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These clowns’ need for a chaperone is so real it’s nearly violent.
Gwen: How is Vegas, darling? I’ve known Gwendolyn Ross since I was a fifteen-year-old lifer in the foster care system and she took me in. She’s pretty much the only family I have, but she’s more of a best friend than a mother figure. Still, I’m not entirely sure where I’d be without her. Me: It’s fabulous. How’s your Saturday going?
I wait there, shaking and quivering as I cling to this stranger’s back like an uninvited monkey. He seems paused in time, a boot to the ground to hold the bike steady, and his stormy blue eyes fixate on me over his shoulder.
His blue eyes are calm, kind even,
Hell, I never even date, so there’s no American man in the picture who would be willing to make some kind of marry-me-to-save-my-ass-from-deportation pact. Basically, I’m just waiting for ICE to come take me away in handcuffs and put me on a plane back to Vancouver.”
“Fuck it. I’ll make that pact.” “Huh?” “I’ll marry you.” I whip my head toward him violently, so much so that a pop in a tendon of my neck makes stars flash on the surface of my eyes. Still, the beginning stages of an aneurysm or stroke or whatever can wait. “I’m sorry, what?”
“Winslow,” he says, and I quirk a brow. “My last name.” Winslow. Flynn Winslow, I silently recite his name. Welp, at least it actually goes with Daisy and doesn’t put you in a Julia Gulia situation… “Right. Next stop…Mr. and Mrs. Winslow.”
I also want to laugh at his absurdity, but I step into the fray and place a soft hand on Daisy’s back that nearly makes her jerk several joints out of their sockets trying to contort to see it. “Actually, we’ll take the one with the flowers and the cake.” Daisy’s big green eyes meet mine. “What?”
“Okay. Okay,” she repeats to herself, spinning in the world’s tiniest circle. “Everything is fine. This is no big deal. People do crazy things like this all the time for far less rational reasons, and I’m just…taking care of business. Handling my shit. Making life my bitch. I can do this.”
Whipping out my virtual UNO reverse card,
“So, I’m thinking the only way to make that happen is to fuck the anxiety right out of you.” Time halts and my ears bleed—and my soul? Well, I’m pretty sure it just up and leaves my body.
Truthfully, I’ve been bored—unexcited—and if there’s one thing about me that’s absolute, it’s that I don’t ever do anything with the intention of going through the motions. Sex without pleasure, words without meaning, friendship without life enrichment—it’s all frivolous. I don’t need pointless fucking, and I don’t need pointless people. Period.
“I’m going to tongue you so deep, I’ll remember the taste of you every time I eat in this kitchen.”
Her words hit like a buzz, sending my mind into a tailspin of naughty—really fucking dirty thoughts. If she wants to know what I feel like, I’m going to make sure her pussy walls remember every goddamn stroke like I’ve written them in braille.
honest. I thought I was going to die in the bathroom. See Ty Winslow at his eternal resting place, kind of thing.”
I’ve officially cleaned out the cobwebs from the inside of my vagina, and I’ll have a story to tell my future grandkids one day that will officially make me the favorite grandma. All is well.
“It’s a little weird that we got married by a drag queen Marilyn Monroe, but I have the marriage certificate and I’m pretty sure it’s legal, so that’s all that matters, right?”
And, just for future tax purposes, I’m going to go ahead and add the important disclaimer that I, Flynn Winslow, think the IRS is wonderful and love paying taxes.
“You mind moving so I can sit beside my wife?”
When she asked me which jeweler, I pretended to have a coughing attack and told her I have a history of asthma—which I don’t! But I do have a growing web of lies with your family!”
Truth is, I’m starting to think certain parts of me might never forget Daisy.
This Daisy—my Daisy—tastes better than any fucking flower smells.
Forget the dumb stove and spank me with your penis! Okay…that was weird.
You could spend forever having weekends like this with her, and it still wouldn’t feel like enough.
Um…excuse me? Hello? Please, sir, I’d like some more.
“I know that look. I’ve felt that look. You love her. You’re in love with her.”
“Yeah, Rem. I love her.”
“I don’t want you to leave, Daisy. I want you to stay and make a real go of this with me. And quite frankly, I think you owe me the chance to try.”
Well, fuck, Dais. You could’ve, maybe, kept the finger guns holstered.
“Says the woman who kept shooting fucking finger guns at the immigration agent.” “I didn’t know what to do with my hands!” She giggles some more, and it’s the best sound I’ve ever heard in my life. “Fuck, baby, once you started smiling like you were trying to get your mouth to reach your damn hairline, I knew I had to do whatever I could to get you out of there.”
