Total pages in book: 115
Estimated words: 110454 (not accurate)
Estimated Reading Time in minutes: 552(@200wpm)___ 442(@250wpm)___ 368(@300wpm)
Estimated words: 110454 (not accurate)
Estimated Reading Time in minutes: 552(@200wpm)___ 442(@250wpm)___ 368(@300wpm)
Frankly, I don’t know if it’s a logistical delay or if she’s not getting enough satisfaction from me anymore…
Psh. It can’t be that.
I saw how she looked when she came on my cock in the Plaza bathroom, and it wasn’t the look of a woman who was thinking about how long it was going to take to finish her laundry when she got to it later.
Ha. Yeah. She definitely wants more of the fun I can offer.
I unlock the screen of my phone to double-check my ongoing chat with her just to make sure I didn’t miss a text, but all that’s there are the mocking words of her alter ego, Sophie, Team Mom.
Just the thought of that night, the one where I made the snap decision—right before I buried my face in her delicious pussy—to ask her to open up her schedule for a trip makes me smile.
Damn. That was a good fucking night.
If only she’d say yes to leaving town tonight, I could show her more good nights.
“You think Mr. Important over there is going to put his phone down for five fucking seconds to enjoy dinner with us?”
“Ty! Language!” my mom chastises with a click of her tongue. I look up to see my brother staring at me with a smug-as-fuck grin on his face, unfazed by the halfhearted snap from our mom. The truth is, we’ve been cursing up and down the streets of Manhattan for too damn long to be stopped. My mom knows. Everyone knows. But it’s part of a mother’s obligation to keep trying to turn us into decent humans, no matter how far down the path of being scumbags we may be.
“Sorry, Mom, but I think we can all agree that Jude is being a real rude prick right now.”
“I make a point never to agree with Ty on anything,” Remy chimes in, “but I’m pretty sure Jude knows that cell phones are not allowed at Wendy’s table. By doing it anyway, he is, in fact, acting like a prick.”
“Do you mean he’s a prick because he’s a penis or because he’s a man regarded as stupid, unpleasant, or contemptible?” Lexi asks around a mouthful of spaghetti. “Because I’ve seen both in Webster’s.”
The whole table nearly combusts, the laughter is so raucous, and Ty nods so hard, I think his head might fly off.
“I definitely mean he’s a penis. Definitely.”
“Ty!” Winnie chastises through her teeth, her cheeks heating to a rosy pink of embarrassment at having to deal with this shit.
“Though, by these terms, this would make Uncle Ty a penis as well, since he used his phone during family dinner too, two months and three weeks ago. We were eating tacos, and he kept checking his phone to get an update on a boxing match.”
Her commentary makes Flynn chuckle. “I think our little genius has your number, bro.”
Ty just rolls his eyes and forks a bite full of lasagna into his mouth. Winnie’s head is in her hands, and she’s given up on trying to get this whole thing reined in. But my mother has now moved her focus to me.
“Jude, you know the family dinner rules,” she says and showcases her infamous mom look at me. You know, the same look every mother uses to instill the fear of God in their children so that they can keep them in line, even when they’re rowdy, nearly uncontrollable teenagers.
“You know what, Mom? This is the best lasagna and spaghetti I’ve ever had. You’ve truly outdone yourself,” I announce, and she shakes her head on a snort.
“Don’t try to butter my biscuit to get yourself out of trouble,” she retorts. “And considering your plate is still empty, that tells me you’re full of shit right now.”
I glance down at my plate to find it is, in fact, still empty. Whoops.
“Mom just said shit at the dinner table!” Ty teases, and our mother scratches the side of her face with her middle finger.
“Mind your business, Ty.”
Wes, Winnie, Flynn, and Remy all laugh at the rare sight of Wendy flipping someone off, and I use the distraction to check the screen of my phone again. The dinner is now in pandemonium thanks to me, but I feel no shame. A man will use any means necessary for sex; it’s a scientific fact.
Still, nothing.
“All right, Jude,” Remy comments. “Why are you checking your phone like Ty when he’s waiting to hear back from one of his hippie vegan friends about a clown party?”
Ty glares.
I chuckle at Ty’s glare, and then, knowing I’m not going to be able to slither out from under Rem’s radar, I shrug. “It’s just work stuff, bro.”
There is no way in hell I’m going to tell him what it really is. Especially since my sister would read into shit and try to make it sound like it’s something more. Lord knows, she’d be chomping at the bit over the idea of me bringing a woman on a work trip. Probably start rambling on about relationships and love shit again like she did last summer at our Fourth of July getaway at Uncle Brad and Aunt Paula’s lake house.