“WHO’S UP FOR A CHINESE?” my father announced in a jovial tone, when he sauntered into the kitchen late Saturday evening, with two brown paper bags in his arms. “My numbers came up at the bookies and there’s plenty for everyone.”
With the plastic peeling from a shop-bought frozen lasagna in my hands, I watched as my mother and siblings all filed into the kitchen after him.
“Come on, boy,” he said, slapping the bags down on the table, while my mother hovered close by with a stack of plates. “Throw that shit away,” he commanded, waving a hand towards me. “There’s a chicken curry in here for you, too.”
Doing the complete opposite, I walked over to the bin, tossed the plastic inside, and then returned to place my lasagna in the oven, ignoring the swell of bitterness that rose up as I watched the rest of my family – Shannon included – line up with their plates, like a scene straight from 1840’s Ireland.
Don’t be so fucking weak, I wanted to scream, his soup kitchen has consequences.
“Didn’t ya hear me, boy?” Dad barked, as they all took up position around the table like a big happy family.
“I heard you.”
“Then what are you waiting for?” He kicked out a chair for me to join them. “Grab a plate and sit down.”
“I don’t want any.”
“Ah, go on, will ya? You need to bulk up a bit, boy.”
“I said I don’t want your food.”
“Why not?”
“Because it comes with strings attached and I’d rather starve.”
“Joey.” Mam dropped her fork and sighed. “Please. Don’t start trouble. Your father is trying.”
Yeah, that’s what I’m afraid of.
Folding my arms across my chest, I glared at him when I said, “I don’t know what you’re angling at, old man, but you’re not fooling me with your bullshit.”
“If you don’t want to eat with your family, and you can’t be civil to your father, then you can leave,” Mam instructed, reaching across the table to place a calming hand on my father’s balled fist.
The other four were rigid in their seats, with their heads bowed, and their attention on anything but our father.
“I’ll go when my food’s ready,” I bit out, jaw clenched.
“Just leave it, Marie. There’s no pleasing that fella. Eat your food,” Dad ordered, and like a well-trained soldier, my mother fell into line, obeying his every command by dropping her gaze from me and shoveling a forkful of rice into her mouth.
Shoulders bunched tight with tension, I turned my back to them, concentrating on my food in the oven, instead.
Twenty minutes later, there was a knock at the door, and I felt my body both tense up in anxiety and sag in relief at the same time.
Molloy was supposed to be coming over tonight. I didn’t want it, at least, I didn’t want her here, but I was working really hard on keeping the lines of communication open, and putting momentous effort into not shutting her out.
That was all she wanted from me.
Honesty was only thing she ever asked me for.
It seemed to be working in my favor, too. The more I let her in, the more she rewarded me.
Sometimes, I felt like a fucking dog bringing her a stick just for a belly rub, but I had grown too addicted to her affection to slam the brakes now.
Knowing there was a ninety-nine percent chance that I would find her on the other side of the front door, I moved before anyone else could, hurrying through the hallway and swinging the door inwards.
“Shh.” She pressed a finger to her lips when I opened my mouth to greet her.
Grinning devilishly, she unhooked the belt of her long black coat and pulled the lapels open and winked.
My eyes quickly trailed down her body, taking in the sight of what she was wearing – or should I say the lack of what she was wearing.
Suspender stockings, a frilly garter belt, lacy, barely-there thong, and matching bra all in the color of crimson greeted me on what was, by far, the man up stairs’ greatest creation.
She was shaped like every fella’s wet dream, with this narrow little waist that curved out into a pair of thick hips and a round, peachy ass. She had legs for days that the red stockings enhanced further. Her hair was poker-straight, loose, and reached the frilly garter belt that was hugging her in all the right places.
And her tits? Jesus, don’t even get me started on her double-ds, as they strained against the scrap of a bra attempting to contain them.
Donned up to the nines with a face full of make-up, and crimson painted lips, she looked like she belonged on the cover of a fucking magazine, not a doorstep in Ballylaggin.
The miniature-sized Santa hat perched on top of her head was the icing on the cake.
I shook my head, at a complete loss. “What. The. Fuck.”
Beaming back at me, she waggled her brows and purred, “Ho, ho, ho, Joe.”
“Christmas was two months ago, Molloy.”
“I know. But I found it on a sale-rail in the city today and couldn’t wait to try it on!” she squealed, clearly delighted with herself, as she did a little dance in her skyscraper black stilettos. Hitching her coat up, she twirled around to give me a 360 view, not giving two shits who saw her. “Fifteen-euro, Joe. Down from eighty-five! Can you believe it?”
I heaved out an impressed breath, that had nothing to do with the price tag, while my dick grew hard enough to cut diamond. “Jesus Christ.”
“Well?” she gushed, giving me – and half the street – another twirl. “What do you think, huh?”
“There’s only one head doing the thinking for me now, Molloy, and it’s not the one on my shoulders.”
She threw her head back and laughed. “Exactly the reaction I was looking for.”
“Jesus Christ.” Stepping outside, I quickly grabbed the lapels of her coat and yanked it shut, before glancing over her shoulder to see if any fuckers from my road were lurking.
If they were, then my girlfriend had just given them a glorious fucking peek-a-boo.
“I’m willing, I’m waxed, and I’m raring to go,” she declared, hooking an arm around my neck, and pulling me in for a kiss. “Seriously, I was listening to Mazzy Star’s Fade Into You on the drive over here, which, FYI, is our second song, and now I’m in the mood to get naked with you.”
“Are you high?”
She rolled her eyes and gave me a you wish look. “I’m just happy. I had the best day shopping with the girls, and now I’m here with you. And besides, we never got a chance to have that un-Virgin Mary sex for your birthday.”
“Fair enough—”
She kissed me again, deeper this time, fingers knotting in my hair. “But first, I need you to feed me.”
“My dick?”
“Later.” She laughed against my lips. “But first, fuel me up, because I’m starving.”
“I’ve something cooking inside.”
“What?”
“Lasagna.”
“I love lasagna.”
“I know.”
“Where’s it from?”
“Supervalu.”
“Their own brand?”
“Only one I can afford.”
“That’s my favorite one!”
“Yeah, Molloy, I know.”
“So, you cook, you clean, you change nappies, you fix my car, you give me unlimited orgasms,” she teased. Stepping back, she snatched up her little Santa hat and slipped it into the pocket of her coat. “Keep this up and I might just have to hang onto you, Joey Lynch.”
“Whatever you say, Molloy,” I chuckled, shaking my head. “Come on.” Grabbing her overnight bag from the ground, I threw it over my shoulder, and led her inside. “Fair warning; he’s in rare form.”
