Grey Hearts and Flowers

Who the Heck is William Whipple?

Thank you everyone for your patience! I've been updating my Darker story, so that's the reason for the delay on this. I've had a request for a surprise triplet from a wonderful reader. Any thoughts? And, as always, I so appreciate your devotion to my stories! More of this and Darker soon! xox

"Who the heck is William Whipple?" I ask Tilly, as Ana and I stand in the lobby at the school waiting for the kids to finish with all eighteen verses of the Teddy Bears Picnic in the caddy corner classroom. Right now, as we talk to the real beast of the wild, I'm identifying with the line from the song about it being safer to stay at home. It's times like these I wish Taylor carried tranquilizer darts. Wait, maybe he does...

"The role you'll be playing in the Fourth of July show, Mr. Grey," Tilly says.

"I thought I was playing a major character."

Tilly steps back like I've offended her on some level, which delights me greatly.

"William Whipple Jr. was one of our country's most patriotic citizens," Tilly says, chest puffed and resembling a mountain mid avalanche, as she hands me a script she's had tucked under her armpit. I cringe as I take it. I would refuse, as I don't know quite what's transpired—or rather perspired—in that land down under, but I promised Ana I'd be nice. And when your nearly due with twins and hot as all hell wife tells you to do something, you do it, or you won't get that ass later.

"What's this?" I ask, looking down at the script. She may as well have handed me a brick. This thing rivals War and Peace.

"Everyone's heard of Hamilton," Tilly says and looks out, her hands framed in the air as if she's seeing a vision through them. "Well, this is Whipple."

Oh my god.

"You mean like the Broadway musical?" Ana asks.

"Even better!" Tilly says. "There is so much more to Whipple than anyone ever knew."

"That's because no one knows anything about him at all," I say and Ana looks up at me like I better shut it. Oh right, like she's heard of him. But, then I remember that ass...

"In addition to being a visionary, a true leader and a revolutionary voice in the perilous times of our budding nation," Tilly says. "He signed the Declaration of Independence."

"He did?" I ask.

"Yes, he most certainly did." She's so adamant about all this, it's like she's enlisting members for a cultish offshoot of The Daughters of the American Revolution, and I'm the sacrificial prodigal son. "And he just so happens to be my family."

Oh, good lord.

"Really?" Ana asks. "That's fascinating."

"Yeah, a real mind bender," I mutter and Ana gives me a swift, though concealed nudge to the ribs. God, her breasts jiggle so beautifully when she does that, cupped perfectly in her lacy scoop-necked bolder holder. I almost want to piss her off so she'll do it again. And I realize it's a fine line I'm walking for ass later and jiggle now.

"How are you related?" Ana asks. Oh, Tilly's probably making this shit up. But seriously, who brags about sharing blood with the fiftieth person to sign the thing? Sure, you don't shoot for unbelievable levels like Thomas Jefferson or Ben Franklin, but at least if you're going to shove patriotic moonbeams up our asses, tell us you're the shirttail relative of John Hancock or something.

"He was my mother's father's brother's father's father's father's great uncle's second cousin twice removed," she says.

"So, wait a minute...if your mother had been a boy, you'd be named Tilly Whipple?" I ask, and Ana nudges my ribs again. I give her a look—what? It's a serious question. Then, I look down to enjoy the jiggle. And with the size of her tits these days we've got fault line level aftershocks.