and her husband Quincy watch on in fascination like they have popcorn in their laps, and Rocky and her husband Harrison pretty much do the same.
“Thatcher,” Cassie snaps, eyeing her husband with the kind of glare I think might actually singe skin.
“No, honey, I’m not saying you’re high-maintenance. I’m saying you’re a lunatic,” Thatch eventually answers, and everyone in the room just stares with wide eyes. “A beautiful, fluffing amazing lunatic whom I love dearly. But a lunatic, nonetheless.”
The room goes quiet.
But then, Cassie just shrugs and presses a hard kiss to her husband’s lips. “Yeah, I guess you have a point. Two Cassies in one house would probably be a disaster.”
If I’ve learned anything in the past few hours at the Kellys’ Friendsgiving dinner, it’s that Cassie and Thatch’s relationship is unlike anything I’ve ever seen. They bicker and flirt and bust out the most random, inappropriate but hilarious shit I’ve ever heard.
Hell, just during dinner prep alone, Cassie told more about her sex life with her well-endowed husband than one person should ever have to know.
How do I know he’s well-endowed? Because she legit calls it his Supercock.
Frankly, they’re crazy. But somehow, it works for them.
And the rest of their friends are…pretty damn awesome. Welcoming and friendly, they make you feel like you’ve always been a part of their little group.
“How you doing there, Ace?” Luke whispers into my ear, and I glance up to meet his eyes.
“Like I ate one too many pieces of pumpkin pie. You might have to carry me home.”
He grins down at me and gently pats my stomach. “I don’t know… I think you might still have some more room, and I’m pretty sure you didn’t try—”
“Shh!” I lift my hand to cover his mouth. “Don’t say it. My stomach can’t handle any more food talk.”
Luke smirks, and when he acts like he’s going to lick the palm of my hand, I quickly remove it from his face on a giggle.
“Aww…new love,” Lena comments. “Isn’t it the cutest, Maybe?”
Maybe nods in agreement. “The blessed honeymoon phase.”
I look at them both, confused, but when all the other girls start chiming in and I realize they’re staring toward us, it hits me.
They’re talking about us. Luke and me.
I almost open my mouth to correct them, but then I remember, tonight, he’s my boyfriend. Well, we’re pretending he’s my boyfriend.
Though, it kind of seems like you’re just being your normal, usual self with Luke…
No, I’m pretending. We’re never this physical with each other. I don’t think.
I don’t usually act this affectionate and cuddly and flirty with Luke…right?
News flash, sister, you actually do. All the freaking time.
December 4th
Luke
In the background, Mariah Carey sings about what she wants for Christmas, and I count fifteen Santa Clauses on the dance floor and another ten standing at the bar—trying to wave down the bartender for more booze. And I can’t forget Trevor, the other jolly red-velvet-suited bastard sitting across from me at our high-top table.
Christmas season is officially upon us, and Harry’s Bar is encouraging the (drunk) holiday spirit by hosting their annual Santa Claus night. Everyone inside this place is dressed up to celebrate. Hell, even Ava convinced me to wear an ugly Christmas sweater with the Golden Girls front and center and the words Stay Golden embroidered across the chest.
Well, more like, forced me to. She bought the damn thing off Amazon and all but shoved it over my head before we came here.
“Happy fucking holidays,” Trev cheers, raising his shot of tequila toward my beer and downing it without delay, his white beard slipping halfway down his chin in the process.
“Cheers, man.” I return the gesture and take a sip from my pint of Guinness.
He slams his shot glass onto the table with a groan and wipes the remnants of tequila from his beard while simultaneously adjusting it back into place. “It’s hard to believe that next year at this time, you might be in Houston.”
All I can do is nod. Fact is, I will be in Houston next year. This morning, I received my official packet in the mail—a thick, NASA-embossed envelope, filled with my acceptance letter, along with a lot of other material that I need to know about the program and moving to Texas.
But I still haven’t delivered that news to anyone. Not Uncle Gary. Not Trevor. Not even Ava. For the past few weeks, every time I’ve opened my mouth to tell her, it’s like my throat locks up and I can’t get