“I’m very uncomfortable with this conversation right now,” I complain.

“It’s your fault for marketing a dildo called The Claire.”

I shudder and grab him by the arm, dragging him over to a table where my dad and Uncle Jim are sitting. “That thing was invented when I was six. You can’t hold me responsible for that.”

It’s true. My company manufactures sex toys named after each female member of my family: The Claire, The Liz, and The Jenny. Do you have any idea how disturbing it is that the highest grossing product for the last eighteen years is one named after my mom? I have to read daily emails from customers that say things like, “Claire is the only one that can get me off,” and “I was able to have multiple orgasms with Claire!” and “My wife screams Claire when she orgasms, and I’m perfectly fine with that!”

I want to puke just thinking about it.

“Hey, Uncle Jim, Dad, what’s going on?” I ask as we walk up to the picnic table where they’re sitting.

My dad and Uncle Drew met Uncle Jim ages ago when their job transferred them to another city. Uncle Jim had worked for the same company for a few years and was in charge of showing my dad and Uncle Drew the ropes on their first day. Uncle Jim invited them over for dinner that first night and they’ve been friends ever since. My dad and Uncle Jim are a lot alike. They have the same sense of humor and are great family men. They used to look similar when they were younger, but my dad has definitely aged more gracefully. Or should I say not aged at all. He’s like Dick Clark. You know, before the whole dying thing.

My dad still works out regularly and stays in great shape. There isn’t one gray hair on his head. Uncle Jim is tall and lean, and I’m pretty sure has never worked out a day in his life. The guys like to tease him about how he should dye his brown hair since it’s started graying at the temples, but Aunt Liz always puts her foot down. She says it makes him look sophisticated. I think she just tells him that so he doesn’t cry himself to sleep at night.

“Your Aunt Liz said you guys had a great production meeting the other day. Something about a contest you decided to do to name the new sex toy?” Uncle Jim asks.

“You should name it The Beaver Banger. Or The Tyler Tickler,” Tyler says with a laugh.

“Tyler, you get more and more annoying every time I see you,” Dad says with a shake of his head.

“Thank you, sir! How’s your cholesterol? Can I get you something fried and dipped in butter?” Tyler asks as he takes a seat across from him.

“Stop trying to kill me off Tyler or I’m going to shove my foot up your ass.”

“Very good, sir!” Tyler nods.

I hear a commotion over by the deck and all the breath leaves my lungs when I turn and see the sliding glass door open and Charlotte step outside.

She’s wearing a pale yellow strapless dress, and with her hair up in a ponytail, I can see so much of her sun kissed skin that I unconsciously lick my lips.

We should have put “lick her skin” on the list. It wouldn’t be weird at all if I just walked up to her and ran my tongue across her shoulder, would it? I could tell her she had a piece of food there or something. Totally normal.

Our eyes meet across the yard and a huge smile lights up her face. She squeals and comes running down the stairs of the deck in my direction. I can’t keep the excitement from my face as I start walking to meet her halfway.

When she’s a few feet away, I start to lift my arms to grab her in a hug.

“Hey, Gavin,” she says as an afterthought, running right past me and throwing herself into Rocco’s arms.

Rocco, who’s standing right behind me and I hadn’t even noticed.

Dejected, I stand there and watch as he swings her around in his arms and peppers her face with kisses.

Fucking Rocco.

I walk back over to the table and stand behind my dad and Uncle Jim. While I’m busy trying not to throw up in my mouth from the PDA going on right in front of me, let me tell you a little bit about Rocco. Charlotte met Rocco three months ago at her sorority mixer. Rocco is a year younger than her and had just pledged the brother house of her sorority. Rocco has blonde hair that he regularly gets highlighted. Rocco always wears khakis and pastel-colored polo shirts with the collar popped and loafers without socks. No, I’m not kidding. I met Rocco once and I wasn’t impressed. This is the first boyfriend Charlotte has had that lasted longer than a few weeks and therefore, I want to kill Rocco. Today is the first time the family is meeting Rocco, so I’m hoping everyone else will see that there is something wrong with this guy. He probably seems okay to you right now: nice hair, swanky dresser, and member of a fraternity. But just wait. You’ll see what I’m talking about.

“Oh, sweetheart, it’s been too long! We should never spend this much time apart ever again. I had to watch the last two new episodes of The Kardashians all by myself,” Rocco complains with a pout as he sets Charlotte back down on her feet.

Charlotte laughs a little uncomfortably and I watch as she pinches him in the arm and he shoots her a dirty look. I doubt anyone else notices that little exchange, but I do because I’m obsessed with everything she does.

“Did I say The Kardashians? I totally meant … football. I had to watch FOOTBALL all by myself.”

She grabs Rocco’s hand, turning him to face Uncle Jim.

“Dad, this is my boyfriend, Rocco. Rocco, this is my dad, Jim Gilmore.”

Uncle Jim stands up and extends his hand out to Rocco. Rocco ignores the hand and throws both of his arms around Uncle Jim and squeezes him in a hug that lasts entirely too long by the uncomfortable look on Uncle Jim’s face.