I Pucking Love You

by Pippa Grant

  A real smile touches Muffy’s lips. “Seriously?”

  “I wasn’t tied to the tree. I was pretending because everyone wanted pictures. I was hugging it and hamming it up for a crowd. There’s a difference.”

  West snorts. “I got video. He couldn’t move. And Mom made him throw away his shoes. The dogs didn’t all have good aim.”

  Muffy holds out a hand. “C’mon. Get off the floor before you get jam on your pants. I’m the one who’s supposed to be a disaster this morning. Not you.”

  “You’re not a disaster.”

  She holds my gaze, silently calling me a liar.

  I scowl right back at her, silently telling her she’s been listening to the wrong people.

  Her eyes narrow, and I get the feeling she’s not calling me a liar, but she’s accusing me of something else.

  No idea what, but whatever it is, it’s unflattering.

  “Are you getting up?” she finally asks.

  I eyeball her hand.

  What would she do if I pulled her down here and kissed her?

  Would she kiss me back?

  Do I want her to?

  Who am I kidding? Waking up wrapped around her, that warm, perfect breast in my hand, is the most action I’ve had in weeks, and yeah, I want more of it.

  So I yank on her arm.

  But she yanks on my arm at the same time, and I have seriously underestimated Muffy.

  She’s got game.

  She’s also got better leverage.

  Screw that.

  I shift on the floor, plant my feet, and tug again, but she’s already braced her own feet, and she’s using her thighs to anchor herself, and my ass is suddenly sliding across the floor.

  She’s strong enough to pull me across the carpet.

  Jesus.

  That’s seriously hot.

  I double down. She’s gonna sit.

  She adds her other hand to her grip and adjusts her stance, and fuck me.

  She’s winning.

  “Are you two playing tug-of-war with just your hands?” West asks.

  Daisy claps. “Kinky.”

  “If one of you breaks a bone, I’m not setting it for you,” Veda announces. “I’m also not treating bloody noses or concussions. I’m off duty today.”

  “Mama?” Remy says.

  Little guy’s adorable.

  “Let go, Tyler,” Muffy mutters while everyone else coos over Remy. “Last thing we need is the team hearing a girl tore your rotator cuff and put you in rehab for the rest of the season.”

  I’m probably in danger of needing rehab for my bruised ass, but I refuse to admit that to her. “Why are you being so stubborn?”

  “Because I know what you’re doing, and I want you to stop.”

  Glad one of us does.

  All I know is that I want to pull her into my lap and kiss her.

  And I don’t know why.

  Also?

  There’s still not much action in my junk, so this makes even less sense. “What am I doing?”

  She rolls her eyes. I yank one last time, except this time, she twists her hand so that it slides right out of mine, and I plop back onto my ass on the floor.

  I stifle a grunt as more pain shoots through my tailbone.

  Muffy goes pink.

  Veda eyes her, and the two of them do that silent communication thing again, and it ends when Veda carefully pats her mouth with her linen napkin and puts it on the table. “Thank you so much for breakfast. I need to go finish getting ready for the funeral and to dash a few relatives’ hopes about what’s in my father’s will.”

  “Did he have any other children needing guardians? Are you in danger of accidentally inheriting them?” Daisy asks as she lifts Remy and spins him in a circle.

  Veda’s clearly well-versed in celebrity gossip, because she doesn’t blink at the mention of how the little guy came into all of our lives. “No, but now I wish he had some creepy dolls or something that he wanted my uncle to look after.”

  “Does he like creepy dolls? What’s his address?”

  “Do not answer that,” West tells Veda.

  Muffy’s setting her own napkin aside too. She ate maybe a third of her plate, and now I’m wondering if she was too self-conscious to eat in front of my brother and his socialite wife.

  “I need to brush my teeth and go help Veda,” she says to the room at large. “Thank you so much for everything. This was fun.”

  Daisy smiles brightly at her. “You’ll have to join us the next time the family invades Copper Valley for one of Ty’s hockey games. Or ride along the next time they play in Florida. I love hosting the boys for parties after their games.”

