.

  “Mommy!” Joe breaks free from Ben’s hand, giggling as he runs over to me.

  “Baby boy!” I wrap my arms around him as he climbs on my lap.

  Ben walks over with his fist pressed against his smile, clearly amused.

  I look up at Ben. “How was your walk?”

  “Uneventful,” he lies.

  “They fart! They fart!” Joe laughs, a silly belly laugh that tickles my heart.

  “Is that so?” I ask, raising a brow.

  “Buddy, that’s top secret,” Ben tells him, ruffling his hair.

  “Uncle Mark says it’s the fart walk.”

  “Your Uncle Mark says a lot of things he should probably keep to himself.” I turn back to Ben. “You’re responsible for scarring him for life.”

  He bends down and gives me a quick peck on the lips. “I’ll start a therapy session fund.”

  ~o0o~

  Our customary game of not-so-friendly poker quickly escalates to a ridiculous cheating match. It seems my father was the one who kept law and order. Without him here, it’s sleight of hand chaos.

  My brothers, in-laws, and husband decide to change-up the game and blatantly cheat by switching cards and stealing from the pot, coin by coin.

  My brother Dominic somehow had a six card straight. They were playing five card stud. Impressed with his sneakiness, they gave him the pot that round. I think the challenge over who won each hand dishonestly became a bigger prize than the coins in the pot in the middle of the table.

  After the game, we gather around the Christmas tree. Midnight strikes in less than a minute. The kids are bouncing off the walls, excited to open their family gifts in mere seconds. I’m yawning. First-trimester pregnancy is exhausting.

  Ben wraps his arm around my waist, pulling me close as we watch the excitement build in our son as he sits in front of a huge pile of wrapped gifts.

  The clock strikes midnight and pandemonium ensues. The adults welcome Christmas Day with hugs and kisses. Wrapping paper is tossed high in the air as the children rip open their gifts. They’re having a blast, and we’re having a blast watching.

  “Merry Christmas, Ben.”
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br />   “Merry Christmas, Beautiful.” He runs his finger down my cheek, stroking it back and forth under my bottom lip then pulls me into a kiss.

  There’s always something special about a Christmas kiss. Especially for us. A few years ago, this day was a turning point. It’s when I realized we evolved into something real. And after a few bumps, we figured it out.

  We continue to watch the thrill and wonder in Joe’s eyes as he opens each present. Witnessing that little boy’s excitement is my Christmas gift. One I’ll always cherish.

  “There’s a lot of spite gifting to do next year,” I whisper to Ben. “Make a list of anyone who gave him a loud toy. I’ll return the favor next year to their kid.”

  “Already noting it,” he answers back.

  “Aunt Julia, this is for you.” My nephew, Nick, hands me a wrapped box. I read the tag attached and smile.

  “Pajamas?” Ben asks.

  “It’s signed ‘Love, Mom and Dad’ so I’m going with yes.”

  I open the box and as I have got every year of my life, inside is a pair of sensible flannel pajamas.

  “Sexy,” Ben murmurs in my ear.

  “Yeah, right,” I scoff.

  “When I see it piled on the floor after I take that off of you, it’s the sexiest thing I’ve ever seen.”

  This man still makes me blush. The years haven’t slowed down Ben’s appetite for me.

  ~o0o~

  The present unwrapping has finally come to a close. The adults move back to the dining room. It’s coffee, espresso, dessert… and sausage and peppers time. My brothers-in-law have stepped up and taken on the grilling duties, my dad’s old job.

  I take a breath and hold it, staring at his empty chair again. What I’d give for one more holiday, for one more day, one more hour, a minute with him. I look across the room and spot Ben staring at me. He smiles warmly, his eyes expressing his concern. I blink back my tears and smile.

  He walks to me and holds me. He doesn’t say a word because he doesn’t need to say anything. He knows what I need. His strong arms around me are a foolproof way to make me feel better.

  Our moment is interrupted when I see Joe climb on a chair and reach for the platter of cupcakes. Not one cupcake. The entire platter. This kid may be the spitting image of his father, but his appetite for junk food is pure Conti.

  “Joseph. Wait,” I say firmly. If I don’t intervene, he’ll be so hopped up on sugar, he’ll never go to sleep. My brothers are pouring shots of Jim Beam at the dining room table. Ben will be useless to co-parent soon. And I’m too damn tired to deal with a kid climbing the walls at two a.m.

  I march over to the table, remove a cupcake from the platter, and hand it to Joe. “One only,” I tell him.

  He frowns, narrowing his eyes in my direction. That’s a three-year-old’s not-so-subtle version of ‘You Suck’.

  I’ve learned that a big part of being a responsible parent is to occasionally suck. Lucky for me, Joe forgives as quickly as Ben. The “spite” gene that dominates my bloodline didn’t cross over to my sweet little boy.

  ~o0o~

  The night has finally come to a close. We’ve put away enough to claim we cleaned up. Sophie and her family are driving my grandparents’ home. Ben and I debated going home tonight so Joe could open Santa’s presents under our tree, but neither of us wanted my mother alone on her first Christmas day without my dad.

  Bonus for Ben… He drank like a fish tonight because he didn’t have to drive.

  After saying goodnight to my mom and Sadie, her new bedmate, we retire for the night.

  “Are you sure Santa knows I’m here?” an exhausted Joe asks through a yawn.

  “I called the North Pole and spoke to Mrs. Claus herself. Don’t worry, buddy. Santa knows,” Ben tells him. I’m impressed he was able to string enough words together to form a coherent sentence, let alone three, with the copious amount of booze coursing through his veins.

