Chapter Twelve
Vince
The waitress stands at our table, tapping her foot impatiently as Carly ponders the milkshake choices like her life depends on it.
“You can do this,” Laurel coaches her, hunched over her own menu. “We have it narrowed down to three. You’ve been training for this your whole life.”
“I feel like I should get candy cane. Am I a bad person if I don’t get candy cane? I mean, it’s almost Christmas.”
Laurel nods, like this is a reasonable question. “It is the only one of the choices available for a limited time. That might make the most sense.”
Carly nods solemnly, turning her attention to the waitress. “I think we’ll go with the candy cane milkshake.”
The waitress jots it down on her order pad. “And for you?” she asks me.
“I’m good with the water,” I tell her, indicating the water she already delivered. She nods her head and walks away, looking more annoyed than I would expect, even given Carly’s milkshake debate.
Carly grabs her water, sipping it through the straw and looking over at Laurel. “She hated me when I worked here. Really wish we had a different waitress.”
I lean forward on the table, peering across at Carly. “This is the restaurant you worked at?”
“Yep, this is the place.”
Laurel shakes her head, stirring the ice in her cup with her straw. “I can’t believe they fired you. Their loss.”
“Totally their loss,” Carly agrees, nodding. “I mean, I was late like four times, so I may have fired me, too. But still.”
Laurel thrusts a fist in the air. “Damn the man.”
“The owner is actually pretty nice,” Carly says, fairly.
“Um, not if they fired my sister. Anyone who fires my sister is a stupid numbskull who needs a stern talking to about the value of their employees. Let me at ‘em, I say.”
“I didn’t even like the job that much,” Carly states.
“That’s not the point. Give me fifteen minutes with the person who fired you. I can either talk them out of their wrong decision, or just use a bunch of words they won’t understand until they think they’ve changed their mind. Either way, you get your job back.”
Carly wrinkles up her nose and pokes at her ice. “I really don’t want it back. Vince works a weird schedule, so if I had to work a different schedule I would have much less time to pester him.”
Laurel rolls her eyes. “Oh, my lord. Aren’t you the one who always tells me I’m not allowed to even consider men when making life decisions?”
“Well, yes,” Carly drawls. “But I meant regarding things that matter, not a lame job serving $4 burgers at a diner in Connecticut. Like, if NASA offers you a job but Bobby Joe wants you to stay in Chicago and make him sandwiches, obviously you abandon Bobby Joe and take the job with NASA.”
“Bobby Joe? Maybe we should discuss why I’m dating a man with two first names.”
“He’s really good with his tongue.”
Laurel cocks her head in consideration. “All right, that helps a little.”
“Yeah, he’s super hot. But he hates NASA. Thinks global warming is a lie. Thinks outer space is fake—the footage you’ve seen is all done on a green screen. He thinks the earth is flat, actually. His argument is that otherwise, we would all just slide right off.” Carly shakes her head. “I’d make fun of him at Christmas dinner, but he doesn’t let you come anymore. Wants to stay home and watch baseball while you rub his feet and tend to his eight children by other women.”
Laurel narrows her eyes. “I feel like there’s no tongue adequately skilled to explain why I’m with this person. Also, I believe baseball season ends before Christmas.”
“It does,” I offer, since at least that, I can remark on.
“Bobby Joe watches a special league that plays year round. But at least he has a really interesting job. He runs cock fights at an underground arena. Don’t worry, though. He’s saving up to buy a new car. Something practical, like a red Camaro.”
“We’ll certainly be able to fit his eight children in one of those.”
“He has one on the way, too. One night he made a lot of money at his cock fighting job and partied it up with a hooker. He was really sorry, though. He brought you home an ice cream sandwich as an apology present. That’s also what he got you for your last anniversary.”
Laurel slams her hands down on the tabletop. “That’s it. I can’t handle it. I need to break up with Bobby Joe.”
Carly nods her head. “That’s what I’m saying. Vibrators exist for a reason, and that reason is so that no woman ever has to date Bobby Joe.”
I shake my head, pulling out my phone to check the time. “You two are weird.”
Carly flashes me a grin. “I should have warned you more adequately, huh?”
“So, what do you do, Vince?” Laurel asks, launching her investigation into whether or not I’m good enough for her big sister.
“Work at a bar,” I inform her. “Is that above or below running cock fights on your scales of suitability?”
“Definitely above,” Carly offers, then continues to explain, “Vince is going to own his own bar someday. Wild Aces.”
“Oh yeah? That’s awesome.”
“I’m pretty much convinced the earth is round, too,” I add.
Laurel nods. “I’m glad. I’m a student of science, so I would be sad if Carly fell in love with a Bobby Joe. No illegitimate kids running around out there? Do you own a red Camaro?”
I smirk. “Nope, no kids. No Camaro.”
“And you’re nice to my sister? I know we just woke you up earlier and Carly said you’re crabby when you first wake up, but I would have to kick your ass if you were mean to my sister. My sister is wonderful and you’re lucky to have her.”
