by Piper Rayne
“Go finish getting ready. I think I’m good now.”
I squeeze him. “I’ll be right back.”
Another half hour later, I’m on my way back to the kitchen when the doorbell rings. “I got it!”
“Get Lucy, she’s circling the counter like it’s a smorgasbord just for her,” Roarke says.
Our cat Nickel runs through my legs, then darts under the chair. He doesn’t much care for company.
“Lucy! I think your friend might be here,” I say to our German Sheppard.
“What friend?” Roarke calls out.
“Snowball. Jade’s puppy.”
“What?” There’s a rip of fear laced in his tone. “Babe, I’m not sure that’s a good idea.”
“Oh relax, it’s smaller than Nickel.”
I open the door with my now perfectly trained Lucy at my side. “Happy Thanksgiving!”
“You look beautiful,” Chelsea says, hugging me briefly, a Taco Bell burrito in one hand.
“You couldn’t wait for dinner?” I chuckle.
Dean shakes his head at me like don’t poke the bear.
Chelsea shoots me a ‘go jump off the balcony’ look. “Are you eating for two?”
“I just meant, I don’t want you to spoil your dinner.”
She walks in, petting Lucy. “From your call this morning I don’t have high hopes, so I brought reserves.” All her movement stops and circles back around. “I’m sorry. That was rude.”
Dean huffs. “Hormones.”
“You say it like it’s not a thing! You carry around a rhino in your stomach and get back to me.” She sits down on the couch and puts her feet up on the glass table in front of her. Lucy hops onto the couch, rolling to her back, waiting for Chelsea to pet her.
“I would if I could,” Dean says.
“How convenient.” Chelsea rolls her eyes.
“Roarke, need help in the kitchen?” Dean asks, probably eager to flee from his temperamental fiancé for a little while.
“No, we’ve got it. I’ll have him bring out the appetizers.” I squeeze Dean’s arm and exchange a look telling him to hang in there. Not long now.
“Great. I’ll just sit here then.”
Back in the kitchen, Roarke’s already got the trays of cheese and salami ready to go. “You’re awesome, thanks.” I kiss him on the cheek.
“Don’t forget it.”
He taps me on the ass before he leaves the kitchen and I finally feel like we’ve got a handle on this, but the damn turkey popper still isn’t popping out. I’ve heard enough stories of people getting sick after eating an under-cooked turkey that there’s no way I’m risking it. I put on my apron to protect my orange blouse.
The doorbell rings again and my heart races, waiting for this thing to be done cooking. Now I’m starting to get a gist of how Chelsea feels.
“HAPPY THANKSGIVING!” Jade screams. “No! Snowball!”
I wait and listen.
“Oh shit, now this is Thanksgiving,” Chelsea says.
“No! Grab the dog, Pete!” Victoria yells.
“It’s not my damn dog,” Victoria’s ex-husband Pete says.
“You bought the damn thing!” Reed screams.
Finally, the poker pops out of the bird and I question if I should bring Roarke in, but I think I can handle this. I’m strong. The hot air from the oven warms my face as I put the two oven mitts on. I pull out the roasting pan by the handle and it wobbles in my hands.
Damn this thing really is heavy.
Fumbling a bit, I manage to get the turkey onto the counter, and shut the oven door.
Giving myself a mental pat on the back, I’m relieved. Pride bubbles inside of me. The turkey is golden brown, the juices drip off and it smells delicious.
“Roarke!” I call out to him because the tricky part is moving it from the pan to the serving plate I bought three days ago from Crate & Barrel.
“Help yourself, Pete and Reed.” Roarke walks in. “I’m not sure those two are going to get along.”
“Lucy and Snowball?” I ask, pulling out the huge fork contraptions the lady at Crate and Barrel said I needed while I was there buying the platter.
“Snowball and Nickel. He doesn’t like her and she’s small enough to get into all of his hiding places.”
Roarke grabs the forks from my hands, puts them under the turkey and raises it out of the pan. The turkey proceeds to fall off the forks, back into the roasting pan, splashing his blue shirt with the juices.
“Fuck!” he curses.
