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“What? I am not soft.” “Dude, you let your three-year-old paint your nails last week and then forgot to take it off and wore it to practice,” she says, walking backward. “I didn’t forget to take it off. I started to, and Amy was sad—” I stop when I see her face. “All right, fine. I’m a giant fucking vagina. Happy?”
“He looks like me when I see your boobies,” Logan drawls, waving his fork toward Clyde, who sits on the floor next to us, staring at our food as drool pours from his jowls.
“My kid’s pretty damn lucky, huh?” Smiling up at me, she nods. “She is. She has Logan Sterns as a dad.” “Aw, look at you, being all sweet,” I drawl before bringing my lips closer to her ear. “Must be because we’re headed home and you’re in need of a trip to good ol’ pound town.” She rolls her eyes and looks up at me, amused. “What about Margie? I thought your love burned deep. Perhaps you’d like to take her home instead.” I gag, shivering. “I love you, Boston, but please … don’t talk about Marg that way. She has dentures. And smells of … Nana.”
“There’s that pretty smile I love so much,” Logan drawls sweetly, walking into the kitchen and kissing my cheek. “What’s got you so happy? I haven’t even shown you my wiener yet since we got home.”
My entire life, I’ve never given a shit about a relationship. In my eyes, that meant someone was holding me down. She could tie me down with fucking barbed wire, and I’d thank her.
