“I did, and I meant every word.” He winks before turning his attention to the screen.
“It’s just Comedy Central in this place today,” I deadpan as I stand and make my way to the bar. I grab the bottle of tequila and a few glasses.
“It’s a little early for tequila, isn’t it?” Jace asks as he stands and walks over to the bar.
“It’s never too early for tequila. You gonna do a shot with your big sis?”
He chuckles as he stands beside me. “My big sister who’s almost a full foot shorter than me.”
“I’m not too short to kick your ass.”
“I thought being your favorite brother meant I was exempt from any ass-kicking.”
I pour two shots of tequila before sliding a glass to Jace. “You get a hall pass if you drink up.”
He picks the glass up, shaking his head with amusement. “And Dad thinks we corrupted you,” he says before throwing back his drink, his face twisting up with a sour face.
“I probably should have cut some limes up.” I chuckle before lifting my glass up and knocking it back.
Out of all my brothers, Jace is who I’m closest to. It’s probably because we’re just a year apart in age but mostly because we seem to have the most in common. We have the same eclectic taste in music, we’re both sensitive souls, and we’re complete book nerds. Well, when I say book nerds, he really is a book nerd and reads books of science and sci-fi, whereas I’m more a serial reader of romance and I prefer my books to have angst and hot sex.
We can also have a real conversation, not constantly goofing around like I do with the other three. Blake, Logan, and Nate are very protective of me, and I love them for it, but Jace gives me air to breathe. He knows I don’t need a knight in shining armor to come and save me. I’m independent, and I always have been. That’s why, when Teddy cheated on me, Jace was the only one who didn’t want to immediately head over to Teddy’s place with all guns blazing, wanting to rip him a new one. Instead, he came to mine with a pint of ice cream and a shoulder to cry on. Blake, Logan, and Nate run at the drop of a tear. They’re so emotionally unstable that it’s not even funny. The only thing they know how to do is get a woman into bed. I don’t think any one of them has been in a relationship longer than a week. I sometimes think they’re all too good-looking for their own good, and their charm is the reason they haven’t settled down yet. Charm and arrogance.
I mean, they’re all busy with their careers, which is great, but I’m starting to think I’ll never become an aunt. Although who knows? There could be many mini Blakes, Logans, and Nates roaming around the earth since all three of them are man-sluts. I’m waiting for the day when love finally knocks them on their asses because, eventually, that one girl is going to come along and flip their worlds upside down. And, when it does happen, I’ll be there on the front row with my bowl of popcorn to see how they deal with it because they’re zero equipped to deal with emotion.
Jace is very much the ladies’ man, too, but he’s classier about it. He doesn’t sleep with a chick and then not call her the next day when he promised he would. He’s what you would call a traditional romantic. He wants to find the one, but like me, he’s been unlucky in love so far.
I might be closest to Jace, but it’s not to say I don’t love my brothers equally; I do. I love them dearly; they’re my best friends, but they all serve different purposes in my life.
Like with Nate, I go to him when I want to goof around and have a beer. With Logan, I go to him when I want to laze around and watch football. With Blake, he’s my person to watch midnight horror films with and eat ridiculous, tasty food that is bad for you with. Then, there is Jace, who is my first person I go to when I’m upset or when I want to talk about real-life stuff. He’s also the only person who knows what happened when I was at the New York School of Ballet, the reason I left and returned home. He knows all my secrets, and I know all of his.
I love them individually, and I love them as a whole. There is probably nothing I wouldn’t do for them, and I would gladly take a bullet for them.
After having another shot of tequila with Jace, we return to where my dad is, and while we wait for the Cowboys to play, we sit and watch an old game from 1972 where the Cowboys won their first very Super Bowl against the Dolphins, whooping their asses with a 24–3 win. I have to say, it’s an impressive watch.
After the most amazing dinner and when my belly is the size of a six-month baby bump, we relax in the living room, and go through all the Thanksgiving episodes of Friends. We do it every year; it’s become somewhat of a tradition.
