Page 96 of Rules in Love
With a beaming smile, Evie nodded. “Thank you, Finn. That means a lot. Not that we need your approval, but still, it’s nice to have it.” She then smooshed closer to Nate, who took her hand.
I looked away and continued. “Yeah, well, as I said, you are probably perfect for each other. You’re both complete pains in my arse and have a particular knack for knowing what’s best for me. You both may also be excellent people, fun, and have the same taste in equally horrible music. Now that I think about it, I’m surprised you weren’t together when we were kids, despite our deal.”
Nate leaned in and whispered something in Evie’s ear that had her all blushes and giggles, then turned to me. “Well, it wasn’t from a lack of trying on my count. That was partly why I was so pissed off about you and Shel. I was so jealous I couldn’t see straight. All I wanted was to get a hold of that sweet little as—”
“LA LA LA LA!” I threw my hands over my ears as the chunks rose in my throat. “Alright, alright, I get the picture. I’ve apologized and don’t need to hear all the details.”
Evie jumped from the couch and covered me in gross sister kisses, then sat on Nate’s lap—which was even more repulsive—and did the same to him. “And what about you and Scarlett?” she asked, wiping her spittle from Nate’s face. “I take it since you took Iris over, you told her about your relationship?”
“Sure did. And yet again, I did it wrong. I kind of forced it on her, in truth, but she handled it with grace, as she always does. I don’t know what I did to deserve her, but I bloody hope I get to keep her.”
After throwing a cushion at my head, Nate snuggled into Evie. “Aww, look at us Byron kids, all happy and shit in NYC!”
The two love birds began to swap spit again, and I was gone. At the foot of the stairs, I remembered Thanksgiving and had to turn back. With my eyes closed, I stuck my head into the living room and hit my head on the wall but kept my eyes shut tight. “By the way, we are all invited to Thanksgiving at Scarlett’s. Do you know how to cook a giant bloody turkey, Evie?”
Halloween came and went in a costumed, sugar-filled blur. Before Scarlett and I knew it, we were at the end of our third month together and co-sniffing the pumpkin spice, toasty cinnamon, and pungent clove that flavored the air and lingered deliciously on her neck. It was our first Thanksgiving, and it was a bloody madhouse of chopping, blitzing, and roasting meat and fingers.
I felt like a real Yankee and like I had a real home. A home that was bursting at the seams. Jocie, Iris, Evie, and Nate were there, along with Teddy and Ben. Even Mrs. Horowitz had been invited after Scarlett discovered she would be alone for the holidays.
In the lead-up to the big day, all the prep, planning, shopping, and buying turkey-shaped decorations and table adornments had been done together. We ate candy corn, which I seriously loved, and did possibly the most American thing I had yet experienced—taking a trip to a pumpkin patch. After soothing Iris, who had confused a pumpkin patch with a Cabbage patch and spent the first ten minutes searching for dimpled, plastic babies, we rode tractors. Tractors. Who knew a tractor could heal a wounded 7-year-old soul? Next, it was apple bobbing, then carving ridiculous faces into even more ridiculously priced pumpkins.
Other pre—Turkey Day activities were not as wholesome or done in the presence of children. There had been lots and lots and lots of jogging, sneaky sex, and secret sleepovers. Scarlett was insatiable, as was I. Never before had I experienced the kind of want, all-consuming, soul-deep need that I felt for this woman. Never before had I been so scared of having something taken away.
At times, I was so overpowered by such absolute bliss and moments of tenderness, love, and lust that I feared it couldn’t be true, that it was all an elaborate and cruel dream. And that when I woke, I would again be alone and lonely. But it wasn’t a dream. Her every touch, kiss, and laugh confirmed that. What we had was real and powerful, and with every day spent with Scar and Ben, I fell deeper and deeper in love.
Today, I watched her in adoration, running around searching for ingredients, swearing under her breath, and adding finishing touches while nervously chewing her lip.
The table was set, decorated with fall leaves, pumpkins of every color, shape, and size, and two—let’s call them interesting—centerpieces made by the kids in school. The parade was done. She was a sweaty, hot, but always sexy mess. Even covered in cinnamon, marshmallows, and turkey grease, she was a complete turn-on, and I couldn’t wait to get her alone. I just had to be patient.
Clearly frazzled but proud, Scarlett wrangled her guests into the dining room and was the last to collapse into her seat. “Okay, everyone, we have cornbread stuffing, mashed potatoes, sweet potatoes, and marshmallows. Don’t look at me like that, Finn. Apparently, it’s traditional. We have gravy, cranberry sauce, for some reason, and the biggest bloody turkey I have ever seen. Now, let’s eat, and for Christ’s sake, if you don’t like it, keep it to yourself, or you may end up deader than the bird.”
I proudly elbowed a potato-covered Teddy in the ribs. “That’s my chick.”
“Hmm, yes, I know. Congratulations. Be a good lad and pass me the stuffing.”
After a prayer for those loved and lost, we dug in. I made a point to snag all the white meat I could for Iris and me but discovered Scarlett liked the white too. Of course, I gave most of mine to her, and I’m not going to lie. It hurt. Marshmallow yams tasted weird, and chewing on a drumstick was gross. But the foot I felt slowly sliding its way up my inner thigh before coming to rest snugly between my legs felt great. Suddenly, the slimy, brown meat didn’t bother me so much.
Scarlett was sitting opposite me on the long dining table she’d bought just for this occasion. Next to her sat Mrs. H, who seemed to be flirting with me as much as my girl was. I prayed to God it was Scar’s foot and not hers, especially when it began to circle up and down my zipper. This foot knew its way around my bulge. It was clearly Scar. The way she kept sinking lower in her seat with each stroke was another tell. I was half tempted to undo my zipper and let her foot have its way with me, but I was already struggling to remain composed as it was—a fact Scarlett was well aware of.
“What do you think of the yams, Finn? Going down okay?” she asked, fiercely batting her eyelashes.
“Yes. They are going down very smoothly, thank you.”
“Not too hard for you? Not hard…lumpy, I mean.”
“No, not too hard or lumpy. Just riiiiight…perfect, in fact.” I was beginning to sweat. “Can’t wait to taste your other sweet goodies.”
Evie dropped her fork. “For freaking sake. Can we please drop the innuendo for five minutes? This is a holy day, for Christ’s sake!”
“I don’t think it is, actually,” butted in Teddy, shaking his head and picking a piece of meat from his teeth. “Holy, I mean. Isn’t it about pilgrims or something?”
“What the hell is a Pilgrim?” and “What’s a pilgwim?” Iris and I asked in curious unison.
Teddy looked away thoughtfully. “I don’t exactly know… I think they were the first English people to arrive in America.”
“Oh, shit.” I rubbed my forehead and pointed to the imperialist Brits sitting at the table. “So, we’re celebrating British colonialism? Are you two happy?”
It was Scarlett’s turn to drop her fork in protest. “Hey, I’m only half English. My mum was Spanish, remember? Not that they were shy of a bit of land grab, but this is more Teddy Rich-boy the Twelfth’s scene.”
