Take Me Home

Riptide Publishing

PO Box 1537

Burnsville, NC 28714

www.riptidepublishing.com

This is a work of fiction. Names, characters, places, and incidents are either the product of the author’s imagination or are used fictitiously. Any resemblance to actual persons living or dead, business establishments, events, or locales is entirely coincidental. All person(s) depicted on the cover are model(s) used for illustrative purposes only.

Take Me Home

Copyright © 2016 by Lorelie Brown

Smashwords Edition

Cover art: L.C. Chase, lcchase.com/design.htm

Editor: Gwen Hayes

Layout: L.C. Chase, lcchase.com/design.htm

All rights reserved. No part of this book may be reproduced or transmitted in any form or by any means, electronic or mechanical, including photocopying, recording, or by any information storage and retrieval system without the written permission of the publisher, and where permitted by law. Reviewers may quote brief passages in a review. To request permission and all other inquiries, contact Riptide Publishing at the mailing address above, at Riptidepublishing.com, or at marketing@riptidepublishing.com.

ISBN: 978-1-62649-477-0

First edition

November, 2016

ABOUT THE EBOOK YOU HAVE PURCHASED:

We thank you kindly for purchasing this title. Your nonrefundable purchase legally allows you to replicate this file for your own personal reading only, on your own personal computer or device. Unlike paperback books, sharing ebooks is the same as stealing them. Please do not violate the author’s copyright and harm their livelihood by sharing or distributing this book, in part or whole, for a fee or free, without the prior written permission of both the publisher and the copyright owner. We love that you love to share the things you love, but sharing ebooks—whether with joyous or malicious intent—steals royalties from authors’ pockets and makes it difficult, if not impossible, for them to be able to afford to keep writing the stories you love. Piracy has sent more than one beloved series the way of the dodo. We appreciate your honesty and support.

Thanksgiving arrives in one week and one day. Feeling hemmed in by parental expectations? Are they disappointed by your sapphic proclivities? I can help! The only pay I want is the holiday meal!

I didn’t know what I was looking for until I saw her Craigslist ad.

I love my family. I’m lucky to have them—well, most of them. But my aunt? I’m so tired of her giving my mom crap because I happen to be a lesbian. So one pink-haired tattoo artist pretending to be my girlfriend will annoy my Christian fundamentalist aunt right back and make my Thanksgiving perfect.

Only . . . Brooke turns out to be cuter and more complicated than I expected. And before you can say yorkiepoo, we kiss . . . and abduct a dog together. I want to keep them both—but Brooke isn’t the kind to be kept. Lucky for me, I’m the kind to chase what I want.

About Take Me Home

Chapter 1

Chapter 2

Chapter 3

Chapter 4

Chapter 5

Chapter 6

Chapter 7

Chapter 8

Chapter 9

Chapter 10

Chapter 11

Chapter 12

Chapter 13

Dear Reader

Also by Lorelie Brown

About the Author

More like this

Here’s a novel idea, I say into the phone. Don’t invite Aunt Daphne.

I know what my mom is going to say before I even hear the sigh. If Daphne isn’t there, Connie won’t come.

As if you want her there either.

If Connie doesn’t come, my dad will go with her to her family in Connecticut.

And we wouldn’t want that. Thankfully my mom can’t see my eyes roll, or I’d catch hell. As it is, my tone is probably a touch too wry, and she responds with her own exasperation.

I know you don’t always agree with his politics, but he’s my father and your grandfather, and it’s the holidays.

I just don’t want Daphne to ask if I’m ever settling down or if I’m content in spinsterhood. Seriously, who even says ‘spinsterhood’ anymore? Can a word count as a word anymore if no one uses it?

By that logic, it’s still in since Daphne used it.

Yeah but that was almost two years ago.

Then what are you complaining about?

Trisha’s had a baby. And since everything Trisha does is magical to her mother, Daphne is just fine with Trisha’s works-as-a-server husband. Not that I’m a snob or anything, but how does a twenty-year-old expect to be a stay-at-home mother when her husband works at Applebee’s? Unless he’s giving head under the table, his tips can’t be that great. I don’t want to hear about how brilliant that chubby-cheeked thing is and why Daphne thinks he’ll be the first man on the moon.

We’ve already had a man on the moon, Mom replies bluntly.

Does Daphne realize that?

I get a special treatment of the sigh twice in a row. If you don’t like it, stay at the kids’ table.

But I was finally going to move up, I say instantly, but it’s not such a terrible idea. Sierra, my seventeen-year-old sister, is pretty fun. What would really shut her up is if I brought a date.

You’re welcome to if you want, but please do keep in mind that it’s only a week till Thanksgiving. Let me know as soon as you figure out who you’re going to bring.

Sure, sure, I say, and I’m not paying attention as we give our good-byes, because my mind is fully wrapped up in the holiday.

Daphne knows I’m gay, inasmuch as she knows physics. She’s heard of it, but she absolutely has no interest in mucking about with it. Her head will spin if she actually has to look at me holding hands with a woman.

So naturally I click through all my usual online dating sites. OkCupid is a bust of course, since my inbox is currently filled with men asking if I’m really sure I’m a lesbian—and if I am, is there any way they can watch? Just once? Ugh. My queer girl dating app nets one possible, a girl I’ve been messaging with for a couple of weeks, who I know is living away from her family. And she’s a student, so maybe she can’t afford to go home.

Out of impulse, while I wait for her to message back, I click over to Craigslist and the WSW section. I don’t expect much, and I’m not sure why I check, except maybe I’m more of a glutton for punishment than I want to admit.

Unexpectedly, I hit pay dirt.

Seeking an inappropriate Thanksgiving date?

Goddamn, that title is made for me.

Fate is a thing. I rub my palms together before clicking the link and wiggle my butt deeper into my couch in excitement.

It’s not my parents who are pestering me about kids, but just about everything else looks spot on.

Thanksgiving arrives in one week and one day. Feeling hemmed in by parental expectations? Are they disappointed by your sapphic proclivities? I can help!

I’m twenty-four and all but six months of those years have been spent outside of prison walls. I’ve been told I look anywhere between seventeen and thirty with healthy applications of makeup. I have my own car, which has sweet-as-hell flames painted on the nose. Best VW Rabbit on the West Coast. I work as a tattoo artist, so depending on the family, I can either talk long and loud about my work or pretend to be a stripper.

Other things I can do:

Talk about how I only eat clean, whole foods even while I scarf down an embarrassing number of calories.

Ask your married family members if they’re really sure they’re straight.

Talk about the mundane trap that is the bourgeois middle-class life and how no one will shackle me down.

Launch into conversations with how I plan to have seven babies and discuss in detail the homebirth I’ve attended. Will you give me bonus points for saying placenta as the cranberry sauce is served?

I’ll consider taking part in a catfight, but only if it evolves naturally. No jumping without provocation will be done. I also draw the line at groping anyone, but if you want to kiss me after your grandfather says amen, I’m cool with it.

The only pay I want is the holiday meal!

Perfect, I say to my empty apartment as I punch the air.

Please include your favorite Muppet in the email subject line so I know you’re not a robot.

I type Rowlf, of course,