Page 87 of Own the Eights Gets Married
His dad and Maureen gazed at each other like teenagers in love.
His father cleared his throat. “When? Last night. Why? Because Maureen is one of the kindest, smartest, most beautiful women I’ve ever met. And how?” He scratched his chin, then shared a knowing glance with Maureen. “It started in the kitchen, or was it in the car?”
Maureen mimicked his father and scratched her chin dramatically. “I’d say the car was foreplay, and the kitchen was where things started to heat up—right here on the kitchen table for round one.”
Round One!
Jordan skidded his chair back from the location of parental hanky-panky.
“I don’t want to know how many rounds!” he blurted.
“Three,” his father whispered.
Jordan’s jaw hit the floor.
“Dad! Stop! And how did you two even get together?”
“At your beautiful champagne engagement breakfast,” Maureen answered.
His father nodded. “We got to talking, and then Maureen started helping me with my bookkeeping.”
The two lovebirds stared at each other. If this were some middle-aged love story cartoon, this would be the scene where their eyes would transform into hearts.
“And one thing led to another,” Maureen added sweetly.
Christ on a Cracker!
“You’re my dad’s girlfriend?” he asked, slow as molasses on the uptake.
Maureen resurrected that theatrical chin scratch move. “Maybe I’m your dad’s booty call. It’s like the thing you kids do with the swipe right,” Maureen joked.
Jordan knew his mouth was hanging open, but he could not get it to close. Maureen was like a mother to him, and she’d just correctly dropped app hookup lingo.
“I don’t know what I’d call it, other than two of the best weeks of my life,” his father said, again with the Rico Suave kiss to Maureen’s hand.
“Are you going to keep seeing each other?” Jordan asked, regaining brain function.
His dad and Maureen went back to puppy-dog-eyes mode.
“I sure hope so,” his father said.
“Me too,” Maureen answered, then slid her gaze from his father and zeroed in on him.
“I think that’s enough talk about your dad and me. We need to have a chat with you,” Maureen said, watching him closely.
“Me?” he asked.
She nodded, then glanced at the floor. “Hold on. What is that?”
Jordan looked at the spot where he’d been filming the jump rope tutorial.
“It’s dryer lint. I’ll toss it in the trash,” his father offered.
Shit!
Jordan shot to his feet and swiped the laundry remnant. “It’s mine.”
Maureen eyed him skeptically. “That’s your dryer lint?”
