"Thanks, babe."

I slap Bella's red thong-covered ass and grab my shirt and jeans from her bedroom floor.

She strokes a hand down my chest and looks up at me, licking her lips. "Why don't you stay for a bit longer?"

I chuckle. "I gave you three, no need to be greedy."

The chick pouts, and I laugh, pulling the pants up my legs. That shit was good. My boy finally got wet, and I could relax.

As tempting as Bella's offer is, I can't stay. Pops needs me at the garage, and Mac promised to see what we've done with that place. Besides, I'm not one to have post-fucking convos. There isn't much Bella and I could talk about, anyway. My dick, maybe, but she knows the boy's pierced. It's old news.

She loves that shit, not that we ever fuck without a condom on. I have to thank my big bro for my boy's enhancement.

We got smashed once after one of Jimmy's gigs. I teased the hell outta Jim, saying that he'd never make it big cause his songs were shitty.

Jimmy suggested we make a bet: if he didn't get signed in the next three years, he'd pierce his boy. If he got a contract, I'd have to pierce mine.

My big bro's talented as fuck. I should've known better, but I didn't. I was, still am a stubborn fucker.

Long story short, a year and a half later, Jimmy signed a contract with the label.

I remember that day as if it happened yesterday: I was visiting Pops, and we were about to have dinner when the doorbell rang. A delivery guy stood outside, holding a cooler and a box. The cooler was full of ice, and a bottle of champagne was in it.

Pops was the one to open the box. Jimmy's framed photo lay inside, together with a picture of a pierced dick and a note, which read, 'The O'Brien men never give up. I made it, little fucker. The champagne's for Dad. The ice is for your dick cause it might get swollen.'

Pops laughed until he cried, saying he'd seen shit but he'd never seen anything like that. Then, he patted my shoulder and said a bet's a bet, and the O'Brien men always kept their word, swollen dick or not.

Now, every time Jimmy asks if I wanna bet, I say no, and the fucker chuckles and winks at me.

The memories make me smile as I continue getting dressed.

"Bye, sugar," I say to Bella and make my way out, not waiting for her goodbye. I'm one impatient fucker.

A short ride later, I'm at the garage, drinking in the sight of shiny tools and framed pictures. Looking at them is like walking down memory lane.

I helped my dad choose the images of the bikes he used to own, and he added the photographs of my brother, my mom, and me.

Dad isn't home yet; he must've gone to buy groceries. I head to my room and take a shower to wash Bella off.

When I put on a clean shirt, I notice Kitten sitting on the windowsill as she scribbles something in a notebook. Doesn't she have a life? I suspect all she ever does is study.

However, Ferdinand isn't there, which means she's alone. I open my window and yell, "Yo, Kitten!"

She's used to me by now. Kitten glances at me and then ignores me and goes on doing whatever the fuck she's doing.

"Where's Fer?" I ask.

"Studying somewhere," she says, to my astonishment.

"You have shitty taste in guys, Kitten," I say to bug her.

"I doubt your taste in girls is any better, O'Brien," Kitten replies with a shake of her head and an eye-roll.

I've just started teasing her, and she's already pissed. She must be having a crappy day.

"Are you sure he's studying, Kitten?" I go on. "Cause although Ferdinand looks like a monk, he might be fucking someone while you're locked in your room."

Kitten just shrugs, and I wonder what her deal is. She doesn't reply, and it bugs me.

"What's your favorite ice-cream flavor, Kitten?" I ask. "I bet it's vanilla."

The chick puts a hand on her stomach and looks away. I can't tell if she's laughing, but her shoulders shake, and I assume she is.

"Vanilla ice cream and fucking missionary style with Ferdinand," I say to get a reaction from her.

I study Kitten's long skirt and the blouse that's too big for her. I've never seen what her body looks like—all she does is hide it behind the shapeless clothes. As I continue watching the chick, images of Bella and her ass in the tightest jeans I've seen flash in front of my eyes.

"Where do you buy your clothes, Kitten, in Virgins'R'Us?"

Two things happen: Kitten hops off her windowsill and wipes at her eyes, and Pops' massive biker boot kicks my ass, nearly making me fall out of the window.

"What the fuck?" I scowl, turning around as I rub my behind.

My dad's brown eyes turn into two narrow slits. "Kitchen. Right fucking now."

He storms out of my room, and I follow him. It looks like I fucked up, and I don't even know what I've done.

Pops sits at the table and nods toward a chair. I wince as I take a seat. If there's a bruise, I'm fucked, and not by Bella.

"I heard what you said, you fucker," Dad begins. "I'm also very much aware of the way we are. We swear and say shit without making it sound politically correct. We can make a lady blush, but we, the O'Brien men, never disrespect a girl.

"You won't find sexist pigs in this family. We respect women and treat them right, cause we wouldn't be where we are without them. What you said was an asshole thing to say. You made that girl cry, and she did nothing to deserve it.

"You're a man. You drink, smoke, and fuck, and it pains me to see I was a shitty father to you. If I'd been a good one, I wouldn't have seen that crap in your room.

"For your information, your mom was a virgin when we started dating. I was her first man, and I begged her for it. I was the happiest asshole on Earth because no other fucker knew her like I did. It's not a fuckin' shame to be a virgin. There's a guy somewhere who'll cherish and appreciate it. If you keep on screwing it up with the poor creature, that guy won't be you."

"I was kidding," I say.

Pops shrugs. "I don't give a fuck. You'll go to her house and apologize. You'll also invite the girl to the barbecue tomorrow afternoon. Tell her we'll have food and music because your father opened a business. Beg her to come here if you need to, cause if she doesn't, it'll mean you suck at apologies, and you didn't try very hard."

I study my hands. "I barely know her."

"You know her well enough to talk shit about her. Go to the garage. Mac and Annie are there, waiting for you."

Pops looks upset, and I hate it. I nod and get out of there.

"'Sup!" Mac greets me in a minute. Annie hugs me and then sits on a chair and glances around.

"I like it here," she says.

"Thanks. You're coming to the barbecue, aren't you?"

"We'll be there," Annie says. "By the way, do you know the girl who lives in the haunted house?"

It's official. There's no escaping Kitten.

I roll my eyes. "Yeah. Why?"

Annie bites her lip. "I saw her now, and she looked sad. We met in class a couple of days ago. Her name's Leah. She seems to be a good girl, but her boyfriend's a dick."

I frown. "Who, Ferdinand?"

"Gavin," Annie says. "She sits with him and his friends at school, but they ignore her. And she walks home every day, although that prick has a car. He never gives her a ride."

"Not a gentleman," Mac says. "Lenny knows him. I had no idea Gavin was dating your neighbor."

"So what?" I shrug. "If she's with him, it's her choice. Why would I care?"

Annie smacks my chest hard. "Don't be an asshole too, Brian. Please, tell me she's coming to the barbecue tomorrow."

I rake my fingers through my hair, groaning. "Why?"

A sigh leaves Annie's mouth as she looks at her hand that's now in Mac's. "Cause I've never seen her eat at school. I hope I'm wrong, but I think the girl's always hungry."