Throuple In Paradise - Faleena Hopkins Page 0,1

escalated. Years passed. I snapped at people and kept them at arm’s length so they’d never hurt me.

Mom and Dad smiled to the public and went on with the facade of normalcy so many aim for. But then we discovered she’d never gotten rid of her boyfriend like she’d promised Dad. That was revealed to us one Christmas when her secret boyfriend decided he’d had enough of being hidden from her husband.

Imagine my surprise when some guy named Kyle burst into my lumpy mashed potatoes and turkey feast proclaiming that he absolutely loved my mother, needed her, ached for her, yearned for her.

Even worse was that Lorraine Bogdonavitz, my once-imagined-perfect mother, burst from her chair and rushed into his arms, sobbing.

Happy Holidays.

We eat the same thing on Thanksgiving as we do on Christmas because Mom always said she didn’t think one turkey feast was enough. Apparently she didn’t think one man was enough, either.

To say that my father didn’t handle it well is an understatement from my worst nightmares. He started coming onto my also-eighteen-year-old friends.

Immediately.

I used to have girlfriends.

Until Dad tried to bang them.

There are tumbleweeds rolling through my phone now.

And a sneering buzzard.

It sucks, because over junior high and high school it took time to earn those friendships. I never found them in dance. I tried with Samantha Cocker and Logan Clark, but they were just too damn entwined to let me into their buddy-buddy fest. Sam and I always butted heads anyway.

She was my competition.

Is.

Was.

Oh, I don’t know!

Maybe she bested me this time.

I can’t even think about it. Dad called me whining about his love life again, blaming Mom for the millionth time and I really need it to stop. Which is worse? Mom leaving with some dude named Kyle, or Dad stalking my hot friends in response, and when that didn’t work, continuing to search in my age range?

Great role models, people.

Thanks for the inspiration.

To.

Never.

Be.

You.

I have my roommate.

Teeka’s pretty much it for me.

And she’s a basket case. But that personality flaw makes home-life interesting, so hey, what the fuck? Better than a snooze-fest who goes to bed at nine and asks me to turn the volume down on my favorite movies. Teeka really falls into the not-normal category. I never know when she’s coming home, what she’s up to, who she’s dating.

As I shove Rocky Road into my gullet, thinking about my Dad, I groan, “Have some dignity!”

This broken leg has finally worn me down. No longer able to worry about his mid-life crisis, my future, and my failed love life, I’ve called in reinforcements.

Jack, can you help me?

If anyone could, it’s him.

Dad should stop coming to me.

Dad should turn to Jack.

I should turn to Jack.

My father’s best friend, Jack Thornton, is a ruggedly stunning, imposing man with shoulders so broad they reach the borders of Georgia. A chin so strong you want to ask if kryptonite truly is his only downfall. There’s nothing feminine about Jack. He is chunks of muscle heaped upon more muscle. Eyes so blue you could disappear in them for days and forget you were lost.

He never hugs me.

I always want him to.

Listen to yourself, Marion. Here you are judging your Dad for wanting younger girls when you’ve wanted Jack ever since you turned fourteen and realized your body wasn’t made for just dancing.

Isn’t that why you called and asked for his help?

I shouldn’t be thinking that. My father wouldn’t be the only one to vomit and then lose his shit. My cheating mom would, too. But her standards leave something to be desired. Ask Kyle.

I’m too hard on her.

She’s pretty awesome.

But Mom, really?

Did he have to ruin Christmas?

That was the last time Jack and I laid eyes on each other. He came after Kyle bombarded us with bullshit, to support my dad. I was eighteen, and it became apparent that he wouldn’t look at me. Even when I talked, Jack would rub the back of his neck at the top of his tribal tattoos, his masculine necklaces quietly rattling as he stared at the ground, his palm, my father, or anywhere but at me.

Something in my gut whispered that he was attracted to me, and couldn’t allow himself to be. It was the first time he’d acted that way, and I wondered if it was because I had recently turned legal, and he saw me in an inappropriately new light.

I’m a November baby.

Scorpio all the way.

Just.

Like.

Jack.

They say we’re the most sexual sign of the Zodiac. I wanted to know what