She’s dead serious when she delivers that last part. Even though she’s younger than me, pleasant, and 100lbs soaking wet, I understand she means business. I sit up and give her a nod of understanding. “I know I am. I’ll be nice to your sister.”
Laurel grins. “Good.”
“Is there a specific reason you ladies are so hard on guys with red Camaros?”
Laurel’s smile slips and she rolls her eyes. “Car guys just always suck. Carly dated a couple and they were complete douches. Personally, I’ve only dipped my toe in the car guy waters. I went on a single, amazing date with this really funny, sexy, cool guy—or, I thought he was really cool—and about halfway through dinner he went cold for seemingly no reason and took me home. Never heard from him again. He picked me up in a red Camaro, so now the red Camaro is our evil bastard car of choice.”
I smile faintly. “My cousin has a red Camaro. Has a couple other sports cars, too. Good thing you’ll never meet him; I guess you wouldn’t get along.”
“The polyamorous one? In the interest of academic research, I could set aside my feelings about that and interview him. I mean, converse with him,” she adds, smiling slyly.
I shake my head. “Nah, not that one. Alec. Different cousin.”
Laurel frowns.
“Oh, my god, I’m so hungry,” Carly complains, looking over at the counter the waitress disappeared behind. “We should have ordered food to go with the milkshakes. Do you think it’s too late to add on? I kinda want mozzarella sticks.” Barely taking a breath, her eyes widen and she nudged Laurel. “Hey, should we give Vince the present we bought him when we get home, or should we wait until tomorrow to brighten his day?”
“How are you hungry? You just ate almost an entire tub of popcorn,” I remind her.
Now she gives me one of her cute little sultry smiles. “What can I say? I’m insatiable.”
I shake my head at her. “Don’t tease me; I’ve had enough of your shenanigans today.”
“I think we should wait on the present,” Laurel decides. “If he’s had enough of your shenanigans already, the present isn’t going to help.”
“Is this a torture present?” I ask.
Carly shakes her head, innocent as a lamb. “Of course not. It’s a wonderful present. It’s an invitation to take part in one of our beloved family traditions—and it has inside joke value. It’s the perfect present. A super present, if you will.”
“You didn’t get me the whole series of Smallville or something, did you? I don’t want that in my apartment. What if someone sees?”
Grinning, Carly grabs her water and takes a sip, meeting my gaze as those perfect lips of hers close around the straw. I would think I’m just being a perv, letting my mind wander to other things I’d like to see her put her lips around, but then her foot slides up my leg and her blue eyes gleam with mischief.
I narrow my eyes, reaching under the table and blocking my crotch. “Hey, if I have to be nice to you, you have to be nice to me. No torture in public.”
Carly rolls her eyes. “I’m always nice to you.”
My eyebrows rise, memories of her hand on my cock earlier as she threatened to fuck someone else if I failed to live up to her boyfriend expectations—when I didn’t even fucking agree to be her boyfriend to begin with. “Bullshit. Tell that to Mr. Ink Muscles.”
“I don’t plan to see Mr. Ink Muscles, so I won’t be telling him anything,” she says, her eyebrows rising in a haughty way, as if she has no idea what I’m talking about.
“Um, who is Mr. Ink Muscles?” Laurel asks, tentatively. “He’s not going to come around, right?”
“Mr. Ink Muscles will not be coming around, no,” Carly verifies.
Appearing relieved, Laurel nods her head. “Good. I was about to cut and run.”
That doesn’t make a whole hell of a lot of sense. “What, are you afraid of tattoos?”
“Hot guys,” she offers back, nodding, like this is a scientifically proven fact. “I’m allergic to them. They shut my brain off. I go from reasonable, functioning human being to awestruck puddle of goo-eyes as soon as one pops up. It’s humiliating.”
I smirk, folding up the discarded straw wrapper on the table. “Should I be insulted? Am I not adequately hot enough to make you awestruck?”
“Oh, no, you’re super hot,” she says, waving me off. “But you belong to my sister, so you may as well be gay. I would never look at you like that. No offense.”
“None taken. That’s refreshing. Familial loyalty… I like it.” I flick a glance at Carly. “Did not know you owned me, though. That’s news.”
Carly presses her lips together and offers a solemn nod. “I was waiting to tell you until after all the paperwork cleared, but yeah. You’re my property now. I’m thinking of branding you, like cattle. Just in case any other bitches get the idea you’re a pre-owned model.”
Laurel nods, going along with her sister’s spiel. “Gotta set the bitches straight.”
Carly flashes a dope, sideways peace sign and tries to sneer. “Word, yo.”
I shake my head. “I never knew you were this nerdy. I don’t understand how you hid this from me.”
Carly shrugs. “Less sex kitten, more nerd when Laurel’s around. Don’t worry; I’ll bring the sex kitten back out later.”
“Speaking of, how loud are you guys? Because the walls at your apartment are really thin, and if I have to lie in bed listening to you two go at it all night long, breakfast is going to be somewhat awkward.”
Carly and I exchange a look—hers more amused, mine more sardonic. Before we’re forced to answer, the waitress arrives with a tray full of milkshakes and apparently nothing else matters beyond their milkshakes.