by Pippa Grant
“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.
Figuratively speaking.
“Daisy’s forbidden from contributing. So, yes,” West replies.
“I’m doing my own thing,” Daisy calls.
“Do I want to know?” I ask my brother.
“Don’t ever have complications from a vasectomy,” he replies.
I kill the call, then hit the power button on my phone as I steer us out of the neighborhood.
Muffy and I both don’t say anything for an entire block.
I don’t know what she’s thinking, but I know what I’m thinking.
If my sisters find out my dick doesn’t work, they’re gonna send it a damn care package. And I don’t think I want to know what would be in it.
Nor do I want to know what extra-special thing my creative, rich, no-filters sister-in-law would do separately.
“Who’s Javi?” she finally asks.
“Brother-in-law.”
“Is he—”
“If he wasn’t going to be okay, West would’ve said so. He’s Mr. Responsible. All-business. All the time.” Probably not all the time, though, now that he’s married to Miami’s biggest ray of partying sunshine. She has a ball pit room in her mansion. With trampolines.
I glance at my crotch.
Still no movement. Normal, though. My brother’s sex life doesn’t usually do it for me.
It’d be nice to fantasize about my own sex life and get a boner though. I’d take that.
Muffy shifts in her seat and looks at me. “So, yeah, my childhood was pretty normal.”
I cut a glance at her.
She grins.
And I cede the point.
Given all the things I’ve heard my sisters say at the dinner table over the years, I have no room to judge Hilda. If my childhood was normal, then so was Muffy’s.
Also, Muffy grinning?
Fucking adorable.
This is going to be a good trip. It’ll fix me. Everything will be absolutely fine when we get back to Copper Valley tomorrow afternoon.
I can feel it.
9
Muffy
There’s nothing like being trapped in a car for three hours with a man who doesn’t know the full story of where we’re going or why to make a woman get the nervous sweats. Especially when our date has already started with me smacking him in the face with my handbag and a discussion of his brother-in-law’s vasectomy issues after my mother most likely offered to show him pictures of herself nearly naked.
I keep telling her that it’s basically harassment, but she’s lacking the critical pieces of her brain to understand that not everyone is as open with bodies as she feels the need to be these days.
I’m peeling out of my coat before we’ve left the Copper Valley metro area. “Nice game last night.”
Tyler grunts.
We haven’t been alone really since the walk-in fridge hook-up thing—not if you don’t count the cows and dogs as company the other day at Kami’s—and we’ve only seen each other maybe three or four times since then, with two of those times being in the last week, and the other time or two being super awkward with me spending half the time avoiding looking at him and the other half of the time wondering why he was avoiding looking at me.
There’s some perspective that comes with knowing each of us expected the other to make the next move after our time in the veggie locker.
I should tell him what he’s in for today.
And thank him.
And not question why he’s doing this, or why I agreed to let him. I tried to visualize myself going alone, and in the end, I couldn’t do it. Every time I thought about seeing him, my confident visualizations would fade into the dust and my eyes would fly open while I breathed through a simulated panic attack.
Possibly I should’ve faced all of this a long time ago.
Or I should be faking Montezuma’s revenge or something right now.
I shift in my seat again. “Thanks for coming with me. I…used to go to college in Richmond, and leaving was…difficult.”
“Medical school, right?”
“Oh. Kami told you.”
“Why’d you leave?”
“Flunked out.”
He makes one of those faces guys make when they’re annoyed, or when I used to ask if they’d like to be on my prospect list for Muff Matchers.
I don’t ask anymore. My pool stays wider when they haven’t specifically said no.
“No, you didn’t,” Tyler says.
“How do you know?”
“You’re too smart to have flunked out.”
�
�That was a few years ago, and also, medical school is hard. Maybe I didn’t do well under the pressure. Maybe I don’t test well. Maybe—”
“Did you actually flunk out?”
“Better question—how fast does your car go? And can I eat road trip snacks in here, or are you the type who doesn’t want to get your interior dirty?”
A wicked grin flashes over his handsome face. “You can get my interior as dirty as you want.”
