Read Online Random Acts of Love (Random #5) by Julia Kent - Free Book Online Page B
Authors: Julia Kent
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on the surface of my skin. Why did that comment resonate like that?
“Joey, I called you home for a reason,” Mom said, grabbing me for a big hug, which is hard to do when you’re four-foot-ten but she did it. Her hugs felt like being embraced by a twisted wire coat hanger scented with lavender.
“Yeah? You want to tell me more about your hymen?”
Dad’s head snapped up from the floor. “Her what?”
Mom’s fingers dug in as she dragged me into the great room off the kitchen. “That is a surprise!” she hissed through gritted teeth. “For our anniversary.”
“How the hell am I supposed to know which secrets to keep and which ones to spill.”
“Why would you ever divulge one of my secrets?”
“When Dad bribes me to.”
“HERB!”
Gene walked into the kitchen with a smirk on his face, covered in sweat, wearing bike shorts and flip flops. In April. In Massachusetts.
“Any almond milk left? You didn’t drink it all, did you, Joe?”
Mom and Dad bickered next to us, their voices tight and clipped, like listening to two lawyers go at it over technicalities. Which they were.
“Nope. I tried to drink the raw milk.”
“Tried? Did it go bad?” Our conversation went on as if my six-four bear of a father weren’t getting his ass reamed by my pocket-sized mom.
“No. I was drinking it when mom walked in and acted like I was a sex slave trafficker for chugging straight out of the carton.”
“Well,” he said pleasantly, pulling out a blender and a handful of ingredients for a smoothie, “that’s one step above whale killer.”
“Who’s killing whales?” Mom asked, completely ignoring Dad, who was in mid-sentence and red faced.
“Joe,” Gene said without stopping his task, pouring almond milk into the blender, adding raw cocoa powder and chia seeds. I had a sudden pang for fried green tomatoes and coconut shrimp at Jeddy’s diner.
“You’re killing whales?”
“Yep. Killed three today, all before dawn. Great way to start the day. Like getting a hymen restoration.”
Gene’s hand halted on the bag of fresh spinach.
“A what?” Dad asked.
“Never mind,” I called out as I walked back to my room, where Paul was on the phone with a supplier asking for joint compound that didn’t have gluten in it for his crazyass client.
Mom followed me. Paul closed the door gently. I heard a few choice words like, “I know!” and “She pays me by the hour. Negotiated that a long time ago, Manny!” and “How the fuck should I know? Maybe she eats joint compound in her sleep?”
“Look what you’ve done! Ruined my anniversary surprise.”
“Just tell him I’m the one getting the hymen surgery.”
Her glare could double as a surgeon’s scalpel.
“You keep walking away and I need to talk to you.”
“I’m not walking away.”
“Yes, you are.”
“No, I’m not.”
She pursed her lips. “You,” she said, pointing a finger for emphasis, “need to find a woman.”
A flash of Darla whipped through me like someone unrolling a long piece of silk and letting it ride on the wind.
“I have plenty of women.”
“Not the ones you buy in bars after your concerts.”
“Buy?”
“With a few drinks.”
“That’s not how it works, Mom.”
“You’re telling me the floozies don’t hit on you after you do your thing?” She waved her hands like she was shooing gnats. My thing. That’s how she referred to Random Acts of Crazy. Just a thing. A trifling. Something that got in the way of my future law career.
“Sure they do, Mom. I’ve got the diseases to prove it.” I smiled and showed way more teeth than normal.
Alarm took over her face, perfect eyebrows arched up. Ah. The Botox had worn off. “You’re using condoms, aren’t you? We’ve taught you from day one that you can’t get diseases. You just can’t. With your heart condition—”
“I don’t have a heart condition.”
Her face twisted into a snarl of disbelief. “Don’t you tell me you don’t have a
“Joey, I called you home for a reason,” Mom said, grabbing me for a big hug, which is hard to do when you’re four-foot-ten but she did it. Her hugs felt like being embraced by a twisted wire coat hanger scented with lavender.
“Yeah? You want to tell me more about your hymen?”
Dad’s head snapped up from the floor. “Her what?”
Mom’s fingers dug in as she dragged me into the great room off the kitchen. “That is a surprise!” she hissed through gritted teeth. “For our anniversary.”
“How the hell am I supposed to know which secrets to keep and which ones to spill.”
“Why would you ever divulge one of my secrets?”
“When Dad bribes me to.”
“HERB!”
Gene walked into the kitchen with a smirk on his face, covered in sweat, wearing bike shorts and flip flops. In April. In Massachusetts.
“Any almond milk left? You didn’t drink it all, did you, Joe?”
Mom and Dad bickered next to us, their voices tight and clipped, like listening to two lawyers go at it over technicalities. Which they were.
“Nope. I tried to drink the raw milk.”
“Tried? Did it go bad?” Our conversation went on as if my six-four bear of a father weren’t getting his ass reamed by my pocket-sized mom.
“No. I was drinking it when mom walked in and acted like I was a sex slave trafficker for chugging straight out of the carton.”
“Well,” he said pleasantly, pulling out a blender and a handful of ingredients for a smoothie, “that’s one step above whale killer.”
“Who’s killing whales?” Mom asked, completely ignoring Dad, who was in mid-sentence and red faced.
“Joe,” Gene said without stopping his task, pouring almond milk into the blender, adding raw cocoa powder and chia seeds. I had a sudden pang for fried green tomatoes and coconut shrimp at Jeddy’s diner.
“You’re killing whales?”
“Yep. Killed three today, all before dawn. Great way to start the day. Like getting a hymen restoration.”
Gene’s hand halted on the bag of fresh spinach.
“A what?” Dad asked.
“Never mind,” I called out as I walked back to my room, where Paul was on the phone with a supplier asking for joint compound that didn’t have gluten in it for his crazyass client.
Mom followed me. Paul closed the door gently. I heard a few choice words like, “I know!” and “She pays me by the hour. Negotiated that a long time ago, Manny!” and “How the fuck should I know? Maybe she eats joint compound in her sleep?”
“Look what you’ve done! Ruined my anniversary surprise.”
“Just tell him I’m the one getting the hymen surgery.”
Her glare could double as a surgeon’s scalpel.
“You keep walking away and I need to talk to you.”
“I’m not walking away.”
“Yes, you are.”
“No, I’m not.”
She pursed her lips. “You,” she said, pointing a finger for emphasis, “need to find a woman.”
A flash of Darla whipped through me like someone unrolling a long piece of silk and letting it ride on the wind.
“I have plenty of women.”
“Not the ones you buy in bars after your concerts.”
“Buy?”
“With a few drinks.”
“That’s not how it works, Mom.”
“You’re telling me the floozies don’t hit on you after you do your thing?” She waved her hands like she was shooing gnats. My thing. That’s how she referred to Random Acts of Crazy. Just a thing. A trifling. Something that got in the way of my future law career.
“Sure they do, Mom. I’ve got the diseases to prove it.” I smiled and showed way more teeth than normal.
Alarm took over her face, perfect eyebrows arched up. Ah. The Botox had worn off. “You’re using condoms, aren’t you? We’ve taught you from day one that you can’t get diseases. You just can’t. With your heart condition—”
“I don’t have a heart condition.”
Her face twisted into a snarl of disbelief. “Don’t you tell me you don’t have a
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