  “Sweet dreams. I love you.” I kiss Joe’s forehead and tuck him in one of the twin beds in my brother’s old bedroom, his hand clutching his blue blankie tight.

  “See you in the morning. I love you.” Ben bends down and kisses Joe.

  Joe yawns as he turns over. A few seconds later, he’s out cold.

  “Ready?” I ask as I plug in Joe’s nightlight.

  “Let’s do this.”

  “Are you sure you’re up to it?” I tease. I’m not entirely certain he is.

  “Of course I am.” Ben quietly leaves the house. A few minutes later he returns with a large bag of Santa’s gifts we kept hidden in the car. We spread them out under the tree as quietly as possible then stand arm in arm and watch the colored lights twinkle. I squint, and the colors blur together like they do at the boardwalk.

  “It’s time to get you to bed,” I tell Ben.

  “Now you’re talking.” He grabs my ass.

  Ben plus too much booze equals Mr. Handsy.

  Ever since we married and can sleep in the same room at my parents’ house, all he wants is to have sex in my old bedroom. Some taboo thing, I think. Maybe he’s living some teenaged boy fantasy. Who the hell knows? All I’m sure of is I’m dead tired, and he’s not getting any.

  I was planning on telling him tonight that he was going to be a father again. But he’s pretty smashed. I don’t trust he’ll remember our news in the morning and for the next few months, he’ll wonder to himself why my tits got so huge.

  He’ll enjoy the hell out of them.

  But he’ll still wonder.

  The funny thing is he probably won’t notice my stomach growing along with them.

  Because… Tits.

  After brushing my teeth and changing into one of Ben’s old T-shirts to sleep in, I climb into bed. My parents replaced the twin mattresses in my old room with one full size. It’s smaller than the king mattress we’re used to but at least we can sleep together.

  Ben walks into the room in a pair of pajama bottoms and no shirt, quietly closing the door behind him. He stands at the end of the bed, staring down at me with a sinful grin.

  “You look good,” he murmurs in a low sexy tone.

  “I’m a mess. I think the whiskey has impaired your vision.”

  “I see perfectly fine. Take off your top.”

  “Are you serious?”

  He kneels on the bed and crawls over my body, his erection pressed against me.

  Oh, he’s serious.

  “Ben, I’m exhausted.”

  “Okay. We’ll sleep.” He nibbles on my earlobe, my sexual Achilles heel, releasing my pregnancy’s horny hormones. His pelvis grinds into me and my body instinctively reacts, grinding back. Slipping a hand under my shirt, he cups my breast. I moan as his thumb brushes across my erect nipple.

  My brain may be tired, but the other parts of my body have awoken. And they’re extremely stimulated.

  He’s a bastard.

  “What if Joe wakes up?” I whisper, running my nails down his muscular back.

  “He’ll go to your mother like he always does when we’re here.” The smooth vibrations of his voice make a straight line to my sex.

  He makes a good point. Joe never comes to us when we sleep here. I wrap a leg around him. My state of exhaustion has been reversed by the hard dick rubbing against my barely covered clit.

  “Why do you always want to fool around when we’re in my old bedroom?” I ask in a hushed tone.

  “Because I can.” He leans down and kisses me hard, a delicious blend of mint and Ben. “And because my wife is fucking hot. I want to bury myself inside her.”

  I know that he’s tipsy, but I see no flaw in his logic.

  “We have to be quiet,” I tell him.

  “Then don’t scream when I make you come.” His hand heads south until his fingers are caressing my swollen clit.

  “Mmm,” I moan as his finger sinks in me, hitting just the right spot.

  “Sure you don’t want to go to sleep?” he teases.

  “If you leave me hanging
, I’ll kill you.” I’m so sexed up, I’ve reverted to a Ho, Ho, Ho.

  And I’m not talking Santa’s jolly laugh.

  He chuckles then kisses me, his fingers doing a number on me. Goddamn, this man can play me. I don’t know how, but sometimes it feels like he has an extra secret digit or something. Somehow he makes so many parts of me feel so fucking good—simultaneously.

  “Oh shit,” I breathe as the first wave of my orgasm overwhelms me. “Oh shit.” Everything below my waist tightens, my sex clenching around his fingers as I ride out wave after wave of holy fucking goodness.

  He kisses me again, then flips me over. I get on my knees as he kneels behind me, his hand caressing the curve of my ass. He pushes my panties to the side. Motherfucker, that’s sexy.

  “This is going to be quick.” He slams hard inside me. Thank God there’s no headboard on this bed or I’d be plastering up another sex gash. He slides in and out me, over and over, his thick, rock hard dick, stretching me, filling me inch by delicious inch. So good. “Christ, you’re wet,” he whispers.

  “That’s your doing,” I breathe out.

  “Damn right.” He slams inside me and stills as he finds his release.

  Merry fucking Christmas to us.

  After cleaning up the evidence of sex, we lie wrapped in each other as we come down from our post-coitus highs.

  “We’re going to be dragging tomorrow,” I tell him.

  “It was worth it.” He turns his head and kisses my hair. “How do you feel?”

  “Fucked to heaven and tired as hell.”

  He laughs. “Get some sleep.”

  I nod, yawning. “Merry Christmas, Ben.”

  He holds me a little tighter. “Merry Christmas, Julia.”

  ~o0o~

  “Did you see his face when he opened the train set?” I ask, hooking my arm around Ben’s as we leave church. Joe is holding my mother’s hand as she speaks to Father Donovan.

  The mean girls from my middle school days are eying Ben up and down, pretending they don’t notice my perfect family and me. I take satisfaction in the knowledge that they’re jealous as hell.

  Karma, you’re a beautiful little bitch.

  “It was priceless,” he says with humor in his voice.