And expecting my dad to become a better person just for me was totally unrealistic.
“How ’bout we start by getting the beer cans out of the driveway,” I said. He gave me a perplexed look, and I resisted the urge to smile. He sure as hell hadn’t been expecting that.
“The beer cans? I don’t understand.”
“It looks like shit,” I told him. “Yeah, it’s funny like ‘Ha ha we’re such white trash’ because we’ve always figured that everyone is gonna look down on us anyway, so why not embrace it, right?” I shook my head firmly. “Well fuck ‘em all. We’re only trash if we keep acting like it. Fuck those bastards.”
He looked toward the driveway, then his gaze swept the rest of the yard and the house. Distaste and regret darkened his eyes. “This place is a goddamn dump.”
I let out a small laugh. “Yeah, no wonder we drink and get high.”
He turned back to me, a ghost of a smile on his face. “So, you’ll stay?”
“I’m kinda seeing someone.” I paused. Probably better if I didn’t tell him just yet that it was the cop who arrested him—and me, for that matter. “But this is still my home.”
“You broke up with Randy?” He eyed me with a frown.
“Yeah. That’s over.”
He narrowed his eyes at me. “Over for good?”
“Completely over. Dead. Buried,” I said emphatically.
To my surprise he gave a nod of approval. “About damn time. I always thought you were too good for that loser.”
I burst out laughing while my dad gave me a perplexed look
“You’re absolutely right, Dad,” I said with a grin. “I am too good for him.”
Chapter 38
My dad and I raked up beer cans for the last couple of hours of daylight, then I headed back over to Marcus’s house. But not before shocking the shit out of my dad by giving him a hug. Things were still far from perfect between us, but it was one hell of a start.
Marcus opened the door before I could knock, took me by the hand and pulled me inside. He kicked the door closed and in the next second his lips were on mine, and his hands were tangled in my hair. I pulled his shirt off and oh, yeah, for a zombie he had some seriously awesome abs.
“Hang on,” he gasped after about half a minute of frenzied groping. Somehow I’d lost my shirt as well, and his jeans were unzipped, and I wasn’t really in the frame of mind to “hang on” at all. But he grabbed me by the hand and pulled me to the kitchen, yanked the fridge open and removed a bowl of what looked like tapioca. He handed me the bowl, pushed the fridge door shut, and snatched two spoons out of a drawer.
“This isn’t tapioca, is it?” I said, taking one of the spoons.
Marcus shook his head, a sly smile on his face. “I think a better name for it is ‘foreplay.’ ”
The pudding lived up to its name. And nothing fell off that wasn’t supposed to.