Mom and Dad are cozy on the love seat with their arms wrapped around each other. Jace and Blake take up all the space on the corner couch with me and Nate hogging the reclining section, and Logan is sitting on the rug in front of the fire.
We’re watching the episode “The One with All the Thanksgivings,” and Joey tells everyone he’s thankful for thongs. Logan snorts with laughter.
“I have to agree with Joey. The thong has to be the greatest invention, especially when it’s breezy.”
“Yeah, the greatest invention to a wedgie,” Nate argues and shakes his head. “They might be sexy as hell, but I don’t know how chicks wear them without constantly wanting to pull them out of their ass all the time. They can’t be comfortable.”
“Nah, you get used to them,” I pipe up, not looking away from the television as the opening credits roll, the sound of the Friend’s theme song coming into play. “Although I do prefer a G-string. It’s almost like you’re going commando.”
“Dude!” Blake exclaims with a twist of the face just as Nate and I clap along with the clapping section of the song, laughing while we do. “I can’t be picturing my sis in skimpy underwear; that’s just wrong.”
He pretends to gag, and I throw the cushion I have in my lap at his head.
“We should do what they’re doing and play the What’s Everyone Thankful For game,” I pipe up once the opening credits end. It’s not as if we need to watch the episode to know what’s happening since we’ve watched it a million times before.
I start with Mom first. “What are you thankful for?”
She smiles, her eyes twinkling with happiness. “Spending Thanksgiving with my babies. It’s not very often I get you all in the same room at the same time anymore.”
“Dad?” I prompt.
He squints thoughtfully for a moment. “Football and my kiddos.”
He winks, and I chuckle.
“I’m glad football’s a first priority.”
“Football was my firstborn, so naturally, I’m gonna love it a little more than the rest of you,” he jokes.
We all laugh when Mom smacks him across the stomach.
I eye Nate and playfully elbow him in the side. “Nate, what are you thankful for?”
He gives me a mischievous smile. “Porn mostly.”
I roll my eyes before turning my attention to Blake. “What about you?”
“Boobs. Definitely boobs,” he answers.
I refrain from rolling my eyes again as I look over to Logan.
“Logan, are you thankful for anything other than porn and boobs?”
He seems deep in thought for a moment before throwing me a megawatt smile. “I’m thankful for lesbian porn.”
My brothers burst out laughing while Mom and Dad chuckle under their breaths.
Jesus. How I’ve survived thirty-four years of being related to these idiots I have no idea.
I turn to Jace. “Care to weigh in?” I question with amusement.
He might be more on my level emotionally, but he’s still a dirty dog like the rest of my brothers.
He flashes me a smile. “Honestly, porn and boobs are pretty much what all men are thankful for—along with hot wings from Hooters.”
“Oh, man, they do the best hot wings!” Nate hollers with more enthusiasm than necessary for a chicken wing.
Weirdo.
“Really? The hot wings?” I ask, mind-bo
ggled. “So, you don’t go to Hooters for anything else, huh?”
“Well, obviously, the hot chicks are a bonus, but if we want to see half-naked ladies, we can go to a strip joint. Hooters is all about the wings,” Jace explains.
I pointedly glare at Dad, laughing with disbelief. “I think you’re right. They definitely corrupted me.”
“Told you, baby girl,” my dad tells me before taking a swig of his beer.
“It’s no wonder I can’t find a man when my generation of men equals these four idiots.” I point in the general vicinity of my brothers.
“Hey,” Nate argues. “You’d be lucky to get a guy like me.”
“Oh, yeah, an unemotional, unavailable bachelor whose idea of date night is Netflix and chill. Oh, sign me up. It’s what every girl wants.”
“The chicks never complain.” He waggles his eyebrows with a suggestive smile on his lips.
“You’re such a pig.” I chuckle.
“You say it like it’s a bad thing.”
“Trust me; it is. You know you can’t just sleep around for the rest of your life. One day, you’re all gonna have to grow up.”
“Um, Hugh Hefner did, and he had a pretty amazing life,” comes the response from Blake and I burst out laughing.
