Screw you too, p.1
Screw you too!, page 1
Contents
Author’s Note
CRAIG
LOTTIE
CRAIG
LOTTIE
CRAIG
CRAIG
CRAIG
LOTTIE
CRAIG
LOTTIE
CRAIG
CRAIG
CRAIG
CRAIG
LOTTIE
LOTTIE
CRAIG
LOTTIE
CRAIG
LOTTIE
CRAIG
LOTTIE
LOTTIE
CRAIG
CRAIG
CRAIG
LOTTIE
LOTTIE
CRAIG
CRAIG
CRAIG
CRAIG
CRAIG
LOTTIE
CRAIG
Copyright © Shauna Richmond (2023)
The right of Shauna Richmond to be identified as author of this work has been asserted by her accordance with section 77 and 78 of the Copyright, Designs and Patents Act 1988.
All rights reserved. No part of this publication may be reproduced, stored in a retrieval system, or transmitted in any form or by any means, electronic, mechanical, photocopying, recording, or otherwise, without the prior permission of the publishers.
Any person who commits any unauthorized act in relation to this publication may be liable to criminal prosecution and civil claims for damages.
ISBN: 9798397787888
Author’s Note
Note: Shauna Richmond writes in British English. Therefore, spelling and grammar may differ from American English.
Although it is a Rom-Com, Screw you too! Edges on some harder issues. See Trigger warning list below.
Scew you too! Is the second book in the duology although it links in with another standalone that runs in a consecutive timeline. Jailbait is a darker romance with the men from Screw it! (book 1) and Screw you too! Aiding a wrongly convicted prisoner in her fight to prove her innocence.
All of Shauna’s books (fantasy and contemporary) are based in Ireland and/or have Irish protagonists. Some things, like slang, humour et cetera may be lost on some readers.
TRIGGER WARNINGS:
Explicit sexual scenes.
Strong language.
Depression.
To every parent who is constantly overwhelmed, overtired, overworked, and over-caffeinated… me too, we need stronger coffee.
CRAIG
I knew it was bad, but I didn’t realise it was this bad. When my jeans screamed in protest, that’s one thing— I can blame the dryer. But when my toddler comes in and slaps me on the belly, giggles, and calls me "daddy pig," that’s an entirely different story. That pink pain in the arse, Peppa, is officially barred from the house.
It didn’t help that I noticed a rip in my jocks, and our little hellion is adamant that I farted and blew a hole right through them. In all fairness, she kind of has a point; we did order out last night— curry is no longer a late-night friend after the age of thirty-five.
"Well?" Lottie calls from the bedroom. As she rounds the doorway, one look at me is all it takes: "That bad?"
"No, not at all." I know I’m being a pouty little shit right now. You would be too if you got called fat before having your morning coffee. "I just stood on the scales, and my phone number came up.
Lottie tosses her hair back and laughs. "You’re clearly exaggerating."
"No?" I slap my belly, and just like good old St. Nick, it jiggles like Mamma June’s fat flaps. "Daddy pig, daddy pig, where are you?"
"Craig," Lottie cackles, snorts, and then laughs some more at my expense like the supportive wife she is.
"I haven’t seen my dick since Christmas."
She braces herself on the doorframe to stop herself from falling over. "It was cold."
"It’s June!" I storm out of the bathroom; that scale is dead to me. "This is your fault."
"My fault?"
"You need to stop baking, babe. It’s not a good look on me."
She comes up, stifling a laugh, and wraps her arms around me. "Nothing wrong with a dad bod," Lottie says, standing on her tiptoes, her lips grazing my cheek. "I prefer you this way." Her hand slips down to the band on my boxers.
"Daddy look!" Tilly charges into the room, holding out her Baymax plushie. "He looks just like you!"
How dare she!
"That’s it, I’m going back to the gym."
Lottie gives me a sideways grin and asks, "Monday?"
"Today!"
She glares at me with all the frustration of Tilly when we tell her she cannot have chocolate for breakfast, "but we have the barbecue today."
Of course. How stupid of me. More food. Lottie’s cheesecake— damn that cheesecake, or as I call it, diabeto. It’s good cake. Damn good cake. That should be set right about now.
"This is why I’m chunky!" I wail.
"Ethan Barnes!" Lottie’s voice cracks like a whip, and Ethan practically jumps out of his skin, stopping his impression of Stewie Gryphon singing about the cow going moo.
"Sorry, Mam!"
"I told you not to let him watch Family Guy; he’s too young." Lottie turns to me, working as much venom into her stare as humanly possible.
"Sorry, love." Our little hellion grabs our attention yet again. Ethan blows his cinnamon hair away from his face and turns to Jamie with an impish glint in his eyes. "What if someone pulls up on you and asks you to help them find their dog?"
"That’s easy," Jamie snorts. "You help him find that fucking dog."
"Jamie!" Tiffy, Lottie’s bestie, spits venom.
"It wasn’t me!"
"At least I didn’t let Ethan on TikTok," I shrug, swigging from my beer, noticing Jay turn and scowl at me. Beer. How I’m going to miss you, my bubbly friend.
