I Pucking Love You

by Pippa Grant

  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—”

  “Bring her along, sweetie. There’ll be plenty. Any friend of Tyler’s friend is a friend of ours.”

  “Daisy—” Tyler starts.

  “Enough, peasant.” She smiles broadly at him, and I swear the entire room lights up with fireworks because she’s that brilliantly gorgeous. “Breakfast, or my feelings will be hurt.”

  “Can’t have that,” Tyler’s brother says with a shit-eating grin. “Also, put pants on, or I’m sending pictures to the rest of the family.”

  They leave as fast as they came in.

  I should pick up the cookie tray again. Or at least try to. But instead, I gape at Tyler. “How—”

  “Pointless question, Muffy. It’s Daisy. There’s always a how. And don’t ask why didn’t she just call either. Not her style when she has a private jet and wants to get somewhere.” He pauses on his way to the bathroom and looks me up and down, his gaze finally settling on mine. “You okay?”

  Am I okay?

  I confessed my worst secret to him last night after I took him to a funeral home where he passed out because of childhood trauma, and my best friend from college has to lay her father to rest today.

  I’m probably not supposed to be okay, and my therapist would tell me that it’s okay to not be okay today. But I paste on a bright smile anyway. “I’m great.”

  He studies me until I want to squirm. “Shower?”

  “Yes.”

  “Excellent.” He wiggles his eyebrows, which makes my nipples tighten.

  “Oh! Oh, no. I mean, not together. You go ahead.” Awesome. My panties are suddenly soaked too.

  Why am I saying no?

  Right.

  Because he probably knows I have exactly zero experience with shower sex, and I really don’t want to be naked in front of him in the light right now.

  I’d probably fart.

  And I’ve caused enough trauma to the poor man already in the past twenty-four hours.

  Not even.

  He sighs, shakes his head, grabs his bag, and disappears into the bathroom. “Not like there won’t be enough food next door whenever we get there,” he mutters.

  “Wait. We’re doing that? We’re having breakfast with your family?”

  “If my options are a breakfast buffet in this hotel or whatever Daisy’s having catered to her room next door, I’m having breakfast with my family. You’re welcome to come along. Or you can stay here. Or call Veda. Have her join us. West and Daisy won’t mind. Or do something completely different. Whatever. But I’m going to shower, and you can join me if you want to make it fast, or you can wait your turn and risk missing out on all the bacon. Doesn’t matter to me. I’ll leave the door unlocked.”

  And now I’m confused.

  Is he offering to take a shower with me and have sex, or to shower quickly together to save time?

  Does he like me?

  Does he not like me?

  Did we have a moment last night?

  Did I dream the whole thing?

  Is he in denial because there were feelings involved?

  Am I in denial because there are feelings involved?

  Why are men so complicated?

  Or was he actually serious when he told me I broke his penis?

  And speaking of dicks, I think I’m actually done being embarrassed about what happened when I left med school.

  I think I’m pissed.

  And I don’t know why, but I have a feeling it has to do with one very sexy man currently getting naked on the other side of that bathroom door.

  Did Tyler Jaeger, clean-eating athlete supremo with buns of steel and arms of wonder, actually lecture me last night about how I’m perfect exactly the way I am?

  And that anyone who would shame me for it should go to hell?

  I think he did.

  But you know what’s crazy?

  I think I believe him.

  I shouldn’t be ashamed of my body. I shouldn’t be ashamed of doing what I felt I needed to do to pay down some student loans. And I shouldn’t
be ashamed that my married professor bid on me.

  He was wrong.

  I can’t control what he did.

  But I can control what I do. And how I talk to myself. And how I let myself feel.

  And right now, I feel like being brave.

  Taking a chance.

  Seeing if this Tyler Jaeger who’s here this weekend is more than just a guy who’ll take any available woman.

  If he likes me.

  And I think he does.

  Would he have told anyone else about what happened with his grandfather? Would he have stuck around after the funeral home last night and still be planning on going to graveside services with another woman today?

  I kinda don’t think he’d do it for any of his hockey buddies.

  Or possibly even his sisters.