  “No pressure if you’re not interested,” West adds to her with a head nod toward me. “We’d get it. But you’re still welcome.”

  I ignore the subtle jab that I’m no fun to hang out with.

  “It was nice to meet you too,” Muffy says to West. “I hope you enjoy Richmond today.”

  “Do you need any extra guests at the funeral, Veda?” Daisy asks. “I’m very good at distracting annoying family members. All I need is the obituary and a general timeframe when your father might’ve taken a trip where I might’ve possibly met him, and I can be the life of a party.”

  I shoot West a look. Who the fuck volunteers to go be the life of a party at a funeral?

  He shrugs, but he’s clearly hiding a smile.

  “Are you serious right now?” Veda asks her.

  West turns that smile onto his wife. “Daisy’s life mission is to improve other people’s lives.”

  Veda and Muffy share another look.

  “Not to sound rude,” Muffy says, “but if you come, can you pretend you don’t know us?”

  Daisy winks. “Only if you promise to let me take you out for drinks next time I’m in Copper Valley.”

  19

  Muffy

  Tyler’s in a mood, and I know I should care, because it’s probably my fault—funeral, awkwardness, his bruised butt, you name it—but I don’t.

  He might be holding my hand as we stand graveside behind Veda and her uncle in the dreary November morning, and it might be stupidly reassuring since Dr. Richardson is right across the casket and keeps looking at me, but I still don’t care that he’s in a mood.

  I thought he didn’t care that I’m a disaster, and that he found me attractive despite all that, but clearly, I was wrong.

  If I embarrass him, then he shouldn’t have taken me to breakfast with his family.

  I embarrass myself plenty.

  I don’t need to carry the weight of his embarrassment too.

  Plus, why is Dr. Richardson staring at me again?

  I paid him back what he bid on me. I didn’t even tell Veda who met me in that hotel room. If he’s going to cause a scene—

  A woman starts singing a funeral song, and I’ve been paying little enough attention to the service that her sudden acapella performance makes me jerk.

  Tyler leans down like he’s going to ask if I’m okay.

  But that’s not what he asks. “Why is that asshole you ran into yesterday staring at you?”

  “What asshole?”

  “I told myself I wouldn’t pry, but if I need to take him behind a headstone and beat the shit out of him, squeeze my hand twice.”

  I choke on an unexpected laugh at the image of Tyler grabbing Dr. Richardson and trying to stealthily beat him behind one of the wider headstones in this cemetery, like any of them are small enough here that no one would notice a two-hundred-pound hockey player beating a sixty-year-old man.

  But then, considering the Daisy Carter-Kincaid factor, it’s likely no one really would notice. People can’t stop stealing glances at her.

  Naturally.

  She’s utterly stunning in her black dress, and she’d stand out even without the blue hair and massive sparkly sunglasses.

  And she’s behind Dr. Richardson, for the record.

  He is not staring at her.

&n
bsp; I’ll bet she and Tyler have some secret signal that would prompt her to pull her flask out of her cleavage and pretend she’s trying to be subtle about taking a hit off of it so that everyone would watch her while he leaps across the casket, grabs Dr. Richardson, and pushes him behind that taller, but still not very tall, tombstone a few rows back.

  Not that I’d ask Tyler to beat anyone up. Especially at a funeral.

  Especially when I’m starting to want to beat him up myself.

  It was my fault for thinking that auctioning my virginity was something I could follow through with, and for not considering that a faculty member might be the one to win me instead of one of the preppy trust fund students.

  But yeah, I’m totally squicked out at the fact that he keeps staring at me.

  And now I’m wondering how many other students he’s slept with. Or tried to sleep with.

  And if his wife knows.

  Tyler lets go of my hand, then clamps his arm around my shoulders so tight that I get a weird pull in my hips and have to adjust my stance.

