Page 42 of Kitty Season
“No I was just … studying the wrapping. Excellent job. Cal.”
“Thank you. I think you’ve been doing a great job, too. That’s why it is what it is. Happy Birthday, Quinn.”
“Ohhh. Now I’m intrigued as well as scared.” I tear into the box, discarding the ribbon with thinly veiled fear and pop off the lip with the tip of my pinkie finger. “Holy shit, Callie!”
Showing she has spent way too much time around Lotte, she bounces on her toes and blinks excitedly. “You like it?”
“I love it! All germs and bacteria are hereby forgotten.” Proud as punch I pull out a faux silver-plated badge and toss the box. “Quinn.” I read a loud, then look up to Callie, “That’s me.”
“It is.” She laughs, doing an excellent job of confirming the obvious without patronization. “Well done. You’ve graduated from Trainee to real life person.”
“I am! I’m a real boy! Well, girl technically, but still I’ve really Pinocchio-ed the shit out of this, haven’t I? Yay! I can’t wait to show Troye and Brady.”
Troye and Brady.
Menage A Trois
Lust shoots down my spine, zinging through all my favorite little spots that only Troye knows to the point I feel a little woozy. Will Brady know them too by the end of the night?
Blood continues to rush south and I can’t help but wonder if this is what guys feel like when they pop a boner in public. God, does it look as obvious? If so, Callie mustn’t think anything of it, she’s too busy stabbing me with the badge.
“Sorry babe. I think I nicked your nipple.”
“Didn’t feel a thing.” I reassure her truthfully. How could I when I’m numb from the waist up.
The rest of my shift passes in a hazy blur of birthday wishes, blueberry muffins and wiping tables. I try to focus on the task athand, but those belonging to the two men I can’t stop thinking about, are allIcan think about.
I want them. Together. Tonight.
Dad arrives shortly after one, insisting I leave my car here and ride with him to their place. “It really means a lot that you’ve let us throw you this party, Quinn.” Smiling, he opens the passenger door on his precious G-Wagon and waves me in.
“Of course, Dad. I know Mom lives for this kind of thing.”
“She does. She’s been prepping for days. The pool house looks like a Hawaiian beachfront, so you and your friends don’t have to hang with us oldies all night. And, it’s stocked so thoroughly, the Four Horsemen of Armageddon could make an appearance, and we’d have enough food and beverages to bunker down and ride it out.”
Leaning across the center console, I give Dad a few taps on the cheek. “I think you mean the Horsemen of the Apocalypse not Armageddon. And you are old, but not like, old old.”
“Just stupid then?”
“Not that either.”
For the rest of the drive to Beacon Hill, Dad peppers me with questions about school and work. The latter being of particular interest. “I know we had disagreements over that boy?—”
“You mean Troye? Your latest recruit.”
Dad grumbles something that sounds a lot like,pierced little punkunder his breath. “Yeah. Him. And I know you want to prove yourself as a strong, independent woman but you don’t have to. You’re mother and I are more than happy to?—”
“Support me, I know. And I appreciate it because we all know I can’t pay for school, but I want and need to do this, Dad. Whether Troye’s in the picture or not.”
Grumbling again, he stiffens in his seat. “But he’s not, right? Right?” When I don’t answer immediately, Dad stares sointently in my direction the car veers into the gutter with a thud. “Princess, we talked about this.”
“We did and we won’t again. As of today I’m twenty-one, remember? My personal life is less of a concern to you than it was yesterday and it was already none of your damn business. Now, if you want to make a big deal of this you can turn around and take me home.”
“We are home. See? Look. There it is, right there.” We turn into the picture perfect cul-de-sac I grew up on, and Dad points out the house like I might have forgotten what it looks like.
“To my home, I mean. To Lotte and Noah’s. This isn’t mine anymore.”
Dad mutters, “It was until that boy.” And my blood boils in my veins as I spin in my seat slamming my hand against the dash.
