Page 14 of Haunted Love

“MOM!” My cheeks flush. “I’m sure your new gardener’s dick is as impressive as they come, but I really don’t need to hear about it.”

“Ugh,” I hear my father’s tone as he walks into the kitchen behind us. “Why is it that every time I walk into a room, I have to hear about someone’s dick?”

I smirk, not sorry in the least. Now, if he really wanted to hear about impressive dicks, I know of one I can tell him all about. Though for some reason, I doubt he’d want to hear about what said dick did to his little girl all night.

Dad steps into my side and wraps his arm around me, pressing a kiss to my cheek. “Hi, sweetheart.”

“Hey, Dad,” I say, offering him a smile. “Do I want to know who else has been talking about dicks around you?”

“Your mother,” he states with a heavy sigh. “Always your mother.”

I can’t help but laugh as Dad collects the tray of meat and waltzes out the back door, ready to start grilling, as Mom keeps herself busy. “What time do you call this?” she mutters, sparing a second to glance at the clock—a clock that now reads eleven. “Where’s that brother of yours? I swear, he’s always running late.”

“Tell me about it,” I say, more smug than I’ve ever been in my life. “He needs a secretary who can keep him on time. I swear, he’ll be late to his own funeral.”

“I heard that,” comes my brother’s booming tone from deeper in the house—the back door precisely.

He comes waltzing through the house before appearing in the kitchen to face down my mother. She stands with her hands on her hips, glaring at Austin. “If I find out that you were trying to sneak through the back door so that I didn’t notice you were late to my birthday lunch, Austin Ryder, your lunch will be served with a smackdown.”

I can’t keep the snicker from bursting from my mouth, having to smother my hand across my face as Austin shoots a glare at me. God, it’s nice when my mother’s wrath isn’t aimed at me. “I would never do that to you, Mom,” Austin says, walking straight into her and pulling her into a hug. “Did I mention you look beautiful? What’s this birthday? Forty-three?”

Mom chuckles and can’t resist finally pulling her son into her arms. “Oh Austin,” she coos, turning to Jell-O at Austin’s exaggerated flattery. “You know I’m fifty today.”

Dad’s scoff is heard from all the way outside. “And the rest!”

Mom rolls her eyes and lets out a loud huff before focusing her attention on Austin. “Will we be seeing Izaac today?”

“He hasn’t missed a single one of your birthdays in the last twenty years. He’s not about to miss this one.”

Mom smiles before her gaze lifts to the clock again. “Oh, well he must be running a little—”

I shake my head, trying not to be obvious about the way my body reacts to just the mention of his name. “Izaac’s not your son, Mom. You can’t get angry at him for not showing up two hours early for lunch. You know, when you say lunch is at twelve, the general population believes that lunch is actually at twelve.”

Mom rolls her eyes. “Just because I’m not technically his mother doesn’t mean I don’t consider him my son. Izaac’s been around long enough to know the rules.”

Oh, geez.

Austin scoffs. “In that case, you need to hold him to the same punishments I get. He better be served a smackdown with his lunch too.”

“Oh, he will,” Mom declares. “Now go and help your father with the grill. You know how he likes to burn things.”

Austin scrambles, leaving me with Mom, and the second she turns to me with her eyes sparkling, I immediately dread whatever’s about to fly out of her mouth. “So,” she says, her tone suggesting I should run for the hills. “What’s going on with you, honey? Any men on the scene that I need to know about?”

“Mom,” I groan. “You know damn well I haven’t had time to go out and find myself some guy.”

Mom scoffs. “Oh, of course, with all that sitting on the couch and binge-watching TV shows you’ve been doing.”

“What? I have not. I’ve been busy. Graduation is in a few months.”

“Perhaps you’ve forgotten that you’re a cheapskate and have been piggybacking off my Netflix account? I know exactly how much spare time you have, Aspen. Which begs the question, why the hell can’t you find a spare minute to drop in every now and then? You know, your poor momma is getting old.”

“You’re not old,” I scold, knowing damn well age is nothing but a number to her. “Austin wasn’t kidding. You look like you’re in your forties, plus you do yoga four times a week. You’re fitter than I am.”

“Flattery will get you nowhere,” she warns.

“Bullshit! Flattery got Austin off the hook.”

“The hell it did. That boy’s got another thing coming if he thinks he’s off the hook, but if he thinks complimenting his mother is the way to go, then who am I to discourage him?”

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