Page 24 of Exes and Oh Hell No

Her eyes drop to her knitting. “Didn’t get a blow job or laid tonight, huh?” She tsks, shaking her head. “You need to up your game, boy.”

“How do you know… I don’t need to ‘up’ anything.” I set the bag of food on the coffee table. “Harper and I are just?—”

“Don’t say it.” She holds up her hand, shaking her head. “I could tell by the look on your face you didn’t get sucked off or laid. You’d be happier.”

I splutter, staring at her in shock. “Gram!”

She continues like I didn’t speak. “I’d bet money you had a hard-on the whole time you were with her. You’re probably going to get blue balls.”

“Fuck. Can I go deaf? I don’t ever wanna hear you say blue balls again.”

“Course, I’m not looking. I’m your Gram. If you were Connor, that’d be a different story.”

“Gram! Jesus!” I slap a hand over my eyes, wishing for immediate unconsciousness.

She just smiles, still knitting like she’s not mentally scarring me for life. “What?” She shrugs. “I’m old, not dead. I’m not blind, either. The guy’s hot.”

A sly smirk curls her lip. “And Harper. Damn, boy, that woman’s got curves for days!”

I groan. “Jesus Christ!”

She points a knitting needle at me. “Stop taking the Lord’s name in vain.”

That’s what she’s worried about?

She was just talking about hard-ons and blue balls, for fuck’s sake.

She resumes knitting, still eying me. “Don’t deny it. Harper has curves for days.”

Can I go deaf?

Her gaze flicks to the TV before moving to me. “You’re not innocent, Ford. Far from it.”

Neither is she, but I’m not about to point that out.

She shakes her head. “You think I didn’t know you had your hands and mouth all over that girl every time I walked out of the room? You were crazy in love with her.”

I gape at her, so angry and stunned I’m speechless.

And annoyed as hell that she’s right.

Her gaze sharpens. “This could be your last chance to fix things with her. Once that house is sold, she won’t come back.”

Her words hit me like a ton of bricks square in the chest.

I wince before I can stop it.

“Uh-huh. There it is. I knew it. You’re still gone for her.”

And here comes the fucking torture.

She knits another row, completely unfazed. “And who could blame you? Harper is gorgeous, smart, thick?—”

“For the love of God?—"

“What? Is that offensive? In my day, the men called it ‘more cushion for the pushin.’ Same thing.”

“Can a fucking asteroid hit me right now? Just blast through the damn roof and take me out?”

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