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“That your dad has a sex life, and you don’t.”
“You don’t know shit about my life.” My lips purse.
He laughs, sips his coffee, and spits it out all over my porch.
“You’re cleaning that up.” I watch two ducks swimming side by side as if they’re a couple.
“Why don’t you just inject it through an IV right into your bloodstream?” Emmett stands. “I need milk or something.”
He disappears inside again, then his clanking and banging echoes out to the porch. Likely, my kitchen will be a disaster once he’s done.
I watch the ducks some more. Emmett has a point. Lately, there’ve been no women in my life. I don’t date. I don’t sleep with random women unless I’m out of town, and even that has been rare. My hand and my imagination are my Saturday night entertainment, but I’m craving one particular woman more than I’d ever admit to anyone, especially Emmett.
“Better.” Emmett walks out with his cup of coffee and a banana. “I hope Dad brings breakfast.”
I shake my head. It amazes me some days that Emmett manages to get dressed and out of the house on his own.
“You’re kicking me out?” I hear Ben ask before he turns the corner, my dad right beside him.
Ben’s holding a box and dressed in sweats and T-shirt, while my dad is wearing his usual jeans and flannel shirt unbuttoned, showing off how fit the man still is.
“You’re engaged. It’s time,” Dad says.
Ben stops and stares at our dad, but he just continues his walk over to my steps. “Dad!”
He waves Ben off. “Go live with your family.”
Ben’s jaw clenches. “The house isn’t ready, and you won’t let me hire anyone.”
Dad stops on the first step and blows out a breath. “Fine, hire people. Probably safer for Gillian and Clayton anyway.”
“Mornin’, Dad,” Emmett says.
I’m surprised Emmett doesn’t have some smart-ass comment for Ben.
Ben’s gaze lands on me.
“There’s no room at the inn,” I say, not about to invite him to live here. Walking in on him and Gillian on my sofa is not what I need in my life right now.
“Jude. Emmett.” Dad nods at us and walks into my house. Good thing my coffee maker is scheduled to make a full pot every morning.
Ben follows our dad inside and drops the box on the porch table as he walks by. “Here.”
“Donuts!” Emmett acts like a five-year-old and is the first one to the box. “Who bought these?”
“Dad’s… visitor made them.” Ben follows my dad inside.
The two of them continue to argue about Dad kicking Ben out. We’ve all been there. Me at nineteen and Emmett at eighteen. He gave us the land, told us to build a house and to get out of his. But Ben just returned a few months ago after retiring from pro football, and although he catches a ball as if he’s got super glue on his hands, hammering a nail into wood isn’t really his skill set.
Emmett picks up a glazed donut, inspecting it. “Made them?” He shrugs and takes a big bite of one. He moans as he chews and swallows.
Dad walks out with Ben right behind him, each holding coffee mugs.
“She’s a keeper.” Emmett pushes the rest of the donut into his mouth.
“None of them are keepers.” Dad towers over Emmett, staring down at him until Emmett gets up from the chair.
Emmett goes over to the railing, snagging another donut on his way.
