“What if I told you I took my piercing out before I had sex with her?”
She froze. “You did what?” she asked. Her face stilled and grew serious.
“I never wore my piercing with anyone else. I meant it when I said it was for your pleasure only.”
She offered me a small, shy smile—one that told me even in the dark that her cheeks blushed furiously. “Okay, I might forgive you a little,” she said, sliding off my lap. We cleaned up, sat in silence in the backseat of my truck, and enjoyed a postcoital cigarette. “Good call bringing the truck instead of riding in the limo.”
“It’s better to be safe than sorry. Are you coming home with me tonight?”
“No, I’m staying at Mom and Dad’s since the party bus is supposed to pick us up bright and early in the morning. Do you have any idea what Casey has planned for us?”
“Not at all,” I replied. “I asked several times, but he’s been secretive about it. Knowing him, strippers will be involved.”
“Probably. Since we’re on the subject of strippers, you can look but don’t touch.”
I looked over at her and grinned slyly. “Isn’t that the norm?”
“What I mean is that I better not catch you enjoying yourself. You better wear that same condescending frown you usually wear.”
I picked up her hand and kissed the back of it. “I’m not condescending.”
“Miss me with that bullshit.”
“Well, if I can’t enjoy myself, then you can’t either.”
“It’s different—I’m a woman.”
I scoffed. “We’re attending a lesbian wedding on Saturday. Let that sink in.”
“I can’t wait to have ass and titties in my face,” Kiyah taunted, opening the door.
“Me too!” I shouted after her. She shot me the middle finger and slammed the door shut. I smirked.
She fucking loves me.
* * *
I entered the hall and made a beeline for the bar. I shouldn’t be drinking because I knew I’d be drinking throughout the day tomorrow, but I had a feeling that Kiyah was sticking around this time around. I’d be happier, content, and less stressed, and as a result, I wouldn’t require the comforts of spirits any longer. I stumbled to a stop when I noticed Dad at the bar drinking alone.
I need to stop being a pussy. I’ve avoided him long enough.
I sidled beside him and was immediately acknowledged by the bartender. “Long Island, please.”
I dropped a $20.00 in the tip jar and sat. “Hey, Dad.”
“Hello, son,” he replied softly.
“I’m sorry I never responded to your texts. I’ve been… busy.”
“Busy… right,” he said with a derisive snort.
“Dad, I—”
“You should never be too busy to tell someone you love them. Have I ever been too busy for you?”
“No, Dad,” I replied, feeling properly reprimanded. When the bartender returned with my drink, I nodded, and because of my unease, the contents were gone in a few seconds. Mistakenly, I glanced at my father and found his brow tilted, observing me with uncertainty. I expected him to comment—give me some sage advice about taking it easy—but he didn’t. He returned his gaze to his watered-down beverage and spun the glass clockwise.
“Do you want to know why my second marriage is so successful?”