“Sorry. Let me help.”
“I’ve got it.” He jabs the forks into the turkey. “They just needed to be in more.” His tense tone is surprising since the man thought we could give Martha Stewart a run for her money just minutes ago.
The turkey rises and crashes to the plate so hard I feared he cracked the gorgeous white platter. “The damn thing needs a fork lift. How big is this bird?” He yanks out the forks.
“Thanks.”
“OH NO!” Jade runs into the kitchen with Snowball in her arms. Lucy follows her like they’re playing a game.
“Jade, sweetie, not in here until after dinner, okay?” I say in a mothering tone I’m mimicking from seeing Victoria in action.
“Sorry,” she says, but I don’t notice the fear in her eyes until she’s out of the room.
“Hold up.” I walk out of the kitchen, Roarke following behind me.
“I told you nothing good would come of this. I’m all for animal love, babe, but two dogs and one cat?”
Snowball wiggles out of Jade’s arm and falls to the ground, hiding under the couch.
Nickel meows and claws while Snowball barks. Nickel runs, and Snowball gives chase down the hall.
“Pete, get your damn dog!” Victoria yells.
“I told you, he’s not mine.”
“You bought her a dog without ever asking us. He’s yours.” Reed pours a hefty amount of scotch into a glass.
“Fine. Come on Jade.” Pete follows the animals and emerges from the hallway a few minutes later with Snowball in his arms. “I locked your cat in the laundry room.”
Roarke stares at me like ‘who invited this fucker?’
“Hey, babe.” I look around again, but Lucy’s hard to miss. “Lucy isn’t here. Is she in the laundry room, Pete?”
“No, just the gray fur ball.”
Roarke and I share a look.
“DAMN IT!” I run but Roarke beats me into the kitchen. He tries to free the turkey from Lucy’s jaw but she’s devoured half of it.
I sink down into the kitchen chair feeling defeated.
Everyone else comes in. Chelsea’s laughing hysterically and snapping pictures with her phone while Victoria tries to hide her smile unsuccessfully.
“I’m sorry, guys,” I say.
Roarke grabs my hand and pulls me up from the chair. “I kind of wanted Chinese for dinner anyway.” He kisses my cheek.
“I could definitely go for some egg rolls,” Chelsea adds.
“Did you know I’m allergic to turkey?” Reed shares and we all know he’s lying.
Two hours later—because obviously I wasn’t the only one who messed up their Thanksgiving dinner—we all sit around eating lo mein and sweet and sour chicken off the new Thanksgiving-themed plates I bought. I guess they’ll still be here next year.
“OH!” Chelsea lunches forward in her seat, grabbing her stomach.
“What is it?” Dean places his hand on her belly, his eyes wide.
“I swear the baby just did a quadruple somersault.”
We all laugh.
I’m reminded that today is a day to be thankful. It’s not the turkey, the mash potatoes or stuffing that makes this day special. It’s all of us sharing the holiday together. And next year we’ll welcome another new member into our little world.
EXCLUSIVE Prequel to BLUE COLLAR BROTHERS Series!
Chapter One
Lauren walks into Vanessa’s bedroom sporting her usual black slacks and
plain blouse—the dressiest clothes she owns. “You owe me big for this, she says. “You’re forcing me to bid on some guy in order to win a date with him. These guys all probably have a hero complex already. I can’t imagine what a bunch of women bidding on them will do for their egos.”
“You need to turn right back around and find a dress to wear.” Vanessa circles her finger and points to the door.
Lauren groans and rolls her eyes before leaving the room.
These two are forever fighting over Lauren’s fashion sense—or lack thereof.
“Can I borrow these?” I hold up a pair of silver hoop earrings from Vanessa’s jewelry box.
“Sure, Maddie. They were my mom’s, though, so just don’t lose them.” Vanessa smiles, walking into her closet wearing only her silk bra and panties. I have no idea how her super model figure can stay intact with the crap she eats, but I’d be confident too if I was a tall blonde who looked like I stepped off the pages of Cosmo.
