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?”