That was not supposed to make my belly drop like I’m on a roller coaster.
Accept that we had a misunderstanding post fridge sex? Yes.
Sign up to do it again, since clearly we communicate so well? No. “Good, because I have powdered Donettes in here.” I reach into the backseat for my bag, which is like a Mary Poppins bag. More fits in than you’d expect.
Tyler flinches.
“I swear I won’t hit you in the face again. Or do you really not want powdered sugar all over your seat?”
“How often do you hit people in the face with your purse? Is that actually why you left medical school?”
“Yes. I was at the movies. It was dark. I went to the bathroom in the middle of the show, and when I got back to my row and tried to get back to my seat, I tripped and smacked the university president in the mouth with my purse. He expelled me because I gave him a bloody nose.”
He takes a hard left to get on the interstate ramp, and I grab the oh, shit handle to keep from falling on top of him, which is awkward since I’m still half in the backseat, reaching for my purse on the floor, which is also making my boob rub his arm.
Oh, god. Solid hockey arms. You wouldn’t think it would require that much muscle to lift a hockey stick—they’re not that heavy—but Tyler’s arm is hot steel against my squishy boob, and also, I probably need to go up a bra size, since my breast is threatening to pop out.
“Sorry,” I stammer. “Donette?”
“I don’t eat sugar during the season.”
Right. Of course not. I get to be the lumpy one, and he gets to be the fit hockey jock with buns of steel. “Thank goodness fish and chips are okay.”
Another flinchy face. “Yep.”
Ooh. A mystery.
Good.
I’ll wait to tell him we’re going to a funeral until we hit Richmond. “You don’t usually eat fried foods during the season.”
“A guy’s allowed a cheat day.”
“You were in a bad mood. What happened?”
“Nothing.”
Total mystery. Something happened. “Did you have another group text with your sisters?”
“No.”
“Oooh. You were at Duncan’s house for the after-party, weren’t you? Did something happen there?”
His brows do that thing that tells me he has no idea what I’m talking about. “How do you know about Lavoie’s party?”
Better question—where was he that he doesn’t know that Duncan had a party? “Kami told me. What happened? Did you find out he uses your face on his dartboard? Did Rooster steal your phone and send inappropriate suggestions to your sisters? Did you fall asleep and wake up with shaving cream in your ears? Did you proposition a bunny and she turned you down?”
“Yep.”
“You weren’t actually at Duncan’s party, were you? Oh my god. You weren’t invited.”
“Are you going to talk this much the whole drive?”
“You keep telling me you have four sisters. You’re not used to this?” I can’t believe he wasn’t invited. Maybe it wasn’t a party. Maybe it was what the players with kids and wives call a party, but it’s really them sitting around talking about what it’s like being in their thirties with responsibilities.
I could see not inviting Tyler to that kind of party, but Kami loving it. She did say Ares and Manning and their wives and kids were there too.
Tyler answers my question about his sisters by cranking the stereo, gripping the wheel with both hands until his knuckles turn white, and staring at the road straight ahead.
And I go silent, wondering if he was actually at that secret club that Maren took me to the night Tyler and I hooked up.
I say secret club like I don’t know it’s the bunny bar, because I don’t like to think about Tyler at the bunny bar. If I had a lot more confidence and a smaller butt and no hang-ups about sex, I’d like to think I’d fit right in with the bunnies.
I love the bunnies. They’re smart and kind and killer businesswomen, putting their sisterhood ahead of even the hockey players they claim to love. It’s weird to me that they know their friends might also sleep with the same players they sometimes sleep with, but it’s also kind of a thrill to think about being so utterly free and open about sex being a fun adult activity. There’s no stigma to it. No name-calling. No backstabbing.
If one of them does get serious with a player, they all talk about it, and everyone knows that player’s off-limits. If a player gets too clingy to one of them and makes them uncomfortable, they kick him out.
It’s like the best kind of power. No one’s putting them down. No one’s putting them in a corner. They’re stronger because they’re together.
They’re living life on their terms.
