Total pages in book: 60
Estimated words: 61149 (not accurate)
Estimated Reading Time in minutes: 306(@200wpm)___ 245(@250wpm)___ 204(@300wpm)
Estimated words: 61149 (not accurate)
Estimated Reading Time in minutes: 306(@200wpm)___ 245(@250wpm)___ 204(@300wpm)
“Garcia.”
Kipp prepares to pout only to have it interrupted by the text being turned to face us.
Garcia: Santa isn’t the only one coming to town.
Chapter 8
Nolan
Demián Garcia places another ice-cold Guinness down on the coaster in front of me during his trek back to his leather seat beside his wife. “Niños are up, yeah?”
Garcia and Val – who are sitting side by side on stools directly across from us – playfully glare at one another, yet it’s her that snaps first. “Don’t fuck this up for us again.”
“Me?!” croaks my other best friend between sips of tequila. “You’re the one who can’t fucking draw!”
“You’re the one who can’t fucking guess!”
“How am I supposed to fucking guess right when you can’t fucking draw?!”
“Great gift,” Demián happily chortles in our direction. “This is my favorite part of the holiday.”
My boyfriend struggles not to smirk as he inquires, “Watchin’ your kids fight?”
“Absolutely.” A casual sip of his own tequila is had. “I’d rather them engaged in the same activity than separately looking at their phones, counting down the seconds until they can be with other people.”
“You mean like they do at all the other family dinners,” Eva Garcia less than quietly sasses, brown stare homed in on her arguing children.
I miss this shit.
I miss them bickering.
Their parents laughing or pouring fuel on the fire.
Usually pouring fuel on the fire.
I miss hearing the mixture of English and Spanish and Spanglish and something else I never understood.
Kinda think its their own made-up family brand language.
Or maybe it’s whatever Eva is descended from.
Brazilian, I think?
Whatever it is I’m glad to hear it again.
Shit…I’m honestly just glad that we’re here.
That the family I’m trying to build is finally meeting the one that taught me how to stay alive.
That this is where we’re spending Christmas night.
And where I’ll propose.
At some point.
Fuckme, because I don’t know when.
I thought about doing it when we first got here.
Despite the warning bells of Mommy Dreariest coming to town, we had a very calm, very relaxing, very filthy Christmas Eve.
And Christmas morning.
No death threats.
No weird phone calls.
No cops knocking on our door.
Hell, I’m not even exactly sure when the crazy cunt and her husband landed considering Garcia didn’t even bother mentioning it until we got here for dinner.
Which is fine.
Actually enjoying the holiday is one of the only things I wanted this year.
The other of course is them saying yes.
Whenever I find the balls to ask.
Maybe now?
Maybe after dessert?
Maybe when they’re putting their coats on to go home?
Slip it in their pockets and pretend one of them has the keys?
“Just flip the fucking timer,” Garcia grumbles prompting Rabbit to lean forward towards the coffee table.
“And go!” happily giggles the woman wearing a dark blue sweater dress with white snowflakes littered across it.
I hate it.
It’s short.
Too fucking short.
At least for my sanity.
She just crosses her long, goddamn legs, and my dick is ready to fuck her in the halls.
Falalala and all that shit.
Kid’s feeling the same damn way.
That’s why he keeps slyly adjusting his fucking crotch.
Which isn’t helpin’ me.
Between constantly seeing his hand there and how fuckable he looks in the fitted navy sweater “Santa” brought him, I’m basically using the damn Guinness bottles as a fucking icepack to keep my nuts from roasting like they’re on an open fire.
Kid extends his arm around the back of the brown leather couch to not only embrace Rabbit but me. The small, loving thumb stroke sends my attention his direction, yet he merely maintains engaged in whatever impish whispering Demián is delivering.
I love that they’re getting along.
That Demián welcomed him.
Embraced him like he’s family.
Like I should’ve allowed him to do long before now.
The earful that I got from both him and Eva regarding my choices of shutting them out was warranted.
Painful.
But fucking deserved.
And the endless love that they’ve shown the two people I’m planning to marry is the best gift I’ve gotten today.
You know.
Until they say yes.
If they say.
I wanna say when they say yes but shit happens.
I could be wrong.
Like I was about what type of sexy panties to put in our woman’s stocking.
Had Val not stepped in I would’ve caught hell for thinking that hipsters meant that they were for chicks who grew up around when the word was more popular.
“Timeeeeeee,” mirthfully sings Rabbit.
“Fuck!” squeaks Val, red and green painted manicured nails curling in frustration. “How could you not guess Breakfast Club?!”
“Why would I have guessed that?!”
“I drew eggs-”
“Those aren’t zeroes?”
“Stop thinking about Zero and who he’s with and start thinking about how you’re losing us this game!”
“Oh, it’s my fault we’re losing?!”
“You’re the one who can’t guess!”
“You’re the one who can’t draw!”
“You’re the reason we don’t have any points!”
“You’re the reason I wanna switch partners!”
“This is why you have two,” Eva playfully advises on a sip of red wine. “So, they can do this.”