Preservation (The Walshes, #7)

by Kate Canterbary

I couldn't deal with that kind of shambles this morning.

Erin, the baby of the family and the only one who didn't work at the firm, had schooled me in the ways of not giving a fuck—while actually giving all the fucks—from an early age.

A lot of people gave my oldest brother shit. He deserved it. But no one gave it with Andy's unflinching ease. It was beautiful.

As long as she wasn't eating yogurt next to me, I'd share all of my snacks with her. I fucking detested yogurt. I mean, what exactly was that shit?

Getting slapped in the face with coupledom's dick wasn't my idea of a good time.

Certain things could only be enjoyed to their fullest in certain situations: sandwiches on the beach, popcorn at the movies, and beer at the ballpark.

"What d'you say? There's a bakery on Smith Street that has some of the best zeppoles." "That's just another form of donut, Walsh," she yelled. "My ass doesn't need donuts."

Before I could reply, she was shooting out of her seat and shouting at the umpire to get the dirt out of his eyes and make a decent call for once in his life. She peppered it with enough profanity to make the first baseman turn and stare at her, open-mouthed. "Well done, bro," I said as she sat down.

This is when I really started falling hard for GiGi - so excited she has her own story now! #goreadthemagnoliachronicles

The trouble with early afternoon games and day drinking was that I was thirty fucking years old and my body wasn't capable of sustaining twelve hours of drunkenness anymore.

"Why the fuck was that necessary?" I yelled at the cool, empty room. "I thought we were motherfucking friends. I was restoring your foundation, not selling you off for salvage, and this is how you repay me? Stabbing me in the fucking spine?"

"Just for that, I'm gonna paint your front door hot pink, you fucker.

I needed a minute. Just a minute before I turned to complete shambles.

"Yeah, you know that medicine isn't a parlor trick, right?" he asked. "Just because I can perform a craniotomy in a tent doesn't mean it's my go-to approach."

Oh Nick, you're the best.

Mmmm, panties. Fuckin' loved panties.

I hadn't even gotten face to face with this chick yet, and all I could think was Is there anything you don't know? She was straight out of the Tracy Flick and Hermione Granger School for Smarty Pantsing.

Alex Emmerling was disarming. Even her hand washing was terrifyingly competent.

She was long on that salty attitude, her presence punching far above her weight class. It made up for everything she lacked in height.

She exhaled again, and tossed a growl in with it. I liked a girl who growled.

Erin shook her head. "Women are always getting punished for having sex. It's the worst." "It wasn't even good sex," Alex groused. "Now that's the worst," Erin replied.

And she was staring at my ass, her mouth open and her hand pressed to her throat like she was trying to clutch a strand of pearls or something.

I was in a slammy-bangy-yelly mood. There were a lot of people on my short list for a throat punch today.

"And friends tell friends to pull up their damn pants."

Me and my man-lust. Forever causing problems.

Women who didn't put their faces on were as befuddling to my mother as suicide bombers.

But I didn't live to contradict my mother. There was nothing wonderful about gradually discovering that we had little in common, and then struggling through years of trying to bend each other to different angles.

Even tired and irritable, and ordering me to eat his pretzels and drink his beer, he was hot as fuck.

I wasn't ready to let myself feel things yet. Feeling things was fucking scary.

Alex: Why are you so demanding? Riley: The penis, mostly. Riley: It really gets in the way.

I loved my nephew to pieces but a small part of me would shatter if he decided to use one of my early edition X-Men as a chew toy.

Talking with her felt easy, which probably had something to do with us both sailing the high seas of shambles.

I resisted every urge to twine my fingers around the silver necklaces at my throat. It was too early for full-on pearl clutching.

Fabulous was inadequate. Alex's ass was meant to be squeezed, spanked, licked, bitten. Fucked. That I'd managed to speak to a white-haired lady who seemed irrationally protective of her gin and tonic while touching that ass was proof of the higher powers.

Beer. Soul food for sad fools.

I was going to apologize for making it weird tonight but you're winning at the weird game now.

I loved Dorothy because she ran away from home and started over somewhere new and wonderful, and she did it in kickass shoes.

I couldn't tell whether this morning's cold-pressed creation was a blend of carrot or beet juice, and I wasn't asking. That shit horrified me. It was right up there with yogurt.

When my time comes, can it come with Tom Hardy? Can someone pass that along to Nick and Erin, please? We'll be The Toms and it will be precious.

I want Tom's story!!

Giving a shit about people. It was the only way to stay a step above the douche waffles of the world.

Being around her was like my favorite flannel pajama pants—easy and comfortable, and roomy enough for unexpected erections.

I wasn't miserable when I was with Alex. Maybe it was time to capitalize on that.

For what it's worth, I'm not embarrassed to admit that I think a dude is hot. If Brad Pitt ever wanted to take a run at me, I'd let him.

No snacks. I can't really eat a granola bar over an open abdominal cavity.

This degree of indulgence would've had my mother tsking "A moment on the lips, forever on the hips." The only indulgence she allowed herself was fat-free yogurt that claimed to be cherry cheesecake flavored but tasted like a scented marker.

We were affectionate like an intramural softball team. Sloppy and a little silly, and with no real purpose beyond our own amusement.

He smiled with one of those you don't have to get so worked up, Honeybee grins.

"And just so you know, it only looks like I have a lot going for me. I've got a lot of shambles here too."

I want to love something, someplace, for what it is. And I don't ever want to force myself to love anything, or force anyone to love me."

Something about this one-punch-after-another week reminded me of those loyalty club cards where you get a stamp every time you bought a sandwich. But instead of getting delicious sandwiches, I got a week's worth of bullshit and douche water,

The crazy old cooter trusted men and women to get on their knees and pray the way that suited them. To colonial sensibilities, that meant this region was a hotbed of unchecked, unprincipled living.

Alex swallowed thickly as she ran her palm down the length of my tie. She stopped at my belt buckle, and there was real comedy in the way Dorrance's gaze widened when she noticed Alex's hand a couple of inches from my cock. I didn't believe I'd been on the receiving end of such an overt show of possession in my entire life.