“So, that’s your life ambition—to turn into a playboy? And, FYI, Hugh Hefner got married three times, so even Mr. Playboy himself was in grown–up, committed relationships.”
“What kind of question is that?” Logan asks, throwing his head back with a laugh. “Every guy’s life ambition is to turn into a playboy and live in the Playboy mansion. If any guy says different, he’s a lying son of a bitch. God, I would have loved to have bought that mansion.”
“Yeah, ’cause you have a hundred mil lying around.”
“Shit, that place is worth a hundred million?” Logan chokes out.
I shrug. “Apparently so, according to some article I read.”
“Can you imagine what you could do with that kind of money?” Nate asks with wonder. “You could buy your own helicopter, have as many Ferraris as you wanted…”
My heart skips a beat at the mention of Ferraris while Nate continues to name materialistic shit you could buy with a one hundred million dollars. Today is the first time I’ve thought about Chase, and I wonder how he’s spending Thanksgiving. Is he alone, or does he have friends he can spend it with? I hope he isn’t alone, but the guy’s a former hockey player, so I can’t imagine he’s lacking in the friends department.
“Hey, you’re the only one who hasn’t said what you’re thankful for.” I blink through my thoughts after Jace speaks, and I let out a breathless laugh.
“Well, it’s hard to get a word in edgewise when you’re all talking about boobs and hot wings.”
He sniggers before straightening his face. “Okay, no more talk of boobs and hot wings. What are you thankful for then?”
I smile. “I’m thankful for you guys. Even though you drive me crazy, I couldn’t live without you.”
“Aw,” comes from both Logan and Jace, and Nate pulls me into him, smacking a wet kiss against my forehead.
“You’re my favorite sister, you know that?” Nate tells me.
I laugh, wrapping my arms around him. “I’m your only sister, dipshit.”
“I’m not sure. I always thought Blake had a vagina,” he quips, and I laugh.
“You’re a fucking asshole,” Blake argues.
That earns him a stern stare from Mom.
“You might be in your late twenties, but I won’t hesitate to spank your ass. Hotshot lawyer or not,” she warns.
Blake flushes pink while the rest of us almost wet ourselves with laughter.
Suddenly, Dad gets out of his seat. “That’s all the vagina and boob talk I can handle. I think it’s time for our next tradition. I’m getting the karaoke machine out.”
We hoot and holler while Dad heads down to the basement to dig it out. Then, for the rest of the night, we bring the roof down with our renditions of “Sweet Caroline,” “Sweet Home Alabama,” “Purple Rain,” and we even manage to get a little rap in there, too, with “The Real Slim Shady,” and “Ice Ice Baby.”
After applying the mascara to my eyelashes, the phone that’s blasting ’90s R & B comes to a halt as an incoming call comes through. I smile when I see it’s Jo. I answer, putting the call on speaker, so I can continue getting ready for the start of my birthday/wedding prep weekend.
“Hi, blondie. Have you set off already?” I ask.
“Um, no,” she begins, her voice croaky and weak. “I hate to do this, especially on your birthday, but Junior caught the stomach flu yesterday, and now, both Drew and I have it. Having only two bathrooms and three of us violently ill is a challenge, to say the least. I can hardly walk two feet without wanting to hurl, so there is no chance I can make the three-hour trip to Dallas.”
Disappointment circles in the pit of my stomach, but I push it aside. “Oh shit. I’m sorry you’re all so sick. Do you want me to drive to you and look after you guys?” I offer, feeling bad for them.
“No.” She heavily gulps before continuing, “You’ll only get sick, and that’s not how I want my best friend to spend her birthday. Just promise me you’re not going to sit and mope around.” The line suddenly goes quiet. Then, a few seconds later, she dry-heaves before rushing out a muffled, “Crap, I’m going to be sick again. I gotta go. I’ll speak to you later. I’m sor—”
The call ends abruptly, and I’m left staring at myself in the mirror, grimacing at the thought of my best friend being sick. Sadness grips me at all angles at not being able to spend the weekend with her. I know it’s not her fault, but I haven’t seen her in what feels like forever.
