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“Oh, is that little Peter?” Leave it to Rhett to ruin my dog’s name. Little Peter does distinctly sound like a penis. But I’m not about to tell my mom th— “God. Every time I say that dog’s name, I think of a dick.”
“Take that coffee and go run yourself a bath. Close the door. Put some music on. Watch some porn. Go have a moment to yourse—” I bark out a laugh. “You did not just tell me that. In front of a young, impressionable mind, no less.”
I nod back and head to the bathroom to cry in my bath. And maybe watch some porn.
“I could fucking bury whoever made you believe you’re as unlovable as you seem to think.”
“Oh, my bad. I didn’t realize you were with someone.” His eyes slice over to mine, busting me. Again. “I’m not. Yet.”
Luke, all of seven years old, scoffs before saying, “Yeah, Dad will lose it if you say ‘fucking like bunnies’ in front of me again.” His eyes go round as saucers, and he slaps a small hand over his mouth like he might be able to shove the words back in. Cade’s chair screeches as he shoots up to standing. “Lucas Eaton, outside. Now.”
“Watch your fucking tone when you’re talking to the mother of my child.”
Theo: It’s not my fault I’m so fertile that no barrier can stop me. Julia: Gross. You’re my brother. That’s the line. Mom: Play stupid games, win stupid prizes.
“I say lots of stupid stuff.” She focuses on me now. “Well, that’s true. I think you barked at me once.”