Whereas I can’t even tell Tyler why I want a date.
Or what the date actually is.
So instead, I settle deeper into my seat and pull out my phone and work on scheduling out a week’s worth of motivational and supportive emails to my clients, plus do a little pre-screening of potential matches for them, pausing occasionally to look out the window.
I like the drive to Richmond. Lots of pine trees to keep things green even when the rest of the trees have lost their leaves.
But I also don’t like the drive to Richmond, because I know what’s waiting for me there.
Haunting old memories.
Some good memories too. I had friends. I liked my classes. We had our favorite bars and restaurants.
But it all ended with one terrible idea with an even worse outcome.
That seems to be the story of my life, though I still have hope that Muff Matchers is on the right path.
Once I’ve finished my work, I make it through two songs and half a dozen Donettes before I reach over and turn the volume down. “What’s the most embarrassing thing that’s ever happened to you?”
He slides a look at me that lingers longer than it probably should, given that he’s flying down the interstate at ten miles over the speed limit. “Hold on. Let me dig deep into my buried memories to relive something painful since you asked completely out of the blue.”
Sarcasm seriously makes him so hot. So does that flat, blue-eyed glare. And the beard. I am completely digging the beard.
Not that I’ll be telling him that.
I probably shouldn’t poke at the bear, considering he’s doing me a huge favor.
And considering he’s doing me a huge favor despite me telling him sex with him wasn’t all that great.
I should probably also tell him I thought he ghosted me instead of me taking all the credit for doing the ghosting, but it’s easier to make him not like me than it is to admit he hurt me. “I just…I remember getting embarrassed over this little thing once when I was in medical school. That’s all.”
His eyes shift again, and it’s like I’m looking at Tyler Jaeger, number ninety-one on the Thrusters, in his zone on the ice, ready to kick ass and take names.
I want to take my coat off, but I already have, which means I can fan myself and let him see he’s affecting me, or I can pretend I’m not sitting here breaking into a sweat and ignoring the way my body’s tingling again despite all the ways I was disappointed the last time we were close and friendly.
“Someone embarrassed you?” The words come out rough and annoyed, and I don’t know if he’s annoyed because he doesn’t think I can handle being on the receiving end of a joke, or if he’s annoyed that I’m talking when he wants to listen to music, or if he’s annoyed that someone embarrassed me.
Considering
our discussion the other day was plenty embarrassing for both of us, it’s probably some combination of not wanting to talk and not really caring if I’ve ever been embarrassed.
Everyone’s been embarrassed. It’s not like my embarrassment is special or more embarrassing than anyone else’s, except for the part where my most embarrassing moment could’ve gotten me on the kind of daytime talk show that gets ratings for catfights and unexpected paternity test results.
“Never mind.” I reach back into the bag of Donettes.
“Does your friend know you got embarrassed?”
“Which friend?”
“The friend with a thing? The friend who’s the reason we’re going today?”
“Oh. Veda. Right. Yeah. We were tight. Like, if we’d been on a hockey team together, we would’ve been Ares Berger and Manning Frey tight. If we were candy, we’d be toffee and chocolate. We used to study together in this back corner of the library and we called it the hole. We’d meet there before big finals or whatever, when we really needed to concentrate and study, and no one ever wanted to go along to a place called the hole, so we had it all to ourselves, especially after we put the sign on the door labeling it as the hole. She’d tell me about who she was dating, and I’d tell her about which new Ben & Jerry’s flavor I tried after I stayed up late studying on Saturday nights.”
I wasn’t a great student, even if I am excellent at deflecting questions.
I wasn’t a bad student, but I wasn’t at the top of my class either. See also: I didn’t get hired for a residency and wasn’t sure what I was going to do after that final year.
But I believed if I made it through medical school, I really could help people. That it’s not all about you heal a broken bone by setting it, but also about why were you doing what you were doing to break your bone and what can we do to help anything else that might be wrong?
I wanted to be the doctor who listened.
The one who got to know her patients.
The one who knew it wasn’t only a broken arm or a bad kidney sitting on my table, but someone with a story.