Vivian slips off her shoes and rests her feet on the dash. “Is this okay?”

“What?”

“My feet on your dash because you got a funny look when I put them up here.” She wiggles her toes.

“I was just looking at the pads on the bottom of them.”

“Second skin. Alex brought it home last night. Talk about a lifesaver.”

I nod. “I was wondering … Was your reaction the other day typical? I mean, do you often lose it like that in the face of adversity?”

“And by ‘face of adversity’ you mean finding out the man to whom I gave my virginity, and to whom I declared my love, is married? If that’s what you mean then yes, my reaction would be typical—irate, out of control, somebody’s going to die. Now, the answer to your other question, ‘do I often lose it’ would be no. So don’t lie to me anymore, keep your dick in your pants except when I request you take it out, and don’t ever wear a cowboy hat in the bedroom. If you can follow those simple rules, you shouldn’t have any problem staying on my good side.”

“Cowboy hat? I take it you’re not a country fan.”

“It’s an embarrassing story that I don’t need to think about right now.” She turns on the radio. “Ooo, I like this song. Gotye, ‘Somebody That I Used to Know.’”

She wails out a few lines about being screwed over then she giggles as I shake my head and change the station.

“Oh, leave it. How perfect …” The same cringe-worthy voice goes into seductive lyrics about big birthday balloons.

“Hey, what’s wrong with Katy Perry?” She yells in a whiny voice as I switch stations again.

“Katy’s great. You, my love, sound like a donkey in labor.”

“Oh my gosh! You shit! I can’t believe you …” She punches my shoulder then folds her arms across her chest and stares out her window.

“What? You just told me not to lie to you, to keep my dick in my pants, and not wear a cowboy hat. What rule did I violate?”

“Just shut up granny driver.”

“Granny driver?”

“Yeah, granny driver, drop the hammer for goodness sake. I don’t want to spend all day in the car with your honest insults.”

“This, coming from the girl who plays with two sticks and a ball of yarn all day. But I love it when you get sassy with me. As long as you’re not throwing shit at my head, I think your fieriness is hot as hell.”

“Yeah, well, cool your balls, buddy. I’m not sure bestiality is legal in Connecticut. Hee haw!”

“I didn’t say you were a donkey, I said you sounded like one, and for your information I believe it is legal in Connecticut. So don’t be surprised if I try to mount my favorite ass later.”

She tries to keep her somber face, but she can’t hold it in. We both fall into a fit of laughter. I glance over and she’s wiping tears from her eyes and can’t stop giggling.

“Mount your favorite ass?” She continues to laugh. “That’s just great. You called my singing an ass in labor. Jeez, Oli, how romantic. You sure know how to woo a girl.”

“I aim to please.”

* * *

The drive here was two of the most enjoyable, nonsexual hours of my life. I love the easy conversations we have and the playful banter. Vivian has a facial expression for every emotion, and I could spend the rest of my life counting and memorizing them. Calling her smart, sexy, and funny sounds like such a cliché, but that’s what she is with me. An uncontrollable smile here, a wink there, the brush of her fingertips along the nape of my neck while I’m driving … it’s all the little things with her that add up to the best moments of my life.

“KISS, Oli,” she says while opening the door. I lean over to taste her cherry lips and she shakes her head. “The acronym, dummy: Keep It Simple Stupid. I’m going to tell them everything before we leave, but there’s no need to back the dump truck up to the front door. You’re my neighbor. We’ve been dating this summer. You worship the ground I walk on … just the basics, babe, stick to the basics.” She winks. Ah, there it is. Then she smiles. Another favorite.

I meet her at the front of the car and offer my hand. She takes it and leads me up to the door. No need to argue with her little jabs. Truth—I do worship the ground she walks on.

“Vivvy!” her mom squeals pulling Vivvy into her arms. “Happy birthday, baby girl.”

“Thanks, Mom.”

She looks back at me and takes my hand again, pulling me into the house. “Mom, this is Oliver … my boyfriend. Oliver this is my mom, Lydia.”

“Pleased to meet you, Mrs. Graham.” I shake her hand. She looks between me and Vivian with an exuberant grin and wide eyes.

“Lydia, please. So boyfriend, huh?”

“I hope so.” I look at Vivian and her cheeks turn pink.

“You get in a fight?”

I laugh. “More like a home invasion.”

“Oh dear! Did they catch the person who did it?”

I feel Vivian’s scowl. “Yes, as a matter of fact they did.”

