Page 47 of Sexy Bad Escort

Ronnieglances toward the kitchen, where I can see Joe bustling about,presumably prepping the food we brought. “I should gohelp him,” shesays.

“He’s abig boy,” I say. “He can figure out how to put adish of lasagna on the table.”

Ronnie pursesher lips and gives me a glare before saying, “So are you.” And thenshe hurries out of the room, leaving me alone with my parents.

Cueawkwardsilence.

“Uh…” I clearmy throat. “You look good, Mom.”

“Thankyou, dear. So do you.You look…happy. Is it because of Ronnie?”

Yes.I shrug.“She’s pretty cool.”

“Joesays she’s older than you,” Dad says. “Closer to hisage.”

“Andyour implicationis?” Iask coolly.

He shrugs.“Just telling you what he said.”

“Whatelse did he say?”

“That the twoof you are in business together.”

I bracemyself for the onslaught of insults about my chosenprofession, but eitherJoe didn’t give him details or Dad’s saving it up for a point whenit will have more impact. Like the middle of dinner, for example.How many times in my life did I violently shove away from the tableand storm out of the room?

Is ittoo late to come up with an excuse to leave? I glanceat the kitchen doorway.Ronnie and Joe are standing side by side next to the stove. I can’tmake out what he says, but I hear her responding laugh loud andclear. Without excusing myself, I storm that way, bodily thrustingmyself between them. Ronnie is in the middle of tossing homemadedressing into the salad, and when I jostle her, a clump of romainegoes flying and slaps against the front of Joe’sT-shirt.

“Danny,”she snaps, dropping thetongs and elbowing me out of the way so she can brush away thelettuce and then blot at his shirt with a wet paper towel. Hearches his back, pressing his chest into her touch. I can see hisnipples through the thin cotton.

Jackass.With myluck, he and Dad are conspiring to lure Ronnie away from me andinto Joe’s arms. Dad must approve of her if he’s trying to set herup with his favorite son.

“Trustme,” I say. “All it’sdoing is improving his appearance.”

Joesnickers while Ronniesays, “What the hell is wrong with you?”

“Nothing,” I say sullenly. It’s a blatant lie, and we allknow it. But what the hell am I supposed to say?That I’m jealous of the relationship she’sdeveloping with my brother, because I’m afraid she’ll realize he’sa better catch? That I’m dreading the inevitable argument with mydad, even as I wish we could actually get along? To add to myfrustration level, I desperately want to tell my parents about ourpartnership—and I want them to approve, even though I know damnwell they won’t.

“Christ, Ineed a drink,” I mutter.

“Here,”Joe says, shoving a beer into my hand. I’d rather itwas something stronger but Isuck at the bottle neck anyway.

“Better?” Ronnie asks. I shrug, pretending indifference. Shepursesher lips andbrushes her hands together. “Well, let’s take everything to thetable so we can eat dinner.”

Yeah,let’s do that. Let’s set it up for my dad to lambast me.In front of my freshly mintedgirlfriend.

This should befun.

***

The ridehome is silent. Thecondemning kind of quiet. The kind that screams,“You fuckedup, buddy.”

And yetI let it go on, don’t try to talk, or, what I really shouldbe doing, apologize for mybehavior during dinner.

Thequiet continues as we head up the elevator then down the hall to Ronnie’s apartment. Whenshe opens the door, Pucker shrieks, “About fuckingtime!”

Neither of uslaughs.

I placethe bag of dinner leftovers on the counter, and Ronnie busies herself with unloadingeverything, putting the food in the fridge, the dishes she cleanedbefore we left my parents’ house in the cupboard. I make a half-assattempt to help and she coolly says, “I got this.”

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