I didn’t even want to celebrate my birthday since I didn’t feel like I had anything to celebrate, and now that I won’t be spending it with my best friend, I’m back to not giving a shit. I don’t take Jo’s advice. Instead of changing into the jeans and cute sweater I was going to wear, I dress in a pair of sweatpants and a baggy hoodie, and I get back in bed with hours of Grey’s Anatomy ahead of me.
After I cry for, like, the millionth time, I press pause, rubbing at my puffy eyes. I forgot how emotionally draining Grey’s Anatomy is, and like an idiot, I didn’t come prepared. When I search my cupboards for a box of tissues, chocolate, and wine—the three must-haves when watching Grey’s Anatomy—I realize I don’t have any in the house.
Rookie mistake.
Stuffing my feet into a pair of UGG boots, I grab my purse and car keys before making my way toward the store to get the essentials I need to get me through the most pathetic birthday in the history of birthdays.
Pushing the cart around the store, I throw in things that make the inner fitness geek in me cringe, but I don’t stop as I grab wine, chocolate, ice cream, whipped cream, Cheetos, Fritos, and my favorite for any pity party, Twinkies. With my cart stacked with ingredients for the perfect heart attack, I make my way toward checkout. When I arrive at the checkout, I remember I forgot to grab a box of tissues. I turn quickly, and in my haste, I don’t realize someone is behind me until I plow into their cart, the sound of metal on metal crashing together making me wince.
“Shit, I’m so sorry,” I apologize as I look up to the person I just ran over with my cart.
But, when my eyes come into focus, my heart screeches to a startling stop as I find myself gazing up at Chase, looking as handsome and sexy as ever, sporting the casual look of jeans, a sweatshirt, and his incognito cap.
“Oh, hi,” I squeak, smoothing my hand down my hoodie as my heart takes off in my chest.
Then, I glance down at my appearance, and I flush crimson everywhere because no one I know was ever supposed to see me like this, especially Chase of all people. God, I didn’t even look over my appearance before I left, and considering how hard I had been crying earlier when Denny Duquette’s heart failed, I can only imagine how sexy I look with smeared mascara all over my face.
Fuck you, S
honda Rhimes.
If I do look awful, he doesn’t acknowledge it, only smiles at me as if he’s just won the lottery.
Jesus, why does he have to look at me like that?
My heart thuds violently in my chest, my breathing choppy.
“Hey.” He smiles and glances down at my cart before quizzically looking back at me, a smirk on his face. “Are you having some kind of junk-food party?”
I sheepishly look down at the shopping cart. “Um, more like a pity party. Today is probably the worst day for you to run into me.”
“Oh, are you on your…” He trails off, and my eyes double in size when I get what he’s trying to insinuate.
“No! Oh God, no.” Not for a few more weeks.
I sigh, chuckling despite myself. “I’m kind of having a stay in bed and cry my eyes out at every episode of Grey’s Anatomy kind of day.”
“Is this a girl thing I will never understand?”
“Pretty much. I must look hideous right now,” I say, looking down at my attire with pure embarrassment.
I’m not usually one to care about my appearance too much, but when the guy you haven’t been able to stop thinking about sees you at your very worst, it doesn’t bode well for your self-esteem.
He shakes his head, looking me up and down as if I were dressed in the finest lingerie, not sweatpants and a Dallas Fire-Rescue Department hoodie I stole from Nate that’s three sizes too big for me. “Hideous never even entered my mind. You look as beautiful as ever.”
And I melt into a puddle on the floor. “You’re not fair; do you know that?”
“What do you mean?”
“It’s my birthday, and you tell me I’m beautiful when both you and I know I look anything but. Plus, when I look like a cat dragged through a hedge backward, you’re as sexy as ever. No one should be as hot as you. It’s unfair.”
He gives me a disarming grin as he moves around his cart and steps in front of me. He lifts his hand to my face, and goose bumps erupt along every inch of my body at the mere touch of his warm thumb as he gently wipes just below my eye.
“Yes, you might have a little mascara just here, and, yes, you might be dressed like a hobo.”
My Forever (Our Forever Book 3) Page 7
