Thanksgiving With Her Two Boyfriends

Note from Adora: The following scene is a snippet from Double Crossed, my spicy MMF romantic suspense. In this scene, Jack and Gabe (Kennedy’s two boyfriends) meet Kennedy’s family for the first time over Thanksgiving dinner. Enjoy!

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“Gabe,” Mrs. Furhman starts, “how is it that you know Kennedy?”

I feel Jack’s and Kennedy’s eyes on me from across the table.

I’ve got this, children.

“Jack and I were in the military together,” I announce as I lift my glass of wine to my lips. “Hooyah.”

“Oh. You must know each other quite well, then.”

“Very.” I wink at Jack. He doesn’t return the favor.

“Donnie, the turkey is dry,” Rebecca complains. “I told you, you left it in the oven too long.”

“Better too cooked than too pink,” Donnie says.

“He’s always overcooking food,” Rebecca announces. “I made the stuffing.”

She takes in a deep breath and then goes still. I imagine she’s holding her breath until someone compliments her on the stuffing.

“It’s just wonderful,” I tell her. “The turkey, too.”

Rebecca frowns at that, but Donnie beams.

“I’ve started cooking,” Rebecca says. “Macrobiotic food. I lost twenty pounds!”

“It’s great,” Donnie agrees with his wife, then pats his gut. “I’d be in the same place if I could just stay away from red meat.”

“Those burgers!” Rebecca squeals. “Killers!”

They both laugh, but it has no humor in it.

“I can’t eat her food,” Granny grumbles beside me, her eyes slits. “Gives me the toots.”

I love Granny.

“Kennedy,” Rebecca says suddenly, “you should look into it.”

“Oh?” Kennedy says, but I can see her defenses go up.

“It’s all clean, healthy eating.” Her eyes do a quick once-over on Kennedy’s form. “It’d be good for you.”

Kennedy’s mouth twists. The barb doesn’t go unnoticed.

I have two older brothers—I’m intimately familiar with this game of one-upping. In a house of three boys, our challenges were usually physical. Who could do the most push-ups? Who could carry his girlfriend on his shoulders? Who could take the most shots of Fireball before puking in the backyard?

Toxic masculinity is a snakeskin I have worked hard to shed.

But if boys will be boys, girls will be nuclear warheads. Both Kennedy and Rebecca look like they’ve got their fingers on the button.

Sensing a catfight coming on, I attempt to steer the conversation with, “Speaking of food—these beets. Divine. Granny, is that your doing?”

She leans forward and pats my arm. “The secret is in the apricot preserves.”

Which answers the question: how did that flavor get in there?

“I didn’t pick up cooking in Atlanta, I’ll admit that,” Kennedy says, and it’s clear she hasn’t dropped the bait her sister left for her. “But that’s only because I was busy learning about the criminal justice system.”

Kennedy’s father leans forward so quickly he almost upends Donnie’s glass of wine. “Oh—shucks. Sorry, Donnie.” Shucks? Do nonanimated humans still say shucks? Mr. Furhman tents his fingers and turns to his daughter. “Yes, Chestnut, tell us about your studies.”

Except now that she’s thrown it out there, Kennedy gets shy. She shrugs and pokes at her carrots with a fork. “It’s great. I mean, law school is hell, but I’m learning a lot.”

Jack leans in closer to Kennedy and half murmurs, “Did you tell them about moot court?”

Kennedy squares her shoulders. “Oh, I mean, it’s not that big of a—”

Jack announces to the table, “Kennedy got into moot court. A very competitive program. Only a few of her classmates got in.”

“Oh, Kennedy!” her mother’s voice pitches. “Isn’t that wonderful?”

“Stellar, Chestnut.” Her dad’s mustache puffs proudly.

Rebecca looks like she just bit into a lemon.

“I always said this one would be a good lawyer.” Granny stabs her fork in Kennedy’s direction. “Girl could never lose an argument.”

Kennedy’s face colors. She bumps her shoulder against Jack’s. “It’s not that big of a deal,” Kennedy murmurs.

“Yes. It is.”

Jack puts his hand on her leg.

He’s a good boyfriend. Seeing the two of them like this—domestic, not surrounded by gunfire—makes my heart unexpectedly warm.

“Oh, that reminds me, honey,” Kennedy’s mom says, “we got a strange call from your school. Something about your attendance falling off?”

“Yes,” Mr. Furhman says, concern edging into his voice, “the dean said you’ve been noticeably absent the past couple months. To the point where you may not have enough credits this semester. I told him it must be a mistake, but—”

“Oh, yeah,” Kennedy quickly jumps in, “it’s nothing. I’ll talk to them when I get back.”

Rebecca makes a noise that almost sounds like a whimper of glee.

“That’s typical, isn’t it?” she says. “I said this would happen—Daddy, didn’t I say it? You can never pick one thing and stick to it. Always changing direction halfway through.”

“That has nothing to do with this!” Kennedy snaps.

“Oh? Really? I knew you’d drop out of law school. You can’t finish anything you start!”

“Says the woman who’s never accomplished anything except pushing two babies out.”

Rebecca’s face goes crimson. “Don’t tell me about accomplishments. I was valedictorian. I won first place in all of my barrel-racing competitions. I was the prom queen and the class president. I married my high school boyfriend. Happily.”

“Yeah, well, I’ve taken two dicks at once,” Kennedy snarls, “ever do that?”

The table goes silent.

“Fuck this,” Kennedy says. “I’m not hungry anyway.”

“Kennedy,” Mr. Furhman chastises, “language.”

“Oh, shuck off, Dad!” Kennedy gets up from the table, slaps her napkin down, and rushes into the kitchen.

There’s a vacuum of silence when Kennedy leaves. I clear my throat. “To be clear. She was talking about our dicks. It’s not like…getting gangbanged by two strangers. It was very loving, actually—”

Jack narrows his eyes at me. “Stop talking.”

I shut up.

“I’m going to check on her,” Jack says.

He starts to stand, but Mrs. Furhman gets up first.

“You better not. I’ll go.” Mrs. Furhman gives Jack a disapproving frown. “I think you’ve done enough here.”

Jack-two-dicks (or, at least, that’s how I assume the Furhmans will refer to him once we leave) sits back down. Mrs. Furhman vanishes into the kitchen.

The silverware beside me rattles. Granny leans forward, her wiry hands clasped together.

“So,” she says, “two at once. How does that work, exactly?”

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Keep reading in Double Crossed, a spicy male/male/female “why choose” romantic suspense on Amazon & Kindle Unlimited!