My sister Britney got engaged in college to this total dick who always stared at her ass and tits, even when they were visiting us, right in front of my dad and me, but never West, since he was off in the Marines, which explains why the guy’s still alive today. When the jacknugget broke up with her, she spent two weeks crying in her room at home. I remember wanting to punch the guy, but I also remember wanting to punch her.
Why was she broken-hearted over some asshole who didn’t deserve her?
The only thing she’d done wrong was to fall in love with a dick, and for the way he treated her, I couldn’t see why it was worth it.
She told me I’d never understand how women felt about their own self-worth.
She was right.
And now I want to punch Muffy’s parents again. Anyone who whispered behind her back in school. Or ever. That dude she ran into, who better not be the guy who tried to buy her virginity.
Oh, fuck me.
“Muffy?”
She flops around in the small bed, her legs brushing mine, her elbow connecting with my gut and making me oof, until she’s facing away. “We should go to sleep.”
“You weren’t…you know…when we…”
“I said go to sleep, Tyler. Don’t make me get up and smear cookie crumbs in your sheets.”
Dammit.
“Muffy—”
“Shut up.”
Catching up, you idiot? my dick says with a yawn.
She was a virgin.
That night, in the fridge at the bunny bar, she was a virgin.
17
Muffy
I’m in the middle of a dream that I’m drowning in regrets in a hot ocean when I wake up to the realization that Tyler Jaeger is spooning me.
No wonder I’m hot.
He’s like an ocean. An ocean of lava. And he’s surrounding me.
Also, his hand is cupping my breast, and my nipple is very much enjoying the human contact. My other nipple is aching for attention too, but my stomach feels like I ate barbed wire and drank gasoline last night, which is overriding my sudden curiosity over whether Tyler also wakes up with morning wood.
If he does, he’s not poking me with it.
Is my butt in his crotch?
Is that why I can’t feel it?
Was he serious about his penis being broken? Did I actually break his penis? Is my vagina the curse of death? Does it have superpowers that render men impotent?
Or was I that bad at sex?
Oh my god, I told him about Dr. Richardson.
Will he remember? Can I tell him I made it all up because what happened was even worse?
Would he believe that?
Probably not.
Does it get worse than I tried to auction my virginity and couldn’t follow through when my married rheumatology professor showed up in the hotel room?
I mean, I guess it could be worse if I murdered him and covered up the crime, but that actually is out of character for me.
Someone bangs on the door. I’m so deep into my head that it scares the crap out of me, and I scream and fall out of bed. I don’t know what Tyler does, but I assume he’s moving too, because the headboard rattles, sheets go flying, and there’s a thump and a “Fuck!”
I scramble to my feet, forget about the cookie tray that’s larger than the table crammed close to the bed, and send the whole thing flying upside down, courtesy of my head hitting it wrong.
Tyler’s limping to the door in nothing but white boxer briefs, muscles, and tattoos. He must’ve stripped out of his sweatpants sometime while I was sleeping.
“Are you okay?” I pant while I scurry to save what I can of the smushed cookies under the tray.
“Fucking wall. Fucking door. Fucking—Jesus. Are you fucking kidding me?” He unhooks the slider and wrenches the door open.
I drop the cookie tray again and yank my shirt down.
My short bottoms too. They were riding up my ass.
“What the fuck are you doing here?” Tyler snarls as Daisy Carter-Kincaid sashays into my hotel room with an adorable little boy on her hip.
Daisy Carter-Kincaid.
Oh. My. God.
I don’t often read the gossip pages, but it’s hard to not know who she is. And there’s a big difference between knowing that Tyler’s brother married her and seeing her in all of her blue-haired, gold glitter jumper, holy-hell high heels of glory.
“Watch your mouth,” says a male voice that sounds like Tyler’s but a little deeper. “And put some pants on.”
“She’s seen worse,” Tyler snaps back.
“I’m just glad he’s alive,” Daisy says. “Oh! Hi. You must be Tyler’s friend. I’m Daisy. This little guy’s Remy, and the big guy who’s about to put Tyler in a headlock is West. I think you talked to him on the phone yesterday. What’s your name, sugarplum?”
“Her name’s Muffy, and if you crack a single joke, I’ll… Dammit.”
The other man in the room looks a lot like Tyler, but older, with shorter hair and a deeper tan, and he’s definitely more amused. “Still can’t think of a thing you could do to horrify her, can you?”
“I still can’t believe she married you, you big stick in the mud,” he mutters.
Hoo boy.
Tyler’s boxer briefs don’t leave anything to the imagination. And Daisy’s still holding out a hand to me, and her nails are— “Oh my god, are those mermaids on your nails?”
She twists her hand to show me. “Aren’t they adorable?”
“How long did that take?”
“About one naptime. Completely worth it.”
The little boy on her hip doesn’t look old enough to walk, or maybe he is. I don’t know. I’m bad with baby ages, but he’s holding onto his own sippy cup, so he’s clearly older than Kami’s baby. He’s smaller than Ares Berger’s baby, but then, Ares has big genes. It’s not a fair comparison, and it leaves me with no idea how many months the little guy might’ve been on the planet so far.
“I’m Muffy.” Which Tyler already told her, but I suddenly can’t think of anything else to say.
“Lovely to meet you, Muffy. The family got concerned when Tyler’s phone dropped off our friend-spying app yesterday, and when we heard he came to a funeral…”
“Yeah. Sorry about that.”
Daisy’s shorter than I thought she’d be. You hear about celebrities and think they’re all seventeen feet tall, but even in those heels, she barely comes up to my chin. And she’s winking at me. “Don’t apologize. You must be special if he’s going to a funeral for you.”
Tyler swings the door open again and points to it. “You have proof of life. Go away.”
“Breakfast?” Daisy says.
He sighs.
I glance at the clock.
The little boy babbles and pumps his legs, which makes every adult in the room smile at him.
“We’re next door,” Daisy announces. “Room service in thirty minutes. Be there or be hungry.”
No way. Nope. Not happening.
I’m not getting out-classed by Daisy Carter-Kincaid before ten AM.
For a second time, I mean. “I have to call my friend. She shouldn’t be alone this morning. So I should—”