Page 271 of The Art of Almost Losing It
“You don’t know my mom.”
“I’m proud of you for standing up for what you want.”
I run my fingers along his arm.
“For that”—he grabs my hips—“I think you get a reward.”
I have to hold onto the headboard as he licks my pussy, his tongue everywhere, in my pussy, on my clit, while I bounceover his face and his hands dig into my thighs until I’m coming, gushing all over his face.
“Damn, you’re really good at that.” I slap his chest.
His arms circle me.
“We don’t have to go to the ‘wedding’ either.” He kisses me softly. “Don’t you want to run away to the mountain house instead?”
“Lexi texted me a picture of the giant possum that’s been living in the attic, so no thanks.”
52
GRAHAM
“Ican’t believe they made you get rid of the tattoo,” Spencer says, reaching for my belt. His hand grazes the tattoo site.
“Hey!” I shove him off. “That fucking hurts.”
“You guys are way too close.” Hannah giggles.
Ryan reaches for my belt next. “Yeah, way too close.”
“Boys.” My mom appears out of nowhere with a plate of mini duck sliders. Then, quick as a snake, she grabs at my belt, too, while all my siblings snicker.
She makes a face. “Oof. That looks bad.”
“I still think you need another tattoo to cover it,” Spencer says. “You’ll always know what was underneath.”
“Dani’s mom is pretty anti-tattoo,” I remind them, tucking my shirt back in. “She cares a lot about appearances.”
“And she was okay with that?” Grayson nods toward the reception hall.
Dani’s little cousin is still wandering around in her pink-and-white tutu, accepting compliments from the handful of guests who actually showed up.
“You have to admit”—my mom nudges me—“that was an inspired rendition ofSwan Lake. I never would’ve thought setting it to Snoop Dogg would work, but here we are.”
The bride and groom sit at opposite ends of the venue with their respective entourages.
“This is so awkward,” Hannah whispers. “I can’t believe the bride showed up.”
“They probably heard there wasn’t a pickle fountain,” Mom continues, crossing her arms.
“This party was too classy for a pickle fountain, Mom,” Bridget says.
“Which was the only reason I came.” She points at me and Ryan. “I need a pickle fountain at your weddings. Or I’m not coming. You can bring me cake in the hotel room,” she adds.
Dani approaches us, looking frazzled. “Thank you all so much for coming. We needed warm bodies.”
“You had an okay turnout,” I say gently.
“A lot of these people are out-of-town relatives who couldn’t cancel,” she admits. “No one from the office showed up. We have so much leftover food.”
