ChapterTwenty-Seven
Parker
Thanksgiving at the Pershings goes as predicted. An uneventful meal passes and then the men break off from the main group to drift into the cigar room, accompanied by more security than the goddamn royal family. A few of the mothers drift behind, mostly to make sure that Marie doesn’t do herself in again. How many drinks has she had by now?
A concerned Tomas stares at my mother, who helps Marie into the next room. They’re likely off to the den, where they’ll talk about the latest gossip or who’s been fucking who. They’re like chickens, I swear. Always fucking clucking about this or that. The tension I feel at the thought of them discussing Alex makes the collar of my shirt grow taut.
My eyes scan the environment. The table is largely empty aside from the other three guys. I’m near the end, trying my best not to look like I’m searching for the girl whose eyes could possibly melt me into a puddle. Just thinking about how she sucked my cock in the abandoned boathouse is enough to stir me into action.
Fuck it. Who cares if someone sees me looking at her?
I spot Alex hanging out with Adelaide, her nervous demeanor and shaky hands contrasting with the spirited orange and brown dress that shows off her shoulders. Hair spills over her right shoulder and rests over the soft cotton fabric of her outfit. It’s like a waterfall, the strands splashing around when she moves.
The way she bows forward invites me to examine her neckline and I loosen my collar, feeling far too fucking stuffy in the sweater vest and collared shirt my mother insisted I wear to dinner. I’m getting ready to rip it off when Soren taps my elbow and nods to the back door. One last glance at Alex reveals more tension in her limbs than a nun having to piss in the restroom of a biker bar.
What’s up her ass? Well, it’s not me, I think. Unfortunately.
Sighing, I wander out the back door and across the lawn. Soren tosses me his flask.
I grit my teeth and rumble, “This better not be that plastic-tasting cherry shit from last year.”
“Nah, it’s Schnapps.”
“Festive,” Tomas teases. He procures a joint and lights it, passing it to Soren, who takes a long drag. As Tomas exhales, he peers over his shoulder. “What about our little cherry?”
“That’s what this meeting is about,” Soren replies with a choked cough. He extends the joint to Lev. “We have a lot to discuss, gentlemen.”
I know the answer, but I fucking ask anyway, “About Alex?”
“No, about the spaghetti monster, you fucking goon,” Soren bites. His shoulders rise with a deep breath and then slouch with an exhalation. “Yeah, it’s about Alex. We have a fucking problem.”
The moment we’re inside the Pershing cottage, I tear the sweater vest off and unbutton the first three buttons of my shirt. Sweet fucking freedom never felt so good. With my tie loosened and the vest far the fuck away from me, I settle onto a stool at the bar and watch Soren pour us each a drink. He’s quiet, pensive blue eyes glazed over with a sheen of concern. He doesn’t usually look like this.
While holding up his glass, he says, “To another year wasted.”
“And many more to come,” I add.
I clink my glass to his and then pour the concoction down the hatch. More mint mingles with what’s already in my belly and makes my solar plexus ache. I ignore the pinch and urge Soren to refill my glass.
He eyes me carefully as he pours more liquor over the ice.
“Give me a break,” I snap. “My father and mother are driving me up a goddamn wall.”
He snorts. “At least you get some of their attention.”
“Not the kind I want.”
Lev sighs while using the counter to hold up his weight. “Mine won’t shut up about family honor and all that bullshit.”
“And my mother overdosed,” Tomas adds. “Again.”
“See, we’re all fucking miserable,” Soren points out. “Which is why I really need you to hear me out on this, okay?”
I stare at Soren, wondering how in the world he aged three years since the last time I saw him. His usually bright demeanor and clear eyes are now full of stress. Something has him slightly shaken up. And that’s just too fucking weird for him.
He licks his lips, staring into his drink while saying, “Alex and I came up with a plan.”
I slam my drink down and growl, “Like fucking hell.”