“I won’t.” I slide the earrings on, staring at my reflection in the mirror over her dresser. Usually, I’m a stud earring kinda girl, what with hoops posing a hazard when I’m working, but I think these earrings add a little something to my look tonight.
I barely recognize myself since I took the time to straighten my hair and apply make-up. So, not me. I prefer my ball caps and yoga pants—quick, easy, and practical.
Not that I don’t enjoy dressing up, but this entire charity bachelor auction thing we’re attending to support Vanessa’s dad is messing with my psyche. It’s hard to shut down the ‘she’s super smart’ reputation I had in high school. And yes, that’s a nice way of saying I was a nerd with a capital ‘N’. In my opinion, super smart is a compliment, but I was never the ‘and she’s got the looks to boot’ girl.
“What about this? Too slutty?” Vanessa walks out of her closet in a skin tight, see-the-indentation-of-her-belly-button dress.
“Um… Your dad is going to be there right?” I remind her, and her eyes widen.
“See you’re so smart.” She unzips the dress, stepping out of the red fabric and tossing it in her closet.
“Maybe put it back how you found it?” I suggest nicely.
“I did.” She’s stone-cold serious.
How she grew up with a police officer for a father and did not develop into a neat and orderly person is still a mystery I’ve yet to solve.
“I’m going to head downstairs to wait for you guys,” I say.
“Wait!” Vanessa rushes out of her closet wearing a much more appropriate dress. It’s a tad short but the neckline is high and it’s more form fitting than painted-on Lycra.
“You look gorgeous as always,” I say.
Her face lights up like it does every time she receives a compliment. “Thanks.”
“I’m not wearing a dress,” Lauren says, returning to Vanessa’s room and collapsing on the unmade bed in her boy shorts and bra. “I don’t own a dress.”
I pick up a Kit Kat wrapper I spot on the floor. “Seriously, Van, you’re going to give us mice.” Dropping the wrapper with melted chocolate on the nightstand.
Both my roommates are so free with exposing their bodies as I sit here in my usual swing dress—the only style I can pull off that flares out over my hips and thighs.
“Borrow something.” Vanessa rushes into her closet, returning a minute later holding a grey dress with fringe around the bottom. It’s low enough that it will show off Lauren’s sizable breasts but high enough that her cleavage won’t be starting the conversation.
“It’s so…short and…tight,” Lauren says.
Vanessa holds it up in front of her. “It’s perfect for your figure. Come on. This is my dad’s night and if I show up there with you looking like…”
“What?” Lauren sits up, holding the dress in her hand. “Say it.”
“Just you’re beautiful and I don’t understand why you hide it under all those athletic clothes.” Vanessa sits down at her vanity, opening up her make-up bag.
Lauren reluctantly drags herself up off the bed and grabs the dress where Vanessa left it lying beside her. “Because half the time I sweat while I’m at work and my job entails flexibility. Speaking of which, where were you last night when I got home?” Lauren steps into the dress with ease.
“When I got up at 5:00 a.m. she was just sneaking in,” I say, raising my eyebrows in Vanessa’s direction.
She continues to concentrate on the mirror, one eye shut and one eye open, lining her lid with a dark shade of brown. “I told you, I had a date.”
“Really? Because the guy you said you were going out with was at the bar I went to after soccer last night,” Lauren says.
Vanessa’s hand stops mid swipe but continues flawlessly a second later. If I hadn’t sensed Vanessa acting odd lately, I wouldn’t have thought much about it, but she’s always gone at night now—even during the week.
She says she works somewhere only to say she lost the job weeks later when we want to show up and visit her. Something’s off, but Vanessa isn’t the kind of person you try to catch in a lie, you actually have to catch her red- handed. I know this, but Lauren, well, she thinks she can bully the truth out of her.
“Because he was a dud. I picked up a new guy. Lives in Wrigleyville.”
Lauren’s vision shifts to me and I shrug. I’m not sure what she wants. For me to strap Vanessa down on the bed and dangle cupcakes in front of her until she confesses?
“You know you can tell us anything,” I politely say in my motherly tone to suggest we won’t judge.
