Daisy: Don’t worry. West and I are on the way.
Tyler: Why do I even talk to you?
Keely: Because you know we’d have your back in the zombie apocalypse.
Allie: I really didn’t think Keely would be the one to follow in Mom’s footsteps, but there she goes with another not-dead grandpa joke.
Brit: OH MY GOD. Tyler. It’s a woman, isn’t it? You’re dating someone! Who is she? What’s her name? When do we get to meet her? Are you bringing her home for Christmas? Is she a bunny, or is she someone else? Wait! Wait! Are you dating one of your teammates’ sisters? OH MY GOD. You’re dating the coach’s daughter and you’re trying to make a good impression, aren’t you?
Tyler: *picture of a skinny white guy with big glasses* Haha! Psych. I stole this phone. This is me. I’m Bernard. You guys sound like fun. Will you adopt me? I’ll send you my real number.
Dad: That’s a funny Grand Canyon of a vagina, Tyler, my favorite son, god of the sun and moon, he who bangs best.
Dad: Grand Canyon of a vagina.
Dad: WHO CHANGED MY PHONE TO INSULT YOUR YO-YO MA’S SEX TAPE?
Dad: BEEEEEEEEEEEP.
Keely: OMG, I’m wheezing.
Allie: My favorite part of this is that Tyler’s going to get blamed for changing the autocorrect setting in Dad’s phone. Again.
Brit: I can’t believe no one changed “joke” in his phone before now.
Dad: I CAN STILL SEE YOUR MESSAGES.
Keely: Let’s hope Ty’s new girlfriend doesn’t tell jokes, or Dad might autocorrect insult her vagina too.
Tyler: Wow, this family is really inappropriate. I like it. So will my mom. I’m thirteen.
Brit: You tried that last year, Ty. Same fake selfie and everything. We’re not buying it.
Keely: Also, if you don’t want us to ask about your girlfriend, the best course of action is to stay silent in group texts.
West: I can confirm this battle strategy. *thumbs up emoji*
Allie: OMG. West. It was YOU! You changed Dad’s phone, didn’t you? It’s always the quiet, serious ones.
Brit: Don’t let him distract you, Allie. We’re talking about Tyler’s dating life.
Keely: It’s like eleven at night there. If he had a girlfriend, he’d be getting busy with her, not texting with us.
Brit: Good point. You need advice, T? We’re here for you.
Keely: I can call Staci and type in her opinions. I’d do that for you.
Allie: No, don’t bother Staci. She’s been waiting on Javi all day.
Dad: That man’s poor balls.
Brit: Hey, Tyler disappeared again.
Daisy: Maybe he’s having happier balls than Javi is.
The bathroom door opens, and I hit the power button on my phone. Part of me is pissed that I hit the wrong conversation in text and ended up getting ambushed by my sisters, and the other part of me is pissed that I wasn’t the one who changed the settings in Dad’s phone to mess with the word “joke.”
That should’ve been a no-brainer with Mom being out on her Does This Joke Have Ketchup On It? tour.
Also, I’m not leaving my phone unattended the next time I’m home.
Maybe I won’t take my phone at all.
Except it was very helpful in getting us around Richmond tonight. Can’t use apps to get rides if you don’t have a phone.
Muffy steps into view from the short hallway, looks at my face, then my chest, and twists her head up and away so fast she probably snapped something in her neck.
She’s in a Thrusters t-shirt that hugs her breasts.
No bra.
Plain black pajama shorts. Curvy thighs. Adorable knees.
Adorable knees?
Fuck.
I have a problem.
Was she the one playing footsie with me at the restaurant?
Or was that Veda?
Had to be Muffy, unless Veda’s into hitting on her friends’ dates of convenience, and I didn’t get that vibe off her.
She hustles to her side of the bed, shoving her dress into her luggage quickly on the way, hits the light on her side, and eyeballs her pillow.
This bed isn’t remotely big enough for me by myself, much less two human beings.
I pointedly shift until my hip is right at the edge, then gesture to the space left.
Yeah, I’m a dick.
She has like three inches.
And if that’s three inches, I used to have two-foot boners, back when my junk worked.
“The switch is by the door!” She darts back to the door, fiddles with the deadbolt and the chain, then plunges the room into total darkness.
Two seconds later, there’s a clank, then— “Ouch!”
“Watch out for the furniture.”
“Thank you, Mr. Obvious.”
She grips my foot, then yanks her hand away. “Sorry. It’s dark.”
“I noticed.”
The bed creaks and sags as she sits on the other side of it. Sheets rustle. The bed shakes.
Her leg brushes mine and jerks away just as fast, but not fast enough.
My dick has just gotten its second jolt of juice in under two hours. It’s like watered-down apple juice, the stuff my sisters give to their kids, instead of high-octane, full-strength energy drink, but I will literally take any movement at all in the cock area right now.
“Could you maybe be a side-sleeper so you take up less room?” she whispers.
Could I? Probably. “What’s it worth to you?”
“Never mind. This is fine. We’re adults. We can accidentally touch in our sleep, and the world won’t end. Thank you. I don’t think I’ve said that enough. I really appreciate that you were here for me today, and I’m sorry that I didn’t tell you we were going to a funeral. I didn’t think anyone would go if they knew it was for a funeral. But if I knew you didn’t like funerals that badly, I would’ve told you. I swear.”
It’s weird how a not-simple thank you can make you feel like a complete slug. Probably because she keeps thanking me like if she doesn’t, I’ll sneak out of here in the middle of the night and leave her to go alone tomorrow. “That’s what friends are for.”
I definitely would not be here if I’d known this was a funeral. I’ve successfully avoided funerals for over twenty years, and going to a stranger’s was not in the life plan.
But I won’t abandon Muffy.
I can’t.
I like her too much to want her to suffer on her own.
Dammit.
“Are we friends?” She’s still whispering like she’s afraid her mother’s down the hall and might overhear us.
I flop onto my side to face her, making the entire bed shake and the headboard rattle against the wall. “I don’t know, Muffy. Are we? You have secrets. I have secrets. We had sex. It was bad for you. You tricked me into coming to a funeral. Your friend played footsie with me all through dinner. Does that—”