“Fuck, you’re beautiful,” I say, lowering my guard. “It’s almost criminal to make a man feel this weak.”
Monroe gives me a half-grin before suddenly blushing. She’s as surprised by her reaction as I am. Monroe Hobbs isn’t a flighty girl impressed by compliments. But she senses what I do. We’re on our way to something great.
Prying ourselves apart, we drive to the Woodlands, where I pull into the driveway of Lowell’s two-story traditional-style house. Across the street, I spot my cousin—Sidonie—and step-cousin—Desi—playing in their front yard with their Chihuahua mix. Despite being preteens, the girls have decided to dress up the animal as a princess. I don’t remember ever feeling safe enough to be that silly.
Next to me, Monroe stares up at Lowell’s white house with black shutters. Her smile is gone. I slide my hand around hers and grab the food bags.
“Tonight, I’m sleeping over.”
“I already knew that,” she grumbles, putting up her guard.
“But I thought you might have forgotten.”
Monroe shoots me a dark frown before finding me grinning at her. She realizes what I’m doing and exhales roughly.
“I’m nervous.”
“I know, but what happens today doesn’t even matter.”
“How do you figure?”
“Everyone’s hypersensitive right now. They’ll say and do whatever necessary to get through the rest of the day. Promises made today shouldn’t be trusted to be kept. Threats ought to be viewed the same way. The feelings tonight aren’t the feelings of next week. Long term is what you should be concerned about.”
Unconvinced, Monroe shakes her head, so I hug her to me. Her hair’s scent returns my thoughts to her apartment. My dick wakes up, behaving as stubbornly as Monroe.
“Think of the day you arrived in Elko and went to Rooster’s,” I murmur, still nuzzling her hair, which only makes my dick more insistent. “Everything was stressful, sped up, too loud, confusing. Then imagine what it was like a week later. How things settled down, you regained your bearings and adjusted to your new reality. Most days were like the second one, not the first. That’s how you need to view tonight. This overwhelming new part is only temporary.”
Giving me a look that says I’m getting lucky later, Monroe squeezes my hand. “I’m not so nervous anymore.”
“If you get upset about what happens in there,” I say, gesturing toward the house, “think of what you’d like me to do to you back at the apartment.”
“So, if my daddy upsets me, I should think of getting fucked?” she growls, trying to poke at me.
Refusing to be coaxed into a battle, I casually reply, “Yes, exactly.”
Monroe allows a smile. I’m starting to understand how she ticks. Against a stronger force, she’ll bend and find comfort. With someone weak or unpredictable, she remains on edge. Monroe isn’t a leader. I’ve seen her with the bunnies. She never takes charge, even with Amity, who isn’t a strong person. Though Monroe is a follower, she needs to be led by a confident, stable person, or she’ll rebel. That’s why she always calms down when her attempts to upset me don’t work. I’m unflappable. After all, whatever crazy, bitchy move Monroe tries, my mother already unleashed with more venom and pizzazz.
As we reach the front door, Topanga throws it open and offers a large smile as she waves us inside her house.
“Look at you,” she coos at the younger blonde. “Monroe is such a pretty name.”
“So is Topanga.”
“I’m named after a city.”
“I’m named after a dead actress.”
“Fun,” Topanga says, coming on really strong with her giant smile and shiny eyes. Then, she notices the white plastic bags hanging from my hand.
“What’s that?”
“We picked up dinner from Bambi’s.”
Topanga puts on her pout and softly whines, “But I’m ordering dinner for us all.”
“I hadn’t thought of that,” I lie.
Topanga cocks her right eyebrow, seeing through my bullshit. She can’t give me grief, though. Monroe—the daughter she never had and recently slapped—is standing awkwardly in the foyer of the overly white house.
“Are you thirsty?” Topanga asks Monroe as she guides us forward to the kitchen/family room combo.
“No, thank you.”
I’m unsurprised to find a sullen Lowell at the back, double doors, looking to escape. Monroe glances at him, likely sees on his face what I do, and then focuses back on Topanga.
“I’m sorry you thought I wanted to fuck Lowell,” she says, stirring up trouble as a distraction. “I mean, as a bunny, of course, I was supposed to fuck him, but I’m sorry you thought I was going to be an obsessive stalker about it.”
Topanga can’t tell if Monroe is screwing with her. The younger woman has a way of looking so fucking sincere when she’s really full of shit.
“No worries. It was all a misunderstanding,” Topanga says, gently patting Monroe’s once slapped face.
Monroe flashes a glance at me and then smiles at Topanga. “I don’t know how long we can stay.”
Catching her hint, I decide to move things along. “Why don’t we let Monroe and Lowell speak alone? Maybe outside while you and I gossip.”
“Why outside?” Topanga asks, immediately suspicious.
“It’ll be more difficult for you to accidentally spy,” I say, and Topanga gives me a wink.
Monroe tugs at my hand, letting me know she isn’t a fan of my plan. Then, she stands straighter. Maybe she accepts how she isn’t a kid, and hiding is a childish move.
Letting go of my hand, Monroe walks to the back doors where Lowell stares at his wife. I’d laugh at his pleading expression if he wasn’t freaking out over his relationship with my honey. His obvious awkwardness isn’t funny to her.
They walk outside, where I assume Lowell will make shit worse. I’m less certain how Monroe will react.
“We’re having a party,” Topanga says, smacking me in the ass with her dishtowel.
“There’s always a party in the Woodlands.”
“The one this week is to welcome Monroe to the community.”
“You’re kidding, right?”
“I never kid,” replies the woman notorious for kidding around.
“But you have to know that party will be a huge fucking train wreck, right?”
“You say that about all our parties.”
“Monroe is a walking, talking reminder of how the men in this community ejaculate inside women they’re not married to.”
Waving off my concerns, Topanga wipes her already clean white marble kitchen island. “I’m okay with it.”
“Because Monroe happened before you met him. What about the kids created afterward? Most of them are kept under wraps, and there are probably a few offspring the club doesn’t know about. Monroe won’t find a warm welcome from women who want to pretend the bunnies are waitresses.”
“You’re overanalyzing shit.”
“What about Aja?”
Topanga rolls her eyes. “Point taken.”
“You should cancel the party and let the idea of Monroe settle into the heads of the honeys. Then, down the road, you can have your big event without triggering a bunch of pissy old ladies.”