Jay turns to me and growls, "Throw me under the bus, why don’t you?"
Yeah, we’re in trouble again.
Averting my gaze, I’m suddenly enchanted by the barbecue. My beautiful, albeit cranky, wife stares a hole through me.
Jay’s in the middle of getting a bollocking from Tiffy. My eyes flit to the remains of my drink. "Ethan, go inside and get those plates off the counter for me."
"I am down, how much for crack?"
"Ethan!" Lottie whirls around.
He’s gone. He’s gone, and I’m left choking on a bottle of Miller.
It’s not our fault. Lottie had to go to a book signing, and I had to work. Josie was away with George; Kim was on a weekend bender somewhere up north. I had no one to mind the kids, so I had to bring them to work with me.
"Daddy!" my golden-haired princess Ellie—or, as Lottie calls her, demon number two—sprints up to me with nothing but love in her eyes, meaning one thing and one thing only. She wants something.
"Yes, baby?"
"Can we get a cat?"
"By cat... you mean dog, right?"
"No, I want a fluffy pussy."
Sweet baby Jeremiah.
"Mam—" is going to lose her shit if she hears you saying something like, "doesn’t like cats."
Ellie’s lower lip pushes out in a pout, and she fixes me with a stare that would make puss-in-boots envious. Don’t say it, Princess. Don’t say what I think you’re about to.
"But Heather’s mam just got a lovely ginger pus—"
"Lottie!" That is the last thing I need right now; I could go the rest of my life without picturing Rita’s mousse knuckle.
"Yeah?"
"Ellie wants you."
"But, Daddy!"
"Talk to your mother." Holy shitballs. How inappropriate are my kids? Even when they don’t mean to be.
"What was all that about?" Jay swigs his beer.
"Apparently she wants a pussy." I rub my eyes, convincing myself it’s hay fever and not an aneurysm.
His beer stops in mid-air. "Don’t we all?" he chuckles lowly.
I stretch, feeling my back crack. The joys of life, you work until you creak, and then you die, and I’m already creaking. "Be thankful you don’t have daughters," I grumble, turning to watch Ellie argue with her mother.
"Please!" Ellie begs.
"No."
"Please!!"
"No," Lottie says, crossing her arms, and I know she is not about to fold on the cat thing. Better luck next time, kiddo.
"PLEASE!!!"
"Hmm… nope. Not going to happen," Lottie clicks her tongue. Stance unwavering.
"But why?"
Oh, great, here come the crocodile tears.
"Cats smell. They’re moody, and I’m not having one in the house, Ellie."
"But, Mam!"
"No."
"If Ethan asked, you’d let him!"
Trying the favouritism card now? God loves a trier. Too bad Lottie isn’t going to budge.
"No, I wouldn't and stop trying to play me. It doesn’t work."
"Daddy!"
Hey, she’s only your mother. I have to live with her. "No, Ellie."
"It’s not fair!" Her arms snap at her side, and she retreats into her treehouse to lick her wounds.
"Cry me a river," Lottie growls. Tiffy softens the blow by handing over a WKD blue, an offering Lottie is all over.
"Daddy!" Tilly, our youngest, comes barrelling out of a bush. I don’t even want to know. At this rate, she’s probably going to ask me to do the truffle shuffle.
"Hey, baby girl," I pick Tilly up, and she looks at the grill, unimpressed that my attention is anywhere but on her.
"Let’s play!"<
I’ll play in a minute, baby. I have to cook first, ok? Go play with James."
There are only three months between James and Matilda. Lottie and Tiffy had each other for their pregnancies, while Jay and I clutched each other for dear life to survive their hormones.
As much as we love the kids, we cannot wait to abandon them and piss them off next weekend.
Every year around the same time, the four of us go back to the place where it all started—for me and Lottie anyway.
I’m looking forward to the extra hour in the morning to sleep in. To not answer fifty million questions a day, and most importantly, to have Lottie to myself for the weekend.
We learned quickly that the more kids you have, the harder it is to squeeze in some alone time together.
Hell, two weeks ago I used my lunch hour to drive home and violate my wife in the tiny window of time we had between the kids being in school and Tilly’s afternoon nap.
The school term provides a gap, minus the toddler being at home. This summer will be excruciating. I thought I was being smart last year by signing Ethan and Ellie up for the scouts and summer project.
Yeah. Real fucking smart.
Jay and I were sent away with the kids on the camping trips because the girls don’t trust anyone with their babies. The day trips with the rest of the kids from their school... Lottie went on those. So, yeah, that didn’t go to plan.
Tilly was our surprise baby. Well, so was Ethan. Ellie was the only one that was planned, and she is the most demanding of the three.
It’s my fault. I spoil her. I spoil all the kids, but I’m whipped when it comes to my girls. Ethan milks Lottie for all she’s worth, while the girls hit me up anytime they want something.
"Skewers are done." Jay comes out of the kitchen armed with two plates of chicken skewers. Any excuse to escape his wife’s wrath.
Lottie takes two and comes over to me. "You ok, Batman?"
"Never better."