  Across the casket, Dr. Richardson goes pasty white. He looks down quickly and steps closer to his wife, who makes one of those back up and give me space looks and steps away from him, running right into Daisy, who pulls her flask out of her cleavage—really wasn’t kidding about that—and offers it to Mrs. Richardson.

  If I hadn’t tried to take a shortcut to paying off some of my student loans, I could be here right now as an actual medical doctor.

  I could’ve stayed in Richmond an extra year, done a few more classes, taken on a research project, found a different job in a medical field to stay in the industry, and tried again for a residency the next year.

  I could’ve been through that residency by now. I could’ve been starting a practice like Veda did last year.

  But instead, I’m floundering, trying desperately to help eight women find the love of their lives.

  Eight.

  I have eight total clients, and two are pro bono cases who don’t know I’m trying to find matches for them, because everyone deserves love.

  You can’t make a living off of eight clients.

  At least, I can’t. I can’t even find dates for my eight clients without working outside normal matchmaker boundaries.

  Of course Tyler’s embarrassed to introduce me to his family under circumstances that suggest we’re something more than friends.

  I could’ve made something of my life by now, and instead, I’m the woman who didn’t have the courage to go back to my college town solo.

  His grip on me tightens as the song comes to an end.

  The funeral director says his closing words and thanks everyone for coming.

  Which means it’s probably about time for them to lower the casket into the grave.

  I glance up at Tyler.

  He’s staring straight ahead, jaw visibly clenched.

  It’s hard to stay mad at him for being embarrassed by me when I know being at a funeral is physically uncomfortable for him for other reasons beyond the normal funereal discomfort.

  “It would be really nice if a bird swooped in and pooped on the casket right about now,” I whisper to him.

  “If I never hear the word casket again for the rest of my life, it’ll be too soon,” he mutters back.

  A couple people I don’t recognize are the first to break ranks as the funeral director messes with something at the head of the casket. So maybe it’s not a thing to stay and watch the casket get lowered?

  I really don’t know.

  I don’t do this often.

  Once folks realize other people are moving away from the grave, more follow.

  Some pause to offer condolences to Veda.

  Others slip away.

  And then there are the mourners who angle closer to Daisy.

  Dr. Richardson’s wife leans over and says something to her. Dr. Richardson checks out Daisy’s cleavage in her black dress, and his wife hits him with an elbow to the gut.

  She’s not even looking at him, and she still knew what he was doing.

  “I am never getting married,” I murmur.

  “Same.”

  I would absolutely get married. One hundred percent. No question.

  But not until I found a man that I knew with absolute certainty loved me for everything I am, and everything I’m not, and everything I could be, and everything I could never be.

  And not until I could love him back with everything inside of me.

  So, basically, I’m never getting married. There’s not a single person on this earth that I could ever trust that much.

  The casket begins its descent into the ground, and the mourners still gathered all pause, like they, too, have realized maybe they made a faux pas.

  Tyler shudders, so I wrap an arm around his waist and squeeze.

  To his credit, he doesn’t ask if we can get out of here.

  But then, he probably knows I’d tell him no. Until Veda’s done, I’m here. “If you want to go back now, I can hop a bus later.”

  “I’m not leaving you here without a ride home,” he mutters.

  “I could ask Daisy to fly me over.”

  He winces.

  And suddenly I’m mad at him all over again.

  I know I shouldn’t be. He had to ask for a day off practice to be here today, and it’s not like the coach randomly hands out get out of practice free cards. Tyler gets paid a crap ton of money to play hockey, and that means he’s expected at every practice unless he’s dying, injured, or ridden with contagious cooties that could wipe the whole team out, and even then, he’s supposed to be there for his team however he can.

  Plus, funeral.

  He really doesn’t want to be here.

  Still— “Am I that embarrassing?”

  “What?”

  “Don’t play dumb, Tyler. You spent all of breakfast trying to make sure no one talked about me and what I do and how terrible I am at it. You spilled your orange juice so your brother and his wife wouldn’t figure out that I’m basically a failure.”

