I Wish I Were Special (Southern Scandal Book 1) by Julia McBryant

Author:Julia McBryant [McBryant, Julia]
Language: eng
Format: epub
Publisher: Independent
Published: 2019-09-24T16:00:00+00:00

8

Chapter 8

Ellis and Quinn wake together on Thanksgiving morning. Ellis gets Quinn off as usual: delicious, fucks him on his belly with a pillow under his chest while Quinn calls him Daddy, begs for more of his cock, then comes hard with Ellis’s cock in his ass, Ellis telling him come for me baby Q, I wanna see my boy come as much as he can, that’s it, Daddy loves it when his boy comes so much. He lays out Quinn’s suit, a checked three-piece with a gray tie. Quinn has sworn that yes, his family dresses for Thanksgiving dinner. Ellis pulls on a button-down, khakis and a sweater, total frat boy, kisses Quinn, says he has to go start the turkey for his mother, and leaves.

Quinn isn’t expected until 3:00 pm. He sits alone and plays video games, numbingly, until 1:30 in the afternoon. Then he dresses, assures he looks impeccable, and drives himself out to the family farm, down I-16, out an exit and down the winding roads to a place not far from Henry’s, on the far outskirts of Savannah. It has a goddamn name: Leyton Place, formerly owned by the Leyton family but in Quinn’s family for god knows how long. He drives up the long, winding, pebbled drive lined with live oaks, to the huge house with the double staircase out front, god, cliché upon cliché, the thing even has fucking columns. Of-fucking-course, he’s the last one there; his brothers’ and sister’s and parents’ cars neatly line up in a row: Alexander and Thomas both have high-end Mercedes minivans. Tristan of course keeps a Porsche; he fucking loves fast cars. Darcy, his two-years-older sister, the precious, precious girl, who gets a new car whenever she wants it, is in a Land Rover right now. His parents both drive Teslas because his mother’s on some green kick.

Quinn straightens his suit, prays the kids won’t gum it up with their greasy little paws, and climbs the stairs into the house. He rings the bell; they keep it locked and he doesn’t have a key, not to the front. Marigold answers the door, his five-years-older brother Tristan’s girlfriend. “Hi, Quinn!” she says perkily, her blond hair swaying. She and Quinn have approximately the same haircut, though hers is bleached like a Fox News anchor, that weird shade of green-blond. “You’re just in time for dinner!”

Everyone’s seated in the formal dining room already. Quinn checks his watch. He’s arrived fifteen minutes early. Quinn hates this room: all staid portraits of deceased Rutledges, shiny, shiny wood no one can touch for fear of fingerprints, knickknacks owned by the illustrious dead.

The kids sit at the actual table. When Quinn was small, his parents banished them to a kids’ table in the kitchen, but grandkids and all that, so the brats have to eat with them. Quinn actually really likes kids in general. But both Alexander’s and Thomas’s kids are grade-A brats. Trey (Alexander III) and Tommy (Thomas Jr.) whine for whatever they want, and they get it.

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