Getting Played (Getting Some, #2)(54)

“Nice to see you too, Erin.”

My mother gives Dean a hug—the only member of my family to accept him fully, right off the bat—unless he gives her a reason not to. It’s just how she is.

Unlike my dad.

He introduces himself to Grams, being all old-school sweet and Jimmy Stewart charming. My mom leads Grams into the kitchen, asking if she wants a glass of sherry.

Grams replies, “That would be lovely, Desiree. I always like to get drunk on Christmas.”

Then Dean introduces himself to my father, holding out his hand and delivering the perfect “meeting the parents for the first time” greeting.

“Mr. Burrows, sir, it’s a pleasure to meet you.”

And my dad looks at his hand the same way he looked at the stinkbug infestation he found last year in an antique hatbox I had stored in the basement.

“Is this the guy?” he asks, turning to me.

“Yes, Dad, this is Dean—he just told you that. Be nice please.”

My dad kisses my cheek and pats my head, and chooses to completely ignore my new boyfriend. “How are you feeling, pumpkin?”

“I’m good.” I rub my belly. “We’re both good.”

“I’m glad.”

Then he rakes his gaze over Dean one last time. And a “hmph” is all he gives, before he walks away.

I stroke my hand down Dean’s arm. “Don’t mind him. He’s just mad that you had sex with me.”

“Okay, great.” Dean smacks his lips together. “Gonna be a fun day.”

Jack walks into the foyer and taps Dean’s back. This time, when Dean holds out his hand, it gets shaken.

“Jack, right?” Dean greets. “Good to see you again.”

“Same, dude. Congrats on the baby—hit the bullseye on the first night, huh?”

“I always had good aim.”

Jack greets me with a kiss on the cheek, then says to Dean, “And don’t worry about the old man—he’s hated me for years too—on account of me and Erin living in sin and everything. But now you’re here, so at least my life is about to get easier. Welcome to the Burrows jungle. Want a beer?”



~



My mom makes roast beef for dinner and we all eat together in the long, extended table in the dining room. Jay doesn’t complain, but I can tell he’s bummed that once again he’s relegated to the kiddie table in the basement—and I promise him this will be the last year. After dessert, we all squeeze into the living room to open presents.

My sisters seem happy with their gifts—mosaic glass picture frames and knit hats. And I get some great maternity clothes and a few baby items—a memory book and an antique rocking horse for the nursery, and a bib that says, “My mom is hotter than your mom.”

While the room is loud with family chatter, Jack approaches Dean, wiping his hands on the front of his pants nervously. “Hey. If this goes to shit, do me a favor and just punch me in the face, okay? Knock me out cold.”

“If what goes to shit?” Dean asks.

“You’ll see,” is all Jack replies.

Then he moves back beside Erin and taps on his beer bottle with a butter knife to get everyone’s attention.

Jack clears his throat. “I know I’ve asked before, but it was half-assed and partly just screwing around.” Jack’s face goes soft as he looks my sister in the eyes and lowers down to one knee. “I’m not screwing around anymore.”

Out of his gray suit jacket, he pulls a ring. It’s a huge round diamond that shines as bright as a star in a platinum band.

“I love you, Erin. I’m never going to love anyone as much as I love you—and I’d be a mess without you. Will you marry me?”

Erin covers her mouth with her hand, and tears well in her eyes. For a few seconds, she doesn’t say anything—and you can feel the collective anxiety in the room that she may actually say no.

But then she pulls in a shuddering breath. “I love you too, Jack. You make me happy and you make me laugh, and I want to spend the rest of my life making you happy too. So . . . yes, I’ll marry you.”

Everyone claps, and “awwws” and hugs—and Jack slides the ring on my sister’s finger. Then he stands and plants a massive kiss on her, lifting Erin right off her feet.

Without even thinking about it, I reach for Dean, twining my arm around his and resting my head against his bicep. I feel his kiss against my hair, and when I glance up, he’s gazing at me with a sexy smile and tender eyes.

“Holy shit—I said yes!!” Erin bounces up and down. “We’re getting married!”

Grams lifts her glass of sherry, like the geriatric version of Tiny Tim and his crutch. “Congratulations, every one.”

Then she hiccups.



~



As we’re still basking in Jack and Erin’s post-engagement glow, a horn honks outside. And honks, and honks, and honks again—blaring and obnoxious. I look out the front window and see Chet, the neighborhood guy from hell, standing on our lawn on drunk, unsteady feet, with his lime-green muscle car vibrating in the middle of the street.

“Burrows! Get one of these cars out of my fucking spot!”

Parking spaces are tough to come by in Bayonne—fighting for them is a pretty common thing—especially around the holidays.