Page 12 of Cockpit
“Some of us work for a living. Maybe you should try it,” he answers.
“Grady,” I sneer. It makes both perfect sense and no sense all at the same time.
“That’s my name, pushing your buttons is my game.”
“You didn’t happen to enter me in any contests, did you?” I think back to a few months ago, to him and my older brother Grant snickering. Their comments about how they were going to get me pussy for miles.
He snorts as he fights back a laugh. “Now, why would we do that?”
We. Not I.
Goddammit.
“He’s a finalist!” Luke yells and then shrieks as I swat playfully at him.
“A finalist, huh?” Grady sounds so damn proud of himself, and I’m not amused in the least.
“What did you do, Grady?”
More laughter. Then he clears his throat. “There was this hot dad contest.”
“Christ.”
“We thought you fit the bill—”
“This isn’t funny, Grady—”
“Hot dads are in demand to service hot moms, and we figured, what better way to find you a hot mom?”
“I get plenty of service, thank you,” I say as Luke eyes me from his spot on the floor, ears tuned in to try to make sense of this contest that Sidney got him all fired up about.
“No, you don’t. You get to cherry pick your pies when you’re hungry. Quiet pieces of pie so as not to upset Luke and let him hope your just-for-the-time-being is going to be his mom . . . but you never really have someone to share shit with. So . . . fucking sue us if you want, but Grant and I entered you into the contest.”
“I don’t need a contest to get—er, serviced.” I glance at Luke and then turn my back to him as if he won’t be able to hear me.
“No one said you did. But it sure as hell isn’t going to hurt.” He chuckles, and there’s chatter from the scanner he leaves on in the background. “Plus, there are prizes.”
“I don’t need any prizes.”
“Money. A trip. Other shit.”
“I don’t need any money. Or a trip. Or other shit.” Luke groans behind me.
“Ha. We all need money; it makes the world go ’round, brother.” I can hear his smile through the line. “Besides, you could use the distraction while you’re grounded.”
“I’m going to hang up now.”
“No, you aren’t because you’re a finalist and you know your ego secretly loves that you’ve still got it in the looks department.”
I roll my eyes and shake my head. “You’re an ass.”
“And you’re a hot dad, or so the voters think.”
“I’m really hanging up now.”
He says something else, but I’m already ending the call before I can hear it all.
Well . . . shit.