Lottie pushes the skewer into her mouth, and I can’t pull my eyes away. What is with her and phallic-shaped food?
"What?" Her hand comes up, covering her mouth as she continues to chew on the diced chicken breast.
"I want to trade places with that skewer." She smirks, leans in, and kisses me. Then she holds out the other skewer for me to take. "You wait until I get you back to that hotel, baby."
"Going to break the bed again?" Something sparks behind those sea-green eyes.
"You bet your sweet arse I am."
"Promise?" she purrs.
I bite off a chunk of chicken, trying not to smirk. "How do you feel about boarding school?"
"What?"
"If I don’t get between those legs soon, I’m going to start
selling the kids."
"What, like a two-for-one?"
"Good idea!"
"It would never work," she says, swigging on her bottle of WKD. "They would be gone for an hour, and we’d be paid to take them back."
"I’d still get the hour in you; totally worth it." I’m done with quickies. I’m sick of them. I don’t get a chance to enjoy Lottie anymore.
"You’re still upset over what happened two nights ago?"
Too fucking right I’m upset!
The kids finally went to sleep early without me threatening them with chloroform. Lottie met her deadline, and I had an easy day at work.
We got hot and heavy under the covers. Lottie was driving me wild, sucking me hard and slowly, teasing the head with her tongue. She felt amazing. The next thing I know, Tilly charges into the room after having a nightmare, and my birthday blowjob goes out the window.
"I haven’t thought about it," I say, tearing off another piece of chicken from the skewer.
"You’re a rotten liar," she says as she steps closer to me, running her hand up my chest. "I’ll make it up to you soon."
"I’ll hold you to that."
I serve up the burgers, and it’s like feeding time at the zoo. I’m practically tackled by five kids, only three of whom are mine.
"Tilly, you need to eat something, sweetie." Lottie tries the nice guy approach first.
"No."
"Matilda." Tilly jumps down from her chair, abandoning her plate, and runs to me. "Come on then," I say, hoisting her onto my lap.
Lottie sighs, "Tilly, Daddy needs to eat."
Yeah? Like she gives a rat’s arse. Tilly decides my food looks more appetising. "Tastes better off someone else’s plate," I shrug.
Lottie gets up, grabs Matilda’s abandoned plate, and brings it to me as an offering. "Thanks, babe."
"No!" the little demon snaps.
"Matilda!" Lottie looks as if she’s about to lose her reason.
"Mine has onions," Ellie pouts.
Lottie grinds her teeth and hisses, "Pick them off then."
Oh, yeah. There’s the steam. She’s going to blow.
"What do you call a leprechaun in cement?" Ethan asks around a mouthful of burger.
Jamie cocks an eyebrow and asks, "what?"
"A little hard man."
"I don’t get it." Ellie’s eyebrows knit together.
I’m getting the snip. Three kids are enough.
Well, that day was interesting. The kids are finally washed, fed, and put to bed. Tilly held me hostage for the best part of an hour, just because— at least she didn’t call me fat this time.
Ellie went to bed still begging for a cat, and Ethan thinks he is being smart and that I can’t see his night light on. He is currently rebelling by "secretly" reading in his room.
He’s quiet; that’s all I care about.
Strolling into our room, I catch sight of Lottie changing.
You’d think after eight years together, plus the two extra years added on for living together beforehand, and three kids later, the spark would be gone.
Her body has changed over the years as a result of giving birth to the children. She has silver and purple stretchmarks on her breasts, thighs, and stomach from carrying the three terrors. I don’t know why so many women have a problem with stretch marks. I love Lottie’s. They’re her tiger stripes. Proof of what she endured to bring our kids into the world.
I walk to the bed, pulling her onto the mattress with me. "They’re finally asleep." I bury my head in her hair.
"Ellie is not letting up about the cat, is she?"
"Nope. I may have to promise her a pony to distract her." Dropping my lips to her neck, she wiggles closer, letting out a soft moan. "That feels nice."
"Yeah? I can make it feel better, you know."
"Can you now?" Her lips pulled to the side.
"Mmm-hmm." I drop another open-mouthed kiss to the base of her ear and give her breasts a firm squeeze.
"We will have to be quiet." She slides her hands behind her, running her fingertips up my thigh.
"I think we can manage."
Lottie turns her head, and I instantly claim her perfect pink lips. My hands slide down to her thighs, then push up her nightshirt. My fingertips skim up her thighs, and she shudders.
I’m instantly halted by the sound of Tilly crying.
"Urgh.” Lottie groans, "do you want to go, or will I?"
"I don’t believe this."
"That’s my cue," Lottie shuffles out of the bed. I’m left watching her march out and tend to our youngest.
Have kids, they said; it will be fun, they said.
Yeah, great fun being cocked by a three-year-old!
"Daddy!" Ellie yells
I’m not here.
"Daddy!
I’m in my happy place…
"DADDY!
For fuck’s sake, what? "Yes, Princess?"
"I can’t find my blue shoes." Ellie looks at me as if I should know why this is a problem. She has a wardrobe full of shoes upstairs, some with the price tag still on them.
