Total pages in book: 212
Estimated words: 207966 (not accurate)
Estimated Reading Time in minutes: 1040(@200wpm)___ 832(@250wpm)___ 693(@300wpm)
Estimated words: 207966 (not accurate)
Estimated Reading Time in minutes: 1040(@200wpm)___ 832(@250wpm)___ 693(@300wpm)
“Course you can. That’s what you did until you found me, right?”
“You sayin’ I’m a slut?”
“Christ, woman, you know what I mean,” Archer muttered. “It’s a biker thing.”
“A sexist thing. A fuckin’ hypocritical thing. Sounds like you think certain girls aren’t worthy of a man’s affection beyond a quick romp. Would that include exotic dancers? What are we doin’ here, then, babe?”
“Fuck me,” he muttered.
“Maybe Marmalade’ll let you share her bed tonight,” I razzed, gesturing to the doghouse in the back yard that was set up for Lady Marmalade, their Great Dane.
My ma continued glaring at him with her hands on her hips.
“My baby boy doesn’t have double standards like that. If he loves someone, he loves them regardless of their past. What matters most is who they are now along with who they’ll be in the future.”
“Sounds like a pep talk,” Archer muttered, gesturing to me.
“Does, doesn’t it?” I replied, lighting a smoke.
“It workin’?” Ma asked.
I didn’t answer.
Gianna giggled again from her spot on the porch. Marmalade had wandered over and Gianna was scratching her behind the ears with a look on her face that said she loved dogs.
She looked relaxed. These girls were probably more her speed than the girlfriends at the clubhouse. Likely these dancers were like the club bunnies, not stressing that every other bitch around was out to take their man or the spotlight. Girls like Sara and Marlena looked down their noses at the sweet butts, probably mostly out of insecurity, worry their man would stray.
Ma leaned closer to me. “She can have the room you used to sleep in. The other bedroom’s full of Arch’s junk that I hid for the day since we had company comin’. He needs to clean it out before next weekend when we have the girls again, so how about you crash on the couch?”
“I need to keep an eye on her, Ma. We’ll both sleep in there.”
Archer nudged my side with his elbow while a smile split across my mother’s face.
“Mm hm,” came from Arch.
“With that couch in the room, too, plenty of room for you both,” she said, “But the couch isn’t great for an adult so maybe you should share the bed.”
“The couch’ll suffice,” I said.
Ma snickered.
***
“How is it?” Ma asked her eagerly.
“It’s so good!” Gianna exclaimed around a mouthful of food, hand covering her mouth.
“Which one’s better? The deep-fried turkey or the roasted?” Archer asked.
The four of us were at one of the five tables in the yard.
Gianna lifted a finger while she finished what was in her mouth, then spoke, “I like ‘em both. Different but both really good.”
“My stuffing the best you’ve ever tasted or what?” Ma asked.
“For real,” Gianna said, eyes going big as she rubbed her stomach.
Ma shimmied her shoulders with pride. “After dinner there’s a pie-off,” she advised. “We’ll see which gets the most votes. Between Eliza’s apple pie and Summer’s.”
A kid sitting on the deck stairs wailed after his dinner toppled down the steps onto the lawn, so Ma dashed over to save the day.
One of the neighbors at the next table pulled Archer into a conversation.
Gianna took a sip of her beer and then forked up a bite of stuffing. She chewed, swallowed, and then made a sound… a sound dangerously close to the sound a woman makes when I bottom out inside her pussy. In that husky voice of hers it was potent. And then she licked her fork. Slowly. Like she was starring in a Whitesnake video.
Our eyes met. My cock twitched.
And then something dawned. “Didn’t you say you were allergic to bread?” I leaned in to ask.
“Shh,” Gianna whispered. “It’s okay.”
I looked at her plate. She’d eaten stuffing. Ma heaped a pile of it on her plate. And she’d taken a bite of a dinner roll. Plus the whole plate was swimming with gravy and I knew Ma’s secret gravy thickener was biscuit mix. No way was it the gluten-free kind.
“Huh? Are you fuckin' kidding me, woman?”
“Shh.” Gianna squeezed my thigh. “It’s okay.”
“Are you or aren’t you allergic to gluten?”
“I am.”
“G…”
She waved her hand and dabbed her mouth with a napkin. “It’s okay.”
“What happens if you eat bread?”
She took a bite of turkey smothered in gravy. I grabbed her plastic fork. "Stop eating that and answer me."
She sighed dramatically.
“Talk,” I ordered.
“Stomachache. Bloating. Kinda flu-like. Brain fog. Some stuff that's… too TMI to talk about.” She grimaced.
“Go to the can and make yourself puke.” I pointed at the house.
She looked at me with surprise.
“Hurry. Don’t go makin’ yourself sick to spare my mother’s feelings. Fuck sakes.” I threw the fork down.
She stared at me instead of getting up and doing what she was told.
“Go on. Go.”
“I can’t do that."
“Can’t do what?” I clipped.
“Make myself puke.”
"It won't hurt Ma's feelings if you can't eat the food, G. You're allergic, not a fuckin' fussy eater."