“Morning,” I reply. “Sleep okay?” Allie bends down to touch her polished toes. She rises up slowly, her finger tips trailing along her tan leg... and stoping at the hem of her yellow boy shorts. “Did you hear that last night?” She reaches to the sky, her white spaghetti tank rising up and allowing the morning sun to glint off her belly button stud. “The fucking or the puking?” I am too fucking blunt but Allie laughs then stops herself, holding her hand over her mouth. She takes creeping steps. I mean there was you and dad," Anne over the last couple of hours of the party had to taken to calling my father dad because she really felt like one of the family, "the Fosters, Joe and Morrie and those other two guys you made the deal with Gerald Mulvaney and Patrick Richardson." She had been counting them on her fingers. "Fuck that's eight!" She laughed. "And considering I fucked you and Michael and that Gerald and Patrick twice," she counted on her fingers again, "that's twelve separate. More

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