The smellof something burning in the oven greets me as soon as I open the front door to my dad’s house. No smoke, just the nose-pinching stench of someone who fucked up dinner. It was my fault for getting in later than I expected. I always cook, but I needed a breather. So, I got out of dodge to pull my shit together. Hopped on a plane and flew where I needed. It’s not the first time, hell, not even the fifth time, I’ve flown myself to New York City. The part about this trip that didn’t make sense, though, is that I went there to forget what happened with G. To scrub her taste from my tongue and the vision of her laid out like a meal, from my mind. Every other time that I’ve traveled to that city, I was always trying to think about her, remember details, play back the conversation. The dichotomy of the situation is exhausting to rationalize.
So now, I’m eager to see my family, even if they might not be too thrilled to see me. Aside from dinner, I’m here to apologize. It’s long overdue.
“Dude, you look like shit,” Law yells my way as I step through the back door. Dick.
“You burn dinner?” I reply.
He laughs. “Nope. That’d be Giselle.”
I hadn’t thought that she would be here.
“She convinced Dad to go meatless tonight and said she’d cook since you weren’t coming.” He lowers his voice. “I’m going to be honest here; I think it looks better charred. I still have no idea what it was. So, we ordered instead.”
I still don’t know what to say to my brother, but I need to start somewhere. I don’t want a lifetime with him that’s filled with anger and resentment. I’ve seen what that can do to families.
“Can we talk later?”
His eyebrows shoot up, so clearly, he wasn’t expecting it. And the surprise on his face guts me a bit. I’ve been punishing him and pushing him away because of our accident for way too long. He smiles and nods as I follow him into the main room.
“Ab-so-fucking-lutely not. There are few places I refuse to tattoo. I mean, not many, but an asshole is one of them,” Giselle says, hands flying as she speaks to Everly.
“G baby, I thought most women loved assholes.” Law laughs and looks around at Michael and Everly, thinking they’re going to tag into his joke.
And without so much as a breath, G responds to him by saying, “I prefer nice boys, but if you think that’s true, then just ask your brother. He must know.”
I stifle a laugh and try my hardest not to smirk, but it creeps out. She slung that dig pretty well.
“Gettin’ all those girls, huh, Hanky?”
And they’re both right. Women do like assholes. At least in my experience. I was moody as fuck on my last trip and had plenty of women I could have taken back to the hotel with me. Fuck them the way I’d like to fuck her and maybe feel less keyed up. But I wasn’t interested in any of them. My mind was elsewhere. Still trying to forget the way G’s thighs felt in my hands. How she squeaked and trembled when my tongue finally touched, tickled, and tasted her pussy. That taste I can’t seem to stop thinking about. The need of wanting to savor it again knocks into me as I look her up and down.
“You tell me, Jizz?”
The look on her face is priceless. A mix of shock and a smirk she can’t fight. “Oh,fuck no.” She shakes her head and points her finger at me. “That is not a nickname. And you’d better cover your jewels and ears if I ever hear it again, Hanky.”
While everyone around us starts laughing, I mouth out the word “an-y-thing” to her, mimicking her phrase from the night at her loft.
She narrows her eyes, giving me a placating, tightlipped smile. “As far as assholes, I refuse to tattoo you, Hanky. So”—she shrugs her shoulders—“case and point. I refuse to tattoo assholes.” She takes a sip of her drink and winks at me.
“I hear you cooked. Smells like it too.”
She stares back at me. I can see the annoyance all over her face, practically radiating from her body.
“You’ve never had my cooking, so shut it. You’re not a professional, sweetheart.”
“You really showed us this time, huh?” I laugh out. “I never hear you complain that I’m hogging the kitchen when you’re getting a custom dish every Sunday.” I lift a brow, and she rolls her eyes.
“Did I hear you brought a German Chocolate cake?” Michael asks as he joins us at the dining table.
G’s brow furrows as she says, “Fucking show off,” under her breath.
I laugh.
“It’s so good,” Michael says.
“I always ask him to make German chocolate cake for my birthday,” Law pipes in. “Usually, he tells me to fuck off, but then I get one anyway. It’s been a few years.” He looks at me, and I know how long I’ve carried on about our accident. I feel like a shithead all over again. “I can’t wait to eat a slice from the one you brought tonight.”
“His desserts are even better than his main dishes,” Law tells G, as if she hasn’t been eating what I’ve been cooking lately.