Far from it.
Looking at his wife naked or nearly so?
Bad idea.
Bad, bad idea.
No matter when the pictures were taken.
The front door flies open. “Mom, Rufus is in your closet.”
Hilda shrieks. “Why did you let him in there?”
“I didn’t! You left it open!”
Hilda darts for the porch.
As soon as she disappears inside, Muffy’s shoulders droop and she squeezes her eyes shut, but only for a minute before she pastes on a smile and walks the short distance to my car.
I eyeball her as I take her small suitcase and fling it into the trunk. She’s in a black dress that lands just below her knees, a fluffy light blue coat on top of it, with her hair back and makeup on and her bag slung across her body again, and it strikes me once again that Muffy’s one of those unique women who manages to be steal-your-breath pretty in unexpected ways.
Which still isn’t making my dick do anything other than sit in my pants like he’s having a drink-beer-and-watch-ESPN-while-lounging-on-the-couch kind of day. “Is your cat really in your mom’s closet?”
“No. He’s trying to eat the fake goldfish on the aquarium channel in the living room. Get in the car. We need to go before she tries to come along.”
She doesn’t have to tell me twice.
She doesn’t wait for me to get her door either, so I dive into the driver’s seat in time for her to swing her purse into the backseat, miss, and smack me in the face with it instead.
“Ow!”
“Oh, shit! Fuck! Shit! Oh my god, I’m so sorry! Are you okay? Did I get you in the eye? Can you drive? Can you see? Did I knock out a fake tooth?”
I open my jaw wide to stretch my nose while my eyes water. “Had worse. What the hell do you keep in that thing?”
“Chocolate and brass knuckles.”
“Brass knuckles?”
“No. But I do have like seventeen dollars in change in case we hit toll roads, plus my favorite candle that I give out to all of my clients when they sign up for Muff Matchers. Oh, crap. I’m sweating. Do I smell like fish? I swear I smell like fish when I sweat these days. Do I need to drive? Seriously, not to be pushy after I assaulted your face, but my mom will be back out as soon as she realizes Rufus isn’t harking up hairballs on her fur boots, and I really don’t want her coming with us today. I, erm, don’t have enough hotel rooms for that. Actually, the entire city of Richmond doesn’t have enough hotel rooms for that.”
My phone dings a bunch again.
I blink to clear the last of the sting, crank the engine, toss my phone in the cup holder, and glance at her again.
On second peek, she doesn’t actually look like Muffy.
She looks like a professional, dolled-up version of Muffy who might start talking about the stock market or the abstract meaning behind a literary fiction novel or offer to take my coat and show me to a special waiting room?
I glance down at my dick.
He doesn’t seem to realize that’s a fantasy about getting a blow job before a business meeting.
Also, a fantasy about a business meeting? I don’t do business meetings.
Even for blow jobs.
And Muffy isn’t making innuendoes either. Plus, she’s right. We don’t need her mother tagging along.
“What was it like growing up with her as your mother?” I ask as I peel away from the curb, now with my phone hooked up to my stereo system, which is announcing every text message from my family.
“Normal? Do you ever really know any different than what you grow up with? My friends were all embarrassed by their parents too, so it’s not like I realized her lack of filters are different from other people’s lack of filters. Do you always get this many text messages? Holy crap. Your phone hasn’t stopped with the notifications since I got in the car.”
“Thirty seconds ago.”
“At least a minute. I know that’s not normal. Is there an emergency or something?” She grabs my phone out of the cupholder as it dings three more times with my car stereo unable to announce who’s texting before another incoming text arrives.
“It’s normal.”
“This many messages is normal?”
“Yep.” Only sometimes. Like when the twins were both having tonsillectomies basically one after another. Or when we found out Brit was having twins. And when West accidentally co-inherited a baby with Daisy last year. And when my dad was in the hospital for kidney stones while Mom was on an East Coast tour and I had to take him to the hospital and Mom wanted updates of the funny stuff to use in her show, and so my sisters started making shit up.
Muffy holds my phone to my face.
“I can’t look when I’m driving. It’s fine. It can wait.”
“Just needed your pretty mug to unlock it with facial recognition. Holy crap. Are these bunnies? Do you have a group text with bunnies?”
I snatch the phone out of her hand, because I do have a group text with Athena and Cassadee, who are giving me unwanted but probably necessary advice.
Yes, I told them I was going out of town with a woman I was interested in.
No, they didn’t have any advice I plan to take.
“They’re my sisters,” I tell Muffy, “and whatever it is they’re up to, neither of us need to know. If it’s an actual problem, my brother will—”
“Incoming call from Westley Snore-Man Jaeger,” my car system announces.
Fuck.
If there’s an actual problem, my brother will call. And there he is, right on time.
I hit the button on my steering wheel to answer. “Not alone, West. What’s up?”
My brother’s voice comes over the line. “Javi had a vasectomy Friday and ended up in the ER overnight with complications.”
Muffy stifles a cough, but when I glance at her, she looks more horrified than amused.
“He’s fine now,” West adds. “Staci’s leading the charge on the broken balls jokes. But I thought you’d want to know. Plus, someone’s starting a pool on how long before you and I get fixed.”
“Did I mention I’m not alone?” Talking to West about my brother-in-law’s vasectomy complications in front of Muffy is exactly what I want to do this morning.
Jesus.
She’ll think all of us have broken dicks.
The bastard chuckles. “Hello, Tyler’s friend.”
“Ty’s with a friend?” Daisy’s voice carries through in the background as Muffy says a tentative hi back. “Like a woman-friend? Or do I need to set him up with—”
“I’m hanging up on both of you now,” I announce.
“Mom’s taking donations for a care package,” West says.
He audibly stops himself like he’s realized what he just said.
I pinch my lips together.
Muffy snorts. “He said package,” she whispers.
West coughs. “We take care of all of the packages in need in this family.”
Jesus. Thank fuck he doesn’t know what’s up—or not—with my equipment. “Goodbye, Westley.”
“Send Mom money, crankypants.”
“Is there actually a point to that?” Considering Daisy’s net worth and how much she loves to do random acts of kindness, I suspect Javi’s balls are in good hands.