Page 4 of The P*ssy Next Door

I wondered if he would have even been able to cover it up with my pussy... cat. Not that I'd wanted him to, and not that he'd tried. He'd definitely given me a show.

My cat squirmed, wanting to be put down. Probably just so he could go off on another adventure through the neighborhood.

“Seven of Nine Lives,” he knew he was in trouble when I used his full name, “you poop. I just got home, and you can't even let me have a snuggle?”

I was up at this ungodly hour, still feeling the jet lag from my last-minute, twenty-four hour series of flights to get from Vietnam back to Denver with a good mix of wackadoo time changes. I could use a snuggle.

But when the Guncles called to say I needed to come home right away and here's first-class plane tickets, I made the arrangements with my school to take a little bit of time off. Time changes and jet lag be damned.

I loved my parents, I did, and they loved me. But they always had expectations for me and my life that I just never felt like I could fulfill. Liam and George weren't like that. They were the ones who encouraged, and initially bankrolled, me and my backpack when I headed to Europe to see the world instead of going to college.

So, if they needed me home to give us all The Big News, I'd put my job on hold. I'd put my life on hold for them, honestly. I just wish they'd indicated whether this was good news or potentially devastating. Like, was I coming home for a party, or should I have packed a black dress and all the tissues I could fit in my suitcase?

The two of them loved a secret and a reveal, but this was Liam's life we were talking about. Would a hint have killed them?

It was killing me.

And I was apparently killing Seven, because he gave me a desperate “mrrow” and wiggled. “Sorry I was squishing you, bubby.”

I propped him up on my shoulder like a baby and gave his butt some pats. He resigned himself to accepting my attentions and even deigned to give me some purrs.

“See, you missed me.” I'd just been home a few months ago, and he couldn't leave me alone then. Now I was home under a lot more stress and he would barely give me the time of day. Unless, of course, I was giving him treats.

“Come on, let's get your ear drops and I'll give you a treat.” His tail swished at the offer of a snack. Same, buddy, same.

“Willabean, you here?” Xander called for me from inside the house.

Ah, the bane that was my older brother. “Don't make me murder you, Xan.”

“You can try, Beanie.”

If I didn't have a cat in my arms, I would find something to throw at his head. Willabean had been cute when we were six. At sixteen he'd used it as a weapon of mass embarrassment, and at twenty-one, I still hated it. Which, of course, he found hilarious to no end.

If he wasn't a six-three wall of muscle and headed for a career in professional football next year, I would take him down and sit on him like I did when were younger. Except I was the one who got in trouble and he always got off scot-free.

Butthead.

Unfortunately, he was also the one who sweetly threatened to beat up any boy who broke my heart, used his golden-child persuasion to convince my mom to allow me to get a cat, and was the one who flew all the way to Ho Chi Minh City to teach me how to ride a motorcycle when I first got the job teaching English, just so I wouldn't crack my head open.

He popped into the backyard and waved for me to come back inside. “Let's go hit the coffee shop and force the Guncles to tell us what's going on now. I've got a game this afternoon, and I need to know if I'm gonna be playing like a badass or if I need to call Coach and take some time off.”

Xander loved Liam and George just as much as I did, and he might be a big, tough guy, but I heard the fear in his words. He didn't even have to say anything. I knew. “Unless, of course, you got it out of them last night?”

I was staying at their house instead of with Mom and Dad, because... reasons. “No go. They were tight-lipped and insistent that we all had to go to bed the minute we got home. And of course were up and at Cool Bean at the butt crack of dawn. I think I've actually seen them for all of about thirty minutes since I landed.”

I'd seen more of Hayes Kingman than—oh, nope. No, don't go there. And dammit. Now I was thinking about naked Hayes again.

Ever since the draft, we don't talk about Kingman, no, no, no. We don't talk about Kingman.

“I doubt we'll get it out of them, but I could definitely use some caffeine. It's eight o'clock at night for me and I didn't get a whole lot of sleep on the plane or last night.” I would just get adjusted to Denver time when I had to go back to Saigon. My body was going to be all kinds of pissed.

I hauled Seven up to my room, gave him his eardrops, which he hated and immediately bolted from, and then got dressed. But what I had in my suitcase was not suitable for a cool Colorado autumn day. I had mostly the lightweight dresses I wore to teach in. That was dumb. I hadn't really been thinking when I was tossing things into my bag to hurry and catch the flight.

This wasn't going to work. I popped into Liam and George's room and raided their closet. George was a Mustangs fan through and through, and most of his comfy clothes were jerseys and logoed t-shirts. That would work fine with the singular pair of leggings I'd had the foresight to bring.

Xander made a face at me when I came back downstairs. Shizz. I wasn't thinking. He used to love the Mustangs, had always hoped he'd get drafted by them. Not anymore. He was still mad. I got that.

I'd planned to hit Lane Bryant or Torrid while I was here anyway. I even had orders from a few other teachers who also weren't Vietnamese sized. We could get clothes made by the plethora of tailors easily enough, since clothes big enough to fit even the average-sized American, Brit, Aussie, or Kiwi simply weren't available. But the one thing we all still needed to get from home were bras and underwear. No one was making me a forty-two double D over the shoulder boulder holder.

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