“Do you want me to describe in great detail all the orgasms his giant dick gave me?” She sets the eyeliner down on the counter and it cracks in half from the pressure.
Yeah, something is definitely up.
“It wouldn’t be the first time.” Lauren rolls her eyes and turns around, pulling her long auburn hair up off her neck.
“Did you need me to zip this up for you?” I ask, my fingers already reaching for the zipper.
“Thank you.” She ignores the fact she never actually asked me.
Vanessa’s full-length mirror is right in front of her and I watch as she examines herself. A small smile creases her lips while she stares at her reflection.
“Yeah this is way girly.” Her arms contort in a motion I’m guessing she learned in yoga trying to reach the zipper to undo it.
“Wear it. You look amazing.” I stop her hands and she lowers her arms to her sides.
“I’m going to be uncomfortable all night,” she whines but I think part of her wants to wear it, she’s just not used to flaunting her assets this way.
“That’s the point of being a woman, L. God, you’re such a tomboy.” Vanessa heads back into her closet.
Lauren and I exchange another look until Vanessa emerges holding a pair of heels.
“Not going to fit me, Amazon.” Lauren stares at the black heels in Vanessa’s hands.
“They were my mom’s and they’ll fit you. And I might add that five eight is not an Amazon.” Vanessa slips on her own shoes finishing her outfit off and looking like she’s ready to step out of a limo with Bradley Cooper.
“Well, to me and Maddie you are.” She puts on the heels Vanessa hands her and instantly transforms from my friend who prefers sneakers and track pants, into a piece of arm candy.
“I have no idea how I became friends with two short girls.” Vanessa shakes her head in mock disappointment.
“I’m going to grab my clutch and shawl.” I step out of the room into the hallway.
“Shawl? What are you eighty?” Lauren yells after me.
“It’s fall in Chicago. You can freeze your ass off tonight. I won’t be sharing while we wait for a cab.” I head to the master suite down the hall.
Hey, I own the house we all live in so it’s only fair that I have the biggest room with my own private bathroom. Not that I don’t come home to find one of the girls in my jacuzzi tub on a regular basis. The only time it proved awkward was when I
once sat down on the toilet to have a pee and realized Vanessa actually had a guy with her under the suds.
Yet another reason I don’t plan on us being here much longer. Once I get my new project secured and off the ground I’ll be moving out.
I flip houses and not the whole buy a house and earn a few thousand replacing the floor and adding a backsplash kind of flip. You know the old run down houses that no one wants? The ones people think are abandoned because they’re haunted, or the ones people think the homeless or heroin addicts live in? I buy those, strip them down to the bones and rebuild them into something worth coveting. What most people think is beyond repair isn’t worthless. I love being the one to show people the beauty hidden within.
Okay that and the fact that if I can buy a place for a steal, there’s a nice profit to be made. When I get a good contractor that is.
I enter my closet and grab the shawl in question off a hanger and wrap it over my shoulders, then take my clutch from the top of my dresser where I set it after I loaded it with everything needed for the night—money, ID, my credit and debit cards (you never know when you’re going to run into trouble and need either), my lipstick (so I can touch up when needed. I especially hate when they don’t have straws for their drinks—it makes your lipstick last only half as long), a couple Advil (because if they offer wine at the festivities tonight, there’s potential for a headache), my cell phone and a couple of pieces of gum. I’ve never really needed the gum because I’m not the type of girl to kiss a guy I just met, but I can’t say the same for my two friends.
I leave my bedroom and begin to walk toward the stairs.
“You’re not wearing a shawl tonight. You’re twenty-seven, Maddie.” Vanessa rips it off my shoulders and tosses it in the trash of the main bath when we walk by.
“Hey! That was my find at Nordstroms Rack,” I argue.
“And it should have stayed on the rack,” Vanessa says, her heels clicking down the wooden stairs that should be finished next week.
The girls and I have what we call Cheapster Challenges. We each go shopping and try to come back with the best deal on a clearance item. Whoever paid the lowest price and has the most fashionable item wins. When I say wins, I’m talking about a Froyo with unlimited toppings. Yeah, we’re not exactly big spenders here.
