“You want to come back to my house?” the girl on my lap asks in a sexy, deep southern drawl.
Scanning my eyes over her, I take note of a pixie haircut with a rainbow of color through it.
Nose and lip piercings draw my attention, and I grin down at her.
“What else you got pierced?”
Her giggle is carefree and light.
“You’ll have to come find out.”
Slipping off my lap, she takes my hand, helping me to my feet and dragging me though the crowd.
I look over to see God disappearing through a side door with two women. Never simple with him. Everything he does is in excess.
“Where do you live?” I wrap an arm around the chick’s shoulder and lean down to nibble her earlobe.
We exit the room into a fresh breeze and more bodies partying in the streets.
“Just there,” she breathes, leaning into my lips. It’s then I realize we were in someone’s garage a few houses down from where this chick lives.
I don’t recognize this part of town, or how the fuck we got here, but that’s not unusual when you’re friends with God. It’s like he finds the seediest shitholes just to spite his father.
We topple through her front door, and she tosses a set of keys down before turning around to face me. She walks backwards, pulling me with her.
“You want a drink?”
Fuck yes.
“What you got?”
She bites her lips, pondering my question, then pushes me into a living room.
“Go make yourself comfortable. I’ll get us something.”
A large orange couch dominates the room, calling me to it. I shrug off my jacket and collapse down, laying my full length across the cushions. It’s itchy as shit, but I’m lacking the drive to move just yet.
The chick appears upside down above me a few seconds later, and I’m grateful I didn’t close my eyes. Robbie waits for me there, and its too painful.
“Vodka?” She grins, holding out a glass for me.
Shifting into a sitting position, I take the glass and down the contents, savoring the chase of fire down my throat.
“Whoa, slow down, stud.” She takes the empty glass and places it on the coffee table before sliding herself onto my lap.
She’s a petite little thing, wearing a pair of tiny jean shorts and a band tee.
Her small tits don’t offer even a handful, but the confidence dripping off her is hella sexy.
My cock stirs, and I try to blank out the voice whispering from the dark corners of my mind.
“Where were you, Rhett?”
When she notices my distracted state, she goes for my belt buckle, but I place a hand over hers, stopping her and moving her from my lap.
Large green eyes expand and her smile falters as I chip away at that confidence.
“Everything okay?” she asks, her voice meek. It makes me feel like a douchebag causing her to question herself.
“Yeah, everything’s real good. I just want to look at you.” I slide my hands beneath her top and draw it up over her body, tugging it over her head.
Pale skin decorated with color expands down her chest, ending at her tiny pink nipples that peak into little pebbles. Leaning up, I take one in my mouth, swirling my tongue over the bud, then sucking her entire tit into my mouth before releasing it with a loud pop.
I jerk open the buttons of her jean shorts and yank them down her legs.
She’s not wearing underwear and has a small patch of hair she colored pink.
What the fuck?
She grins at me. “Never had pink pussy before?”
A real laugh barks out of me, and I fall back amused. Damn, she’s refreshing.
Laying down, I tell her, “Sit that cute, pink pussy on my face, sweetheart.”
Raising her leg, she straddles my shoulders, her little tits lifting up and down with her heavy pants of anticipation.
I haven’t even touched her yet, but know she’s going to be a firecracker. I can already tell by her eager moans.
Just as she drops her hips and I flick my tongue up to meet her, the door opens and a scream rings out through the room.
The colorful chick scrambles to get up, toppling over and falling to the floor.
I look up to see who joined us, finding a blonde woman staring down at me with her mouth agape.
“What the hell?” she breathes. She looks familiar, but I can’t place her in my intoxicated state.
“Nicky, what the hell are you doing?” the woman asks, directing the question to my little rainbow friend.
Nicky?
“Do you know who this is?” She points a finger at me.
Wait, me, what?
“I met him tonight. Why, who is he?” my girl, Nicky asks, grabbing at her clothes and pulling them on.
“That’s Mr. Masters son,” the blonde informs her.
Mr. Masters? I snort a laugh, and my head spins, the vodka doing its job.
“The boss you were boning?” Colorful girl, erm …Nicky! Squints.
Hold up, what did she say?
“What?” I ask through the haze of alcohol, making my lips form the question tugging at my brain.