  But he’s here. Being not just a date, but my champion.

  Screw it.

  I’m doing this.

  I’m being brave. I’m taking a chance. I’m being bold.

  I’m going to do what I’d tell my clients to do, and I’m going to march myself into that bathroom, strip off my clothes, and climb into the shower with him.

  He invited me, right?

  He wants me to.

  And even if it’s only because he’s horny and I’m a girl, do I care?

  Probably.

  Okay, yes.

  I want him to want me like I’m someone better than any other girl.

  I take one step toward the bathroom.

  Then another.

  And another, until I’m standing at the door.

  I hear the shower turn on.

  It’s now or never.

  So I pull off my Thrusters T-shirt and fling open the door as I launch my shirt into the room at him.

  The door connects hard with something and thuds to a stop. Tyler yelps, straightens, and grabs his bare ass, and oh my god.

  Oh my god.

  I flush so hard I get an instant headache as I slam the door shut again.

  My face is on fire.

  My scalp too.

  Even my hair.

  I think my hair is blushing.

  I’m standing here with my boobs hanging out after accidentally ramming a doorknob up Tyler Jaeger’s ass.

  Maybe there’s a reason I was a virgin until the night of the walk-in fridge at the club.

  And maybe that reason is me.

  18

  Tyler

  Never, ever, ever let me think that things couldn’t possibly get more awkward.

  Somehow, passing out at a funeral home, telling her about my zombie grandfather, and snuggling her with a broken dick all night is still not the end of the awkward.

  Now, we’re sitting at a comfortable table in a high-scale suite while the train wreck gets worse, unable to look at each other since she tried to join me in the shower.

  Not that we discussed that that was her intention.

  Pretty clear given that I caught a glimpse of her tits and found her shirt on the bathroom floor once my ass quit aching.

  This’ll be a fun one to explain to the team doctor. Yeah, it’s bruised because I almost got a prostrate exam from a doorknob.

  And speaking of exams—

  “Oh my gosh, you’re both doctors!” Daisy’s saying to Muffy and Veda, who made the fatal mistake of telling Muffy that anything would be better than breakfast with her own family this morning, and is now sitting with the four of us as the fifth wheel in a married-couple-plus-two-spare-wheels-already situation.

  “Veda’s a doctor,” Muffy tells Daisy. “I didn’t finish school. I’m…”

  Say something, Jaeger. Say. Something.

  Save her.

  “She’s a matchmaker,” Veda interjects with a bright smile. “These crepes are delicious. I didn’t know they served crepes here.”

  Knowing Daisy, she brought along her own personal chef to take over the hotel’s kitchen. I’d question if these are actually the hotel’s plates and linens except for West’s no-nonsense approach to everything that’s basically the opposite of his wife’s.

  Also knowing Daisy, discussing crepes won’t distract her from the more interesting discussion of Muffy’s career. “Fruit salad’s better,” I interject. “You try the pomegranate mango salad?”

  “A matchmaker!” Daisy claps her hands. “That’s such a cool job. How many couples have you matched?”

  “Daisy, is Remy supposed to be stacking those blocks?” I ask.

  He’s one.

  Of course he’s supposed to be stacking blocks in the corner after leaving his breakfast mostly untouched. He probably already had breakfast.

  How do I know?

  Because every time the grandkids come to stay at my parents’ house, they’re always up at the crack of dawn, being fed their breakfast by adults who look like there’s not enough coffee in the world to help them recover from a parenting hangover.

  But that’s not the point right now.

  Right now, the point is that West is giving me the what in the ever-loving world is wrong with you? look.

  No doubt it’ll quickly morph into Oh, your girlfriend sucks as a matchmaker? look, and I don’t want that look, since Muffy gets enough shit in her life for everything else, so instead, I accidentally spill my orange juice.

  On purpose. “Oh, shit.”

  “Watch your mouth in front of the baby,” West growls.

  “Shit. Sorry. Forgot. Shi—sorry.”

  Everyone’s diving for napkins, and Muffy’s job is temporarily forgotten.

