Page 114 of The Stud

“Likenotgoing, you are a character builder.”

“Ya veo por qué te gusta,” Dad chortles under his breath redirecting my glaring to him.

Not helping.

Him understandingwhyI love Tanner is notat allhelpful!

“Why are you two here?” Correcting my tone is easier thought than done. “Not that I don’t want you here-”

“Sounds like you do not want them here,” teasingly murmurs my boyfriend.

“I’m about to unwant you here in two seconds.”

“Tradition,” Mom steers the explanation back on subject, “is a medieval movie – I’m thinkingFirst Knightthanks to theyoung Sean Connery lookalike at Haworth’s party last night who kept trying to get a peak down my dress – ”

“Nice,” I casually comment.

“Her dress was,” Dad concurs, “that wasnot.”

“IloveSean Connery movies,” warmly informs Tanner.

“And,” Mom happily continues the conversation, “a birthday breakfast – or brunch depending on the time – with mimosas.”

“Brewskies,” Dad and I correct together.

“Adorable,” Tanner helplessly chortles.

“Get bent, Hamster Boy.”

“That’s a…name…” Dad grunts in obvious amusement.

“Not much worse than Ducky.”

Additional mirth meanders through his expression. “He calls you Ducky?”

“Why didn’t either of youcallbefore you came?” I quirk a curious eyebrow. “Or text?”

“We did both,” Mom sassily replies. “And when you didn’t answer we thought we’d just surprise you by bringing thingsto you.”

“Y aún así…we were the ones surprised,” Dad cheekily adds.

There isn’t time to chirp back courtesy of my boyfriend cooing, “I didn’t know you had a birthday tradition.”

Bashfulness instantaneously replaces bitchy. “I mean…yeah. It started when I was kid. They knew parties weren’t really my thing-”

“She slew footed a juggler one year,” Dad announces prior to snickering.

Not resisting the instinct to join him results in Tanner shaking his head. “Such a fucking pest.”

“I can be.” Another round of laughs arrives between statements. “Anyways,my pretty, pretty princess DNA match would live it up at the New Year’s Eve party while the next morning, my slightly hungover parents-”

“More Amedeo than me,” Mom clarifies. “I can hold my booze.”

“I can too!” The instant we both toss him a sarcastic stare, he impishly amends, “Excepto tequila.”

“Which is understandable,” Tanner swiftly supports.

“They would always make or order us breakfast – depending on the severity of the aforementioned hangover – cuddle on the couch and watch something with me.”

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