“The boss who fired me after his wife caught him fucking me, yes,” she snaps, flipping on a light switch, flooding the room in bright white.
Fuck.
It takes a few beats for my eyes to adjust, but seeing her in the light, I do recognize her from Dad’s office. Melissa something or other. God, and I just called her fat lips because she has the biggest lips I’ve ever seen.
She’s sexy as hell, older than me, but still young and fuckable.
Shit, I have a one tracked mind, what did she just say?
“Get out. And tell your father I’m filing a lawsuit for wrongful dismissal.”
Snorting, I drag my ass to my feet and saunter past her.
“Tell him yourself, sweetheart. I ain’t telling that prick shit.”
“Hey, he doesn’t have to go. It isn’t his fault his dad’s a dick.”
“Nicky!” the blonde growls.
“It’s fine. I’ve lost my appetite anyway.” A smirk tugs up my lips as I wave goodbye.
I don’t know where the fuck I am, but I start walking, letting the knowledge sink in that my dad’s a cheating piece of shit and my poor mother knew.
Shit, not only knew, but caught him in the act.
No wonder she left us. We both failed her.
Waking up on the front lawn just outside the gates of our house, I groan at the headache forming in my skull and the fact that I’m fucking shoeless.
What the hell?
I don’t even remember getting back here.
I force myself to my feet, every muscle in my body protesting the movement. I’m a sweaty mess with drool down my chin.
Sensing eyes on me, I take a quick look around, then blow on my hands to remove the debris from them before waving to our neighbor across the street out collecting his newspaper.
“Morning, Mr. Denzel,” I rasp at the old fossil.
He looks over at me, a frown marring his wrinkled face.
“You’ve been there since I woke at four a.m.,” he croaks.
Damn. Fucker could have tossed a sheet on me or woke me up. I could have been eaten by wildlife.
The walk up the drive feels like the green mile, my bones mimicking those of an eighty-year-old.
The front door is open when I test the handle, and the chill from the AC blasts over my skin, stinging my flesh. I’m going to need a shower to clean the sticky dew off my skin.
I move through the foyer and come to a halt when I see my dad sitting at the breakfast bar in the kitchen. His head is in his hands as he looks down at what looks like paperwork.
Sensing he’s not alone, he looks up through his lashes at me standing in the doorway.
His brows pinch together, and he exhales a ragged breath.
“You look like shit. Where the fuck have you been?” He picks up a glass of what looks like freshly squeezed orange juice and takes a hearty gulp.
My mouth waters at the sight of it. I need some of that.
“Out.”
He grits his teeth, his jaw ticking with annoyance.
Placing a hand on the papers in front of him, he slides them across the counter in the direction of where I’m standing.
“Your mother wants a divorce.”
He says divorce like it’s a curse word, beneath him.
“Robbie’s death ruined us,” he adds, and a ghost hand slides up my spine, making me shiver.
Anger, raw and volatile, burns inside me.
“Or could be the bitch she caught you fucking?” I grunt. His mouth gapes as I turn and take the stairs two at a time.
I need a shower and to get out of here.
I scoop mash on to my plate, then look over to a bored looking God, who’s checking his cell phone, ignoring his father talking to him.
“Once a month, I ask for dinner,” Mr. Goddard aka Four scoffs.
“I’m here, aren’t I?” God grins over the top of his cell phone.
Rolling his eyes, Four turns his attention to me. There’s this air about him that makes my back straighten.
He holds an authority in his posture alone, and his tone commands the room. Despite being a huge-ass motherfucker who weighs in at three-hundred-plus pounds and can barely move, there’s something about him that demands respect. I think they call it money.
“Tell me, Rhett, how is your mother?” he asks before sucking the meat off his chicken bone. Grease slides down one of his chins, and I suppress a shudder.
Fuck. I didn’t know he was going to ask me that, and it throws me off.
Gathering my thoughts, I lay my fork down and wipe my mouth with a napkin.
“We don’t speak much, sir. But I hope she’s well.”
Scowl lines crease his forehead, and he leans back in his seat, the creak loud as it protests against his weight.
“I’m sorry to hear that. I bumped into her while I was in New York on business. She seems well. Considering everything she’s been through.”
Stab to my gut.
“She mentioned college. You’ve decided to go into law?” He sips straight whiskey from a glass, and smiles over at me.