“I’m fine. Don’t come. I’m doing a friend a favor.”
“A girl friend?”
The idea of Muffy as my girlfriend doesn’t make my balls retract fully into my body, which may or may not be a bad sign. Clearly, I’m out of my normal element, and it’s affecting my brain. “Don’t you dare start…”
“West, Ty’s okay,” she calls. “He says not to come because it was all a plot to score points with a woman. So we’re still going, right?”
“I forgot to eat. Got lightheaded. Passed out.”
“And screamed,” she says helpfully over West’s answer in the background about if they’re still coming, which I can’t make out clearly. “Who’s your friend?”
“We’re not discussing this.”
“I can ask your sisters.”
“And I can clear out my bank account, ditch my phone, use cash to fly to an obscure tropical island, and never have to see any of you again.” Which would be boring as hell, but I’m not telling her that.
“Aww, sweet boy. You’re forgetting there’s basically nowhere you can go that your brother won’t find you. He loves you too much to let you disappear and not look for you, and I love him too much to not give him all the resources he needs to succeed. Actually, he probably loves you more than your sisters do. You know if they knew what I knew, they’d be all over a group message by now, but he’s very politely asked me to not tell them until you say it’s okay. Also, I love you too much to do that to you. So. Tell me about your girlfriend.”
“She’s not my girlfriend.”
“But you want her to be.”
“No, I don’t.”
There’s a beat of silence. Then, Daisy does what she always does.
She finds the drama.
Do not underestimate a woman who spent her twenties alternating between high-powered board rooms and party yachts. “Oh my god, something weird happened between you two!”
Yeah. Something weird happened. And right now, I want to march into that restaurant, pull Muffy out of her seat, kiss her senseless, and tell her she deserves better than what the world’s given her, which is also weird.
I’m no champion for anyone unless I have to be, and have to be is limited to the women I’m related to. More often, their husbands. “I’m hanging up now.”
“That wasn’t a denial.”
“I have two women in mourning waiting for me. They shouldn’t be alone. Lots of alcohol. Lots of regrets. Lots of bad decisions coming. It’ll be like Allie after Fox canceled Firefly. Or like Keely after Keebler quit making those magic middle cookies. Ask West. It’s bad. My services are needed. And there are two of them. I need to go.”
I’m not really exaggerating. I can see the women through the wooden slat blinds, and they’re hugging again. Muffy’s face is splotchy.
And I want to put a fist through her father’s face. Her mother’s too.
I can rarely find pants that fit well. My ass and thighs are huge. Side effect of all the skating. Hockey butt’s a thing. There are web pages devoted to shots of our butts.
So the shopping thing they were talking about?
I get it. Clothes that fit are hard to find when you’re not a fashion-industry-approved size.
Except I’m celebrated for my shape, and Muffy was made to feel ashamed of hers before she’d fully developed.
That pisses me off.
My mom uses my struggle as a bit in her shows sometimes, making fun of her mom-hips and talking about borrowing my shorts and jeans since those are clearly socially acceptable.
Everyone laughs.
It’s not funny.
Also not funny?
There are two women hugging, both very attractive in their own ways, and my dick still isn’t playing.
I was on a bed, inches from two women sharing a margarita and also hugging, and nada.
Maybe I don’t need to retrace my steps and get my boners back.
Maybe I need a doctor. I wonder if any of Muffy’s former classmates became urologists.
“Where are you staying tonight?” Daisy asks.
She’s heiress to a real estate empire that she was heavily involved in running until last year, including hotels, and we’re not staying in one of her family properties tonight, despite the fact that I know there are several in the area. Not that she’d judge me one way or another, but I don’t want to discuss it with her. “Hanging up now. For real.”
“No worries. I can track your phone. Expect cookies wherever you are. Oh! Or cotton candy! Wouldn’t cotton candy be awesome? I wonder if you can get vodka-infused cotton candy? I’ll have to make some calls. Hug your girlfriends for me. Funerals suck, though the last one I was at actually gave me West and Remy, so maybe they’re not all that bad?”
That’s Daisy.
Never a boring or conventional conversation, and she loves her random acts of kindness.
“Weather here sucks. Stay in Miami,” I tell her, and then we hang up.
The weather doesn’t suck.
I love this weather. It’s a little warmer than a hockey rink. Overcast so the city lights reflect off the clouds. Mother Nature is wrapping us in a cold hug and promising more winter is on the way.
When I get back inside, Muffy and Veda leap apart.
They’re both sniffly-nosed and red-eyed, though Veda looks like she’s ready to snap a man in half.
I sigh and wave over our server. “All of the desserts,” I tell him. “One of each.”
“You got it, Mr. Jaeger. Can I get a selfie? Huge Thrusters fan.”
I oblige him and smile bright for the camera, then climb back into the booth across from the women. “You gonna let me help you take care of whatever it is that has you so pissed off?” I ask Veda.
I’m done asking Muffy.
She’s made it clear she won’t tell me.
But I know this game. When one won’t tell, you get on the other’s good side.
Veda wipes her eyes with a napkin. “There’s nothing to take care of.”
Someone’s foot brushes my calf under the table.
I jolt.
My dick lifts a sleepy head.
Whose foot is that? Is it Muffy’s? Or is it her friend’s?
Whoever’s it is, it’s not stopping.
It is definitely rubbing me on purpose.
And my junk is tingling like it’s waking up.
Hell. Shit.
That better not be Veda’s foot.
If I’m getting my first semblance of a woody over Muffy’s friend, my life is basically over. It’s a rule. You don’t take one woman to a funeral and then bang a different mourner, even if she’s the head mourner.
But we’re raising the flagpole! my dick cries.
You could do two chicks! my balls chime in. One for each of us!
Jesus.
My balls are talking to me too.
I have issues.
So many damn issues.
15
Muffy
I’m not drunk enough.
I want to be drunk enough, but I’m not, not by a long shot, and now we’re back in our hotel room, just me and Tyler and an inky-dinky bed and a whole bunch of elephants that we’re tiptoeing around.
“You can have the bed,” I tell him.