“Me too,” Fitzy decides. “I want to pop into this gaming store downtown. They’ve got a role-playing game there that I can’t find anywhere online. I’ll have to suck it up and spend some actual money.”
Hollis’ horrified gaze travels from me to Fitz. “A Bruins game? A gaming store? How am I friends with you two?”
I arch a brow. “You’d rather we bail?”
“No.” He heaves a sigh. “But at least try to pretend you’re in it for the pussy.”
I snicker and pat him on the shoulder. “If that makes you feel better, then sure. Fitzy and I are—”
I look at Fitz, prompting him with my hand.
“—in it for the pussy,” we finish in unison.
7
Sabrina
I’m dragging by the time I arrive home from Briar.
I can’t decide what I hate more—the weekends, when I’m at the club until two or three in the morning and then have to sort mail and packages from four until eleven. Or the weekdays, when I either have classes in the morning and the post office afterward? or an ungodly early post office shift followed by classes. Today was the latter, so I’m dead-ass tired as I drop my backpack on the hall floor.
Even if I wanted to be with Tucker again (and most of my body parts are in favor of a reunion) I’m too exhausted to do anything but lie on my back.
Although…that wouldn’t be half bad, either. He could rub me down? fuck me slow, and I could just lie back and enjoy it.
I give myself a mental head slap. Tucker and his big wang is the last thing that should be on my mind.
In the kitchen, Nana is stirring a pot at the stove, dressed in tight jeans, a lycra top that’s losing its elasticity, and her ever-present fluffy pink slippers.
“That smells great,” I tell her.
The simmering red sauce is filling the kitchen with the most heavenly scent. My stomach gurgles and reminds me I haven’t had anything to eat since the bagel I grabbed for breakfast before work.
“Girl, you look like you’re about to fall over. Go and sit down. Dinner will be ready in a sec.”
I don’t need to be told twice, but when I see the empty table, I make a detour to grab plates and silverware. Through the doorway, I spot the top of Ray’s head as he stares at the television. He’s probably fondling himself. I shudder as I pull the plates out of the cabinet.
“You want milk or water?” I ask as I begin to set the table.
“Water, babe. I’m feeling bloated. Did you know that Anne Hathaway is lactose intolerant? She doesn’t eat any dairy. Maybe you should think about cutting dairy out of your diet.”
“Nana, that means no cheese or ice cream. Unless a doctor tells me that dairy is going to kill me, I’m all in on the cow.”
“All I’m saying is, dairy could be why you’re tired all the time.” She shakes her spoon at me.
“No, I’m pretty sure it’s because I’m working two jobs and taking a full course load,” I answer dryly.
“If she stops eating dairy, will she be less of a baby bitch?” Ray asks as he strolls into the kitchen. He’s wearing the same sweatpants that he always does. The fabric is so worn around his crotch, I swear I can see a faint hint of pink skin.
I nearly gag, turning away before he ruins my appetite.
“Ray, don’t you start,” Nana complains. “Babe, will you get the strainer for me?”
My stepfather nudges me as I walk by. “She’s talking to you.”
“No shit. Because she knows talking to you is like talking to her couch. She gets the same results.”
I set the glass of water next to Nana’s plate and then hurry over to the sink to get the strainer out. Nana dumps the sauce into a bowl while I take care of the noodles.
Ray, meanwhile, leans against the refrigerator like a lazy toad, watching us bustle around the kitchen.
I hate this man with all my heart. From the first moment my mom brought him home to meet me when I was eight, I knew he was trouble. I told Mom as much, but listening to her daughter was never something she was very good at. Neither is sticking around, apparently. Mom ran off with some other slimebag when I was sixteen, and we haven’t seen her since. She calls a few times a year to “check in,” but as far as I can tell, she has no plans to ever come back to Boston.
I don’t even know where she’s living these days. What I do know is that there’s no reason for Ray to be living here. He’s not my father—that title is reserved for the piece of shit who abandoned Mom after knocking her up—and he’s definitely not part of the family. I think the only reason Nana keeps him around is because his work comp checks pay a third of our rent. I assume she fucks him for about the same reason. Because he’s convenient.
But, God, he’s so worthless I think even worms would turn up their noses at him. If worms had noses, that is.
Only when the table is completely set and the steaming pasta is ready for serving does Ray take a seat.
“Where’s the bread?” he demands.