He then leaned in, kissed me quick and hard on my lips, grinned at me and walked out my front door. I stood there in shock, completely dumfounded by the fact that he’d just walked out. I snapped, stomping my foot and shrieking in the back of my throat, and then I threw my phone into the couch. Hard. Oh, shit! My phone bounced off the back of the couch and flew back at me. I threw my hands up, more in defense than anything, but also trying to catch it before it could hit something and shatter. Luckily it thumped into my chest (Ouch!) and I was able to save it.
Shaking my head at myself and my own stupidity (If my phone would have shattered, it would have been the fourth one this year. What? I have a temper. So sue me.) I stomped to the door to lock it before stalking down the hall to my room, where I fell into a fitful sleep.
Chapter 8
My phone woke me up the next morning, ringing in the vicinity of my head. I lifted my head groggily, trying to locate it but couldn’t see it. I shoved my hand under my pillow, searching blindly until I hit it with my fingers. I pulled it out to answer, but it quit ringing before I could get my fingers to work enough to slide across the touch screen to unlock my phone. I checked the display, noting that I had missed my mom’s call before my eyes hit my alarm clock. Fuck me, I’m late!
I scrambled out of bed and set a new world record in the shower before throwing on an old pair of jeans and a tshirt, and pulling on my brother’s hoodie as I slid my feet into my sneakers. I didn’t bother tying them, just ran down the hall to grab my purse and my keys. Then I had to run back to my bedroom to get my phone, which had fallen to the bed in my mad dash to get ready.
I pulled up at my parents’ house about half an hour late and headed inside. Since I was so late, everyone was already there and seated at the table, plates heaping with food. I breezed in and slid into my seat, reaching for the plate of bacon as everyone’s eyes settled on me.
“Good morning!” I said, filling my plate. At least once a month my family all got together for Sunday breakfast. Mom pulled out all the stops, making everyone’s favorite foods. We had gravy, made from the sausage and bacon drippings with pieces of sausage and bacon crumbled in it, biscuits, scrambled eggs (with cheese for me, yum!), sausage patties, strips of bacon, shredded hash browns, popovers, sausage links, and French toast.
My mom got up and poured me a glass of orange, strawberry, banana juice and brought it to me, kissing the top of my head and saying, “Good morning, o tardy one!”
I grinned at her, thanking her for the juice before saying hi to my dad. He grunted, which meant hi back. He’s lucky I am fluent in Dad Speak or we’d never have a conversation. I waved to my sisters, winked at my niece and nephew, nodded to Noah, and stuck my tongue out at Calland. I still hadn’t forgiven him for dumping Drunk Leah on my carpet while I was getting’ my Luke on that night.
My sisters both waved back at me, although Jenna gave me her we-need-to-talk face, Hayden laughed and tried to wink back, succeeding only in blinking her eyes owlishly, Jarrod grinned, Noah nodded back, and Calland, calmly as you please, reached across the table and stole my plate.
“Hey!” I cried. “Mo-om, Calland stole my plate,” I whined. Yes, I know I was acting like a four year old, but hey. That was my food!
Mom just grinned and shook her head. I think she’s used to us by now. Her and Dad have always been fans of the whole ‘work it out for yourselves’ type of conflict resolution, going as far as to pushing the furniture back in the living room to clear a space before letting us loose on each other. We never really fought, though. It was more wrestling around, trying to best the other by whatever means necessary, whether it be slapping, tickling, punching, sitting on top of, pinching, and biting. Biting was generally frowned upon, but was allowable as long as we weren’t doing it to maim or draw blood.
All of this usually ended with one of us (me or my sisters) pissed off, screaming, crying, and stomping into our rooms to slam the door, and Calland laughing hysterically. Asshole.
I got up from the table, went around to where Calland was sitting, and tried to take my plate back. He pulled it away from me, trying to stab my hand with his fork.
“Calland, give me my food you asshole!” I shrieked.
Calland said, “Okay.” Then he gave me my plate, but not before snatching all of my bacon and my biscuit.
Sighing, I took my now lightened plate back to my seat and replenished my empty bacon and biscuit spaces and commenced eating.
“So,” my mom began. (She always makes me cringe when she starts sentences like that. You never can tell what’s gonna come out of her mouth!) “Leah and Calland tell me that you had some company the other night. Slut!” she said, laughing and winking at me.
I rolled my eyes at her. Dad just shook his head and grunted again, while everyone else started laughing with Mom. I tuned them out because my mind had already drifted to thoughts of Luke and what the hell last night was all about.
Breakfast passed with me shoving food in my face (one, because I was starving, and two, because then I didn’t have to answer my mom’s questions. She did teach us not to talk with our mouths full, you know…) Leah and Calland took turns trying to one up each other with one liners about walking in on me and Luke. Noah excused himself and took the kids outside. Dad just sat there eating his food. He did, however, grunt every now and then when Leah or Calland managed a decent joke. Mom and Jenna just watched, shaking their heads and grinning at us.
After breakfast was done, me, Leah, and Jenna cleaned up and did the dishes for mom. We visited for a while before we all started dispersing. I said my goodbyes, gave my mom a kiss and hug, and headed home.
When I got home, I cleaned up my house and started a load of laundry before heading out to the screened-in porch off the back of my house. I curled up on my lounger in my penguin pants and Calland’s hoodie to read a book. My eyes kept drifting to my phone, though. Giving in, I snatched it up and scrolled through my contacts. Sure enough, Luke had programmed his number into my phone. I also noticed that I had a text message that hadn’t been opened yet.
The text was from Luke and it simply said, “Mine.” Geez. Men and their cryptic messages. It showed that he had sent it around four a.m., after he left my house. I hit reply and typed: Mine? Wtf does that mean? I took a deep breath in and finished: I think things got a little weird between us. Sorry, but I don’t think we should see each other anymore. I’m just not sure where this is going, and can’t see it working out.
Before I could change my mind, I hit send and went to change the laundry over. My phone beeped as I was starting my second load in the washer, telling me I had a new message. I picked it up and opened the text from Luke.
Mine. Remember when I said you are last night? You said I treat you like you’re mine or something. I was just letting you know, you are. Mine.
My phone beeped again and I opened his second message.
You think too much. Stop it.
Oh. My. God. He can’t just claim me like that! Can he? Yikes.
I hit reply and typed: I think you’re drunk. I’m not a toy for you to possess and we just met! You don’t even know me!
His response came back quickly.
Nope, not drunk. Again, stop thinking! I know you aren’t a toy, but I sure as hell love playing with you. And I know enough…for now. We’ll get to know each other very well, I promise. I’ll call you in a bit, sugar. Got some things to do. Later, babe.