  I don’t actually know how many people she’s matched, but I know it’s not many—three, did she say?—and I know her recent string of successes with the other parts of her matchmaking business isn’t enough to give her the kind of confidence she needs if she’s going to succeed long-term.

  “You drunk?” West asks me.

  He’s mainlining coffee, which isn’t much of a surprise considering they flew in from Miami last night, and he’s not the night owl his wife is, and see again—parenthood destroys your will to live without caffeine.

  “We all have accidents,” I tell him as everyone leaps into action making sure the orange juice doesn’t make it to the carpet.

  “I spilled water all over the professors presiding over my board exam,” Veda says.

  Daisy nods. “I accidentally smacked a prince in the face with a vodka bottle once.”

  I point to her. “If Daisy can try to take out the future leader of a country, then I don’t think I deserve any shi—crap for spilling a little orange juice at breakfast.”

  But West is still scowling at me. “Says the man who spends at least an hour during every family cookout following Keely around and asking if she needs a towel yet.”

  “She’s needed that towel more times than she hasn’t. Have we ever had a family cookout where Keely didn’t spill or drop something?”

  “Do you do mixers with your clients, Muffy?” Daisy asks. “I can’t think of anyplace more likely to have klutzy people than matchmaking socials. People get so nervous.”

  “My clientele is already special enough that we don’t risk nerves in group date settings,” Muffy says. “But we do have support group meetings with my clients, and I usually email them all daily, if I can, or whenever I find motivational things that really resonate with me.”

  “She’s doing the world such a favor.” Veda beams at her. “She specializes in misfits and socially awkward people.”

  “That’s amazing!” Daisy sits back in her chair as we finish cleaning the orange juice. “The world is so lucky to have you.”

  Muffy smiles, but it’s pained. “That’s what I hear.”

  Once again, I want to shove my fist through someone’s face. I don’t even know whose face this time. Her parents for making her so insecure? Whoever told her that auctioning her virginity was a good idea? Whoever didn’t select her for a residency?

  Whoever rejects her clients on a regular basis?

  Myself for probably being
one of those people who make her feel inferior, and also for probably rejecting her clients at some point?

  Daisy refills Muffy’s mimosa. “Do you get invited to the weddings? I love weddings.”

  “Weddings are great,” Muffy agrees. “Yours must’ve been beautiful.”

  “It was at a drag queen brunch. Didn’t you see the pictures?” Veda starts to blush. “I mean, they were in People. And my office stocks People. Of course I saw the pictures. It looked so fun.”

  I poke West. “And I forever get to say that my boring, stodgy old brother got his picture in a gossip magazine for getting hitched by drag queens.”

  “Are you boring?” Muffy asks him.

  “As stale toast,” he confirms.

  “Would you have matched us?” Daisy’s beaming again. She’s basically always a bundle of sunshine, and it’s not usually annoying, but today it is.

  “Does it matter?” I ask.

  But Muffy’s already answering for herself. “Not unless either of you are completely socially inept.”

  “I can’t dance,” West offers.

  “That doesn’t make you socially inept.”

  “His track record with women prior to Daisy should’ve,” I offer.

  And then I dodge, because I know when I’m about to get a plateful of scrambled eggs in my face.

  Plus, dodging means I accidentally fall out of my chair, and look at that.

  Pain shoots over my bruised ass, but we’re not talking about Muffy’s job anymore.

  Also, she’s bending over in her chair and looking at me for the first time since we got here.

  It’s bad that I’m almost grateful we had a doorknob mishap.

  If we hadn’t, she might’ve found out my wood is still missing.

  “Are you hung over?” she asks.

  “He’s attempting to get out of seeing more dead bodies,” West replies for me.

  “Nerves,” I agree. “I’m a disaster.”

  “When he was little, he decided to start a pet-walking business because he wanted to buy flashy new skates, and for once, Mom put her foot down, so he needed his own cash. But he tried to walk all of the dogs at once, and he ended up tied to a neighbor’s tree since all the dogs wanted to pee on the tree and they all kept circling it and getting their leashes tangled. Everyone came out and took pictures for half an hour before anyone thought to go get our parents or sisters.”