  “What? No. I thought—”

  “That I couldn’t handle talking about my own business, which I do every day, with your very successful sister-in-law?”

  “Muffy—”

  “Never mind. It doesn’t matter. Thank you. Again. For being here. I know you hate funerals, I know I should’ve told you that’s what this was, and I know I shouldn’t have burdened you with anything that I burdened you with last night, and I—”

  “Stop saying thank you,” he hisses. “This is what friends do. And we’re friends. And I’m not embarrassed by you. I didn’t want—”

  “Muffy? Oh my god, Muffy, is that you?”

  My shoulders hitch up to my forehead as I slowly turn to face Connie Bragowski.

  Doctor Connie Bragowski.

  Who clearly doesn’t care for the sanctity of the moment of having Veda’s dad lowered into the ground, and who apparently might have a new last name, if the stunning man in the custom-tailored pinstripe suit and million-dollar hairstyle standing next to her is any indication.

  Maybe he’s her fake funeral date.

  “Muffy! Oh my god, it is you. I told Hendrick that there was no way you were back after you basically ghosted the entire school after you auctioned off your virginity, but oh my god, here you are! This is Hendrick. Hendrick Meyer. Yes, of those Meyers. We got married last summer.” The annoying skinny cow shoves her hand in my face so that I can see a diamond ring the size of the Titanic surrounded by diamond chips the size of large tugboats.

  Tyler steps between us before I can say a word. “Hi. Tyler Jaeger. I’m Muffy’s boy toy. Offered to be here for fun, not because I have to be for risk of pissing off the ol’ ball and chain. We’re hooking up with one of my teammates for a threesome later. You follow the Thrusters? Heard of Rooster Applebottom? Guy’s freaky. But we don’t fuck around with married people. Sorry. Can’t invite you.”

  I choke on air.

  Connie g
oes completely silent.

  Hendrick clears his throat.

  And everyone who was watching the casket get lowered turns to stare at us.

  “Oh, shit, did I do that awkward thing again?” Tyler looks at me and rolls his eyes. “Babe, you gotta tell me when I’m supposed to keep the handcuffs out of the cemetery.”

  I try to talk, but all that comes out is a strangled noise that sounds like I’m a mooing cow.

  Yeah. I sound like my cousin Kami’s “dog.”

  Tyler grins and slides a hand to my ass. “Alright. If you insist. I’ll wear the bridle this time.”

  Connie gapes, then abruptly turns on her heel, trips—mental note: the grass is soft and I should not attempt quick turns in my own heels—and face plants while her husband watches.

  “C’mon, sexy pants.” Tyler squeezes my ass. “Let’s go pay our respects to the lovely doctor.”

  Instead of steering me toward Veda, though, he spins me into his body, grabs me by the back of my head, and slams his mouth over mine.

  Oh god. Oh god oh god oh god.

  I am not a good kisser. I’ve had exactly three boyfriends in my entire life, and two of them were when I was in high school, one of which was freshman year, when we thought dating meant passing notes in class, and he was only my boyfriend in my head and never actually knew I thought he was my soulmate for six weeks, three days, and four hours.

  Kissing practice?

  My mother only thinks I have it because I try to out-outrageous her at every opportunity, and also because I have to tell her I’m going somewhere when I leave for all my shifts at Cod Pieces. I’m all talk.

  But Tyler is all action.

  And oh my god, is he action.

  It wasn’t like this in the fridge. In the fridge, he was handsy and only a little kissy after the first attempt got awkward, plus it was all over so fast, but now?

  His lips are hot and aggressive, and I can’t keep up with what he’s doing with them, but I don’t think it matters, because if I quit thinking and let myself go, my body knows.

  My mouth knows.

  My hands are gliding all over his chest, over the thick, warm fabric of his white shirt, under the wool of his outer coat, my fingers taking in more solid muscle than they’ve felt since I was poking cadavers in my med school days, which is not something I want to think about while Tyler’s grinding his pelvis against mine and devouring my mouth with his and desecrating this entire cemetery.