“Well I hope they get the punishment they deserve.”

Vivian coughs then clears her throat. “Where’s Dad?”

“Working, sweetie. He’ll be home for dinner. Looks like I’ll be setting three extra place settings instead of two.”

“Three?” Vivian leads me to the back porch where her mom lets a dog inside.

“Rosenburg!” Vivian ditches me and picks up the little white fur ball. “I missed you.” She nuzzles her face into his fluffy coat. “Oli, meet Rosenburg.” She hands it … him, to me.

“Rosenburg … interesting name.”

“She named him after the founder of Dunkin’ Donuts. Crazy girl.” Lydia shakes her head. “Have a seat.” She gestures to a padded gliding bench.

“Thank you.” I sit next to Vivian. “Didn’t know you had a dog … a dog named Rosenburg.” I smirk at her. “Your doughnut obsession is worse than I thought.”

She winks. “It’ll be fine. I’m in therapy now.”

My dick twitches, feeling ready to give her some more of that therapy.

“She gets her insane metabolism from her father. It’s not fair. I gain weight just thinking about food.” Lydia gives Vivian the stink eye.

“You could have fooled me.” I smile.

Lydia shares a familiar blush that I’ve seen on Vivian’s face a thousand times. She’s not as tall as Vivian and her curves are more prominent, but she has those green eyes and black hair with a few streaks of gray all pulled back into a bun.

“I like him, Vivvy.”

Vivian tucks her feet underneath her legs and leans into me. “Yeah, he’s okay.”

“Vivvy, what happened to your feet?”

“Uh … stepped on some broken glass … um, helping Oliver clean up after the invasion.”

“Yes, I told her I would clean it up, but she wouldn’t listen.”

“Tell me about it. She’s a stubborn girl, but we’re still real proud of her. Can’t wait to see her walk across that stage in two more years.”

Vivian clears her throat. “So, um, you didn’t say who the third person is who’s coming to dinner.”

“Oh, Kai of course.”

I’m not sure if Lydia can see the steam escaping from my nostrils, but it’s there. Vivian knows it’s there. Her body tenses against mine.

“Uh, why did you invite Kai?”

“I can’t believe you’re asking me that. He’s your best friend. He’s home for another week or so. And his sister just died. Did I mention it’s your birthday too? Oh speaking of … your cake’s in the oven. I need to go check on it.”

Lydia goes back inside and Rosenburg jumps off my lap and follows her.

Vivian straddles my lap facing me with a nervous smile. “Are you mad?”

No, I’m fucking livid!

“At whom? You, when you didn’t know. Your mom, who didn’t know about me until today? Kai, because his sister died?”

She brushes her lips against my neck and kisses my ear. “So basically you’re pissed, but you don’t know where to aim the blame,” she whispers.

“Basically.”

“Vivvy! Get off that boy. I taught you better than that. How rude of you to invade his personal space.” Lydia brings out a tray of beverages.

Vivian rolls her eyes and climbs off my lap.

“Can I offer you a drink, Oliver?” She holds the tray out in front of me.

“Yes, thank you.” I take one of the small Dixie cups filled with red liquid.

“Vivvy?” She offers a cup to her.

“Oh my God, Mom! You made Kool-Aid for us? We’re adults not seven-year-olds taking a play break.”

I take a sip to hide my grin. This is not just Kool-Aid!

“I know, sweetie. I’m just teasing you. Take a sip.”

Vivian hesitates then brings the cup to her lips like something’s going to jump out and bite her. “What is this?”

“Kool-Aid cocktail. It’s Tropical Punch Kool-Aid mixed with fresh lemon juice and dark rum.”

Vivian shrugs. “Mmm, not bad.”

Priceless. It’s the only description for this moment—the dog, the spiked Kool-Aid, the “personal space” invasion, and Vivvy. The crazy part is we’ve been here for only thirty minutes. Adding in dinner with my nemesis and Vivian’s college confessions to her parents is going to make this a memorable weekend.

* * *

Vivian

Oliver’s family is normal, I think. They have refined social skills, yet they are far from pretentious. Even the last night we had dinner with them and acted like a couple of tattling children they handled the situation with humor and love. My family … not so refined. I was raised by two hardworking and very loving parents. We struggled to make ends meet, but I never felt like I truly wanted for anything. My parents never fought over money in front of me. In fact, they rarely fought at all. So I have to give them a free pass when it comes to being overprotective and sometimes embarrassing.