to them for help. Sometimes, the phone calls just aren’t enough. I miss them. Even if they drive me crazy ninety-nine percent of the time.
Much to my surprise, instead of gloating like I thought they would, my parents were relieved that I reached out. They’d been dying to visit me, but they didn’t want to smother me, so they were waiting for me to ask them first. That would definitely explain the pointless phone calls with each of us just breathing down the line, unsure what to say. They booked the first flight they could find and left Brandon with a friend from the football team, since the high school year is still well underway in Long Beach. When I first moved in, they made the drive here to bring my car and help me bring the rest of my stuff, but I can imagine sitting in a car for almost six hours is a nightmare, if it’s not necessary, and in this case, it isn’t.
Since I’ll be at work when my parents are supposed to fly in, I told them I’d leave the spare key under the mat, in case they needed it. There was a chance they would land and make it back to my place before I was off work, and in that event, I didn’t want them to have to wait out on my porch until I got there. It was unlikely, though, flights usually took longer, and I was making relatively good time here at work. For once, the clinic seemed to be slow.
An hour and a half later, I’m pulling into the driveway, and my eyes widen, as I take in the scene before me. It’s like something straight out of a horror movie. With quick, deft movements, I yank on the e-brake and scramble out of the car toward my lawn, where my parents are currently deep in conversation with my dickhead neighbor, Roman. Of course, Max sits dutifully at his feet.
I run through scenarios in my head, trying to assess the situation, the closer I get. If he’s been an asshole to my parents, they’re going to give me more shit for moving here than they already do. Then, once I find out he’s been a dick to my parents, I’ll castrate him. Chop off his balls and penis and toss them into a meat grinder. By the ticked-off expression on my father’s face, I’d say castration is most definitely a possibility. I hurry across the lawn, closing the distance between us.
By the time I get there, I’m completely out of breath. Heart pounding and lungs wheezing. My steps slow, once my mother tosses her head back and crows with laughter. She swats Rome on his muscled arm, her cheeks glowing bright pink, as if she’s blushing something fierce.
Her!
My mother!
The fucking sex therapist!
After a glance back at my dad, I can clearly see what has him so angry.
“Oh, honey!” my mom chirps when she spots me. “There you are! Why didn’t you tell me your neighbor was such a snack?” she says, voice filled with too much youth for a woman her age. She swats me on the arm, for good measure, while she’s at it, too. All I can do is cringe in embarrassment.
A snack?
Christ in heaven. Help me.
Who the hell taught her that?
“Mom, please, stop,” I hiss under my breath. I glance up at Rome from beneath my lashes and find him smirking at me. I’m sure he finds this whole debacle hilarious.
I could slap him right across his handsome face.
“Stop what?” she asks, tone affronted. When I don’t respond, she waves me off. “I invited Roman over for dinner with us tonight.”
My eyes grow wide. “Oh, no.” I shake my head frantically. “Rome doesn’t like barbecues or anything like that, Mom. I’m sure he has—”
“On the contrary, I love barbecue. I’ve already told your mother I’m happy to come. It’s nice to finally have good neighbors around.”
My jaw somehow manages to come unhinged, and a jolt of shock rolls through my body.
No, he didn’t.
No, that fucking asshole didn’t!
“See, honey? And what is this I hear about finally having good neighbors? Have you been a thorn in Rome’s side, Liv?” I mumble obscenities under my breath. More like he’s been the thorn in my side. “You should really try to be more tolerable, sweetheart. Rome is a fine specimen. I mean, sweetie, look at the size of his feet and length of his forearm. He’s very well endowed, and I’m