Family Ties

We had just returned from the kitchen when the girls appeared from upstairs. Wren was grinning from ear to ear, while Christy couldn’t decide between smug or embarrassed.

“Have you guys been drinking without us?” Wren asked.

Trip stood and grinned. “Yes, we have, my beautiful little matchmaker.

But allow me to fix you drinks so you can catch up.” He cleared his throat.

“Are we celebrating?”

Christy turned pink.

“Just a fun weekend,” Wren said. She smiled at Christy and then included me with the same warmth. “It’s a perfect night to stay in, listen to music, and relax with friends.”

“Sounds good to me,” he said.

“We brought home dinner from Puckett’s,” she added for our benefit.

“Barbecue for us and chicken and dumplings for you,” she told Christy.

“Let’s heat it up while the guys fix drinks and pick out music.”

“Your wish,” I told her with a glint of mischief, “is our command.”

“You know, I’m in such a good mood that I’m going to forget you said that.”

We ate and drank and talked and drank and listened to music and drank some

more, until well after midnight. We were finally winding down when Wren drained her glass.

“Trip Whitman,” she said with elaborate care, “I would like to request the presence of your pleasure upstairs.”

Christy snickered.

“Wha’?” Wren said.

“I think you meant—” I began.

“Don’t c’rect me,” she said drunk-imperiously. “Trip knows wha’ I meant, even if I did mix it up.”

“Probably,” I said with a grin. “Your wish is his command.”

“As it should be. An’ in the spirit of bein’ more p’lite—”

“Good for you!”

“Thank you,” she allowed. “Now, where was I? Oh yeah! I was tryin’ t’

ask my sweetie t’ come u’stairs an’ screw my brains out.”

“And they say romance is dead,” I quipped.

“Be nice,” Christy whispered.

“You’re jus’ jealous,” Wren said.

“Come on, sweetheart.” Trip extended a hand. “I have plans for you.

Upstairs.”

He and I were a lot less drunk than the girls, who’d insisted on opening a bottle of champagne after we finished the Jack Daniel’s. Wren had drunk most of the bubbly, but Christy had polished off two glasses herself.

“You okay?” Trip said to me.

“Fine.” I brandished my Coke.

“All right. Glad you made it home safe. See you in the morning.” Wren swayed a bit unsteadily and he revised his estimate, “Maybe the afternoon.”

“Right. Have fun. See you tomorrow.”

Christy and I watched them go through the living room and then up the stairs.

“You ready for bed too?” I asked her. “You wanna spend th— Oh, okay.”

She’d climbed into my lap. “That works too.”

“Mmm.” She pulled my head down for a kiss. “I’m really drunk.”

“I can tell.”

“And really horny.”

“You don’t say?”

“Mmm. I do say.” She kissed me again.

“So,” I said after she released her lip-lock, “what do you wanna do about

it?”

“Wren thinks you should just have your way with me.”

“Oh, she does, does she? What do you think?”

“You’re the man. You could do anything you want.”

My eyebrows shot up. The alcohol was talking, but the little head didn’t care.

Christy reached between us and squeezed the bulge in my pants. “Mmm, he knows what I want.”

And he wouldn’t feel a bit guilty about taking advantage of you, drunk ornot.

“Or you could make me suck your cock. You like it when I say that.

Cock. I can tell.” She nuzzled my neck and said between kisses, “Mmm, your big, hard cock.”

A little booze—okay, a lot of booze—and she shed her inhibitions like a Baptist outside of church.

“He would love that,” I said cautiously.

“Mmm, so would I.”

“But the rest of me would feel guilty.”

She stopped kissing and pulled back. “What do you mean?”

“Just that maybe we should slow down a little.”

“Slow down?” Her eyes flashed with irritation. “But I thought—? You said— All I had to do was ask!”

“Yeah, but I meant when you’re sober.” Shit, shit, shit, shit, shit! Seven little words and the situation had gone from bad to worse. See what happens when you don’t think before you speak? “That’s not what I meant,” I said aloud, but it was too late.

“No, I know what you meant.” She shoved my hands away and stood. “I think I should sleep by myself,” she added frostily. “Goodnight!”

“G’night,” I said to her back, but it was halfhearted.

She stomped up the stairs, a hundred pounds of cold, rejected fury.

I hadn’t meant to reject her, but that hardly mattered. I’d only meant that I didn’t want to take advantage of her while she was drunk, but that didn’t matter either. I sat there and replayed the short, disastrous conversation in my head. I wondered what I could’ve done differently, although the answer was obvious: a lot.

Still, I couldn’t stop thinking about it. I’d have felt guilty if I’d gone along with her. Sure, the little head would’ve had fun, but what then? What

happened when she sobered up and realized what she’d done? She still hadn’t shed her inhibitions for real. She needed alcohol to do it, and that wasn’t the same.