Page 31 of Take Two

“Johnny,” Vickie exclaims when she finally comes into the kitchen. He runs and hides behind me, giggling the entire time. I pick him up and say, “No peeing on Uncle Charlie like you did last time.” I hand the wiggling toddler back to his mother.

“Stop running around this house naked,” she admonishes the laughing little boy.

“No!” He giggles all the way down the hall.

“That was close,” Violet says. “You keep your sexy lips and delicious tongue to yourself.”

I snatch her wrist, pull her close, and kiss her again. This time, I keep it chaste and brief.

“Are you coming over tonight?” she asks.

“I’ll be there as soon as the rugrats go to bed. We’re watching Annie.” That’s the third time this week, and I’ve had enough. “Go. I’ll clean up here, and I’ll come over and get you dirty later. You’re too temptin’ right now.”

“I’m gonna ride your dick until you go blind tonight.” She cups my dick over my pants and says, “Mine.” When all I do is stare at her, she squeezes and repeats herself. “I said mine.”

“Only yours, darlin’.” She gives me a firm nod and gives me one more kiss. She leaves my crotch long enough to grab my butt then takes her bag and walks out of the apartment.

Chapter 16

Violet

I do an exaggerated whistle when my dad dramatically pulls off the car cover, revealing his white BMW convertible. He runs his fingers along the hood, but when I hold out my hand for the keys, he shakes his head at me and puts the keys in his pocket.

I know what’s coming next. “Violet, driving is serious.” He grins at me, and I playfully punch his arm.

“Dad, I’m thirty, not sixteen. Besides, in all the years I’ve been driving, I’ve never so much as had a parking ticket.” How could I? He drilled into my head the responsibilities of driving and that having a license is a privilege, not a right. He did that from an ocean away, and when it was time for the road test, he flew back so he could take me. Afterwards, we celebrated over New York style pizza and hot fudge sundaes.

“You’re lucky I trust you.” He kisses the keys before he puts them in my hand and pulls me to him. “And love you.” He kisses my temple. “Now, where are you taking Beauty?” He points to his car.

“Montauk. Don’t worry, I’ll bring her back in one piece.” He crosses his arms, and I know he’s waiting for me to tell him more.

“Don’t tell me you met some rich asshole with a summer home?” he asks. I throw my head back and laugh. That’s something my dad would say even though he’s far from broke and owns a summer home. More than one, in fact.

“Not exactly. Did I tell you that Vickie Chastain is my client?” My dad is a huge sports fan, and he goes crazy for all the home teams.

“Colt Chastain’s wife? The writer?” Dad is also an avid reader. I nod at him, and he raises both eyebrows while he lets out a loud whistle. “Now, that’s a coup.”

“Indeed,” I say with a bright smile.

“What does a private session with you cost these rich Manhattanites?”

“Twelve hundred dollars.” He pretends to lose his footing and puts a hand to his chest.

“God damn,” he says. He puts an arm across my shoulders and says, “Miles Dixon ain’t raised no fool. Now, what doesVictoria Chastain have to do with you borrowing Beauty? Are you two friends now?”

I wouldn’t go that far. She’s friendly, but she’s a client, so our relationship is a professional one. “Not exactly. She has a brother-in-law.” I let the sentence hang, but my dad knows exactly what I mean. He stays quiet and waits for me to say more. “We’ve been seeing each other for the past few weeks, and he invited me to a party his brother is throwing for his wife in Montauk. It’s to celebrate her book release.”

My dad gestures for me to leave the garage and to follow him inside his Park Slope, Brooklyn brownstone. His place is almost four thousand square feet and has three floors. I follow him through the living room and to the kitchen. I sit at the marble island and admire the beauty of the room. It has oak cabinets and stainless-steel appliances.

“What’s his name?” he asks, and I tell him.

When he demands to know what Charlie does for a living, I say, “He owns a restaurant in Birmingham.”

“The Birmingham that’s in Alabama?” he asks. He whistles when I nod in confirmation.

“Well, if this thing gets serious, he’s gonna have to own a restaurant here because you’re not going.” I roll my eyes at him and don’t remind him that he lived overseas for years. “Is it serious?”

“I like him. We like spending time together, but it’s still new. I guess I’ll see how things go when we start the long-distance thing.”