The Sunday Arrangement Read Online Free Page A

guarantee you, if Dad thinks I’m going to be
on diaper duty, he doesn’t know me very well.”
    “So
who is this Pierce kid anyway? Obviously, he’s a Maverick so we hate him,
right?”
    I
willed my face not to turn scarlet. Kat could read through any of my bullshit,
and I didn’t need her to know that I thought Pierce was the most gorgeous man
I’d ever seen. “Pierce is eldest. Straight out of college. Thinks he’s all that
and a bag of chips.”
    “Sounds
peachy.”
    “Yeah,
he’s pretty arrogant. The next few months aren’t going to be real pleasant I
suspect.”
    She took
a sip of her beer, her eyes never leaving mine. “So I’m guessing by that forced
expression on your face that this guy is hot?”
    Damn.
How does she always know? “What? What do you mean?”
    Kat
folded her tattoo-covered arms and gave me a stern look. “How long have we been
friends now? Fifteen years? I think that’s long enough for me to know when you’re
holding something back.”
    “Fine,
fine,” I said, throwing my hands up in surrender.
    “Oh,
is he now?”
    I
playfully nudged Kat in the arm. “Yes, if you must know. The man is gorgeous.
In fact, he may even be enough to tempt the lesbian out of you.”
    Kat
took another sip of her beer. “Unless he has some breasts to play with, I
highly doubt that.”
    I
laughed until beer fizzled out of my nose. Kat could always make me chuckle.
Her charisma and wit captivated me. It didn’t matter what she said or what she
did, I wanted to be close to her because I knew we were going to have a hell of
a good time. Not only was she a blast, but she also understood me. She was the
only person I felt comfortable around, the only person I felt I could be normal
with. Around family and the public, I was constantly walking on eggshells. Look
pretty. Be smart. Date successful men. Make everyone like you . With Kat, I could
wear sweat pants, drink beer, and not worry about whether or not I was wearing
the latest Gucci shoes or how I was going to explain to my mother that I was still
not dating anyone.
    Because
of this, I’d always had a small girl crush on her, which really confused me as
a teenager. I couldn’t figure out what I liked. The taste of men, their soft
tongues on mine, had always aroused me. It left me curious, always wanting
more. With women, particularly Kat, I connected on an entirely different level.
It was more than the insatiable heat between our bodies. It was understanding,
compassion. Eventually I discovered that I wanted to be with men, in spite of
the rotten eggs I’d dated the past few years. They all reminded me too much of
my father—too prideful and too ambitious to see the importance of being with
the loved ones who surrounded them.
    Despite
my attraction to men, Kat would always have that special spot for being my “level
three” girl. Kat came up with the levels in college. Levels for girl crushes,
very similar to a man crush for guys. Level one was a girl that another girl wanted
to be friends with. Level two meant you wanted to be that girl or have specific
aspects of a girl, like perky breasts or straight hair. Level three was the woman
another girl would have sex with if the opportunity ever presented itself. For
most girls, level three was reserved for celebrities. Not me. For me, it was Kat.
    “Well,
it doesn’t matter anyway,” I said, once I wiped the beer off my face. “The man
is a stud, but he’s as arrogant as you are gay. I was with him five minutes,
and already I can’t stand the kid. The next few months in Vegas are going to be
hellish.”
    “Well,
there’s always gambling or strip clubs. Wash your blues away on the Strip by watching
gals strip. That’s my motto.”
    I
cocked my head to the side. “That seems like something that’s more up your
alley, Kat.” I sighed. “I wish I could at least work on my other projects in my
free time. Dad’s making me give up all my other work, even the big one I’ve
been tweaking. He told