Page 67 of Mother Pucker

“You like him!” She exchanges an excited look with Piper. “Holy shit, you really like him!”

I bring a glass of ice water to my lips, hoping the cool liquid tempers the warmth I suddenly feel. “He’s alright. Don’t make it weird.”

“You do!” she presses. “I can see it in your entire demeanor. Even in this lighting, I can see your post-orgasmic glow.”

“This is the worst form of torture,” Piper groans, squeezing her eyes shut.

“Talk to me,” Jeena says, ignoring her. They’ve become rapidly familiar with each other over the past hour and a half, and the likeness of their boisterous personalities has me wondering if I did the right thing by introducing them. I can already tell they’re going to use their combined effort to be a pain in my ass. “Havewehad at least three orgasms yet?”

Piper puts her beer down, placing her hands over her ears dramatically while singing, “La la la la.”

I give Jeena an exasperated look, though I can’t hold back the smile that’s determined to escape. “Fine, yes,wehave. Are you happy?”

Jeena squeals, bouncing on her toes, and I wonder how much of this energy is coming from all the sugar in her drink. “I knew it! Go ahead, feel free to dole out your adulation for my insight and wisdom.” She places her hands on my shoulders and turns me to face her. There’s a more serious look on her face this time. “All I need is a yes or no. Yes, if I was right or no, if I was wrong.”

I swallow before flicking my gaze back to the man who’s managed to seep under my skin and into my bones, despite all my efforts for the opposite. When did that even happen?

As much as I want to brainwash myself out of that admission, I can’t. Somewhere between the first time we met to now, everything has changed.

And while I still don’t know what our future holds, I can admit one thing: I have feelings for the gorgeous, cocky-ass defenseman smoldering at me like he’s imagining all the ways he’ll devour me later.

Turning to my best friend, I say the only answer that’s true, “Yes.”

twenty-one

rowan

I pullup to the four-story Boston brownstone, viewing it for the first time in the light of day versus the last time I saw it, almost in the middle of the night.

Would it be wrong for me to say it actually looked more appealing at night?

I mean, it’s big enough for multiple families, but it’s clearly in desperate need of repairs, least of which are the criss-crossed boards over one of the front windows, hiding what I assume is the baseball-sized hole Kai had made last weekend.

There’s a tree in the front, displaying the vibrant colors of the season, though many of its yellow and orange leaves lay like a colorful blanket on the ground.

I amble up the worn steps to the blue front door adorned with a Christmas wreath, a large rectangular box in my hand, noting the stack of pumpkins on the bottom and–is that an Easter bunny?–a statue holding a carrot at the entrance?

I hadn’t planned to be here today, but when Shay told me her car wouldn’t start and she would need to cancel Kai’s skating session with me, I decided I’d just come by and pick them up.

She hemmed and hawed about it for a bit,because of course she did, counting off every worry, from if I was a good driver,given I drive a sports car, to if somehow Kai would start suspecting there was more going on between us. The woman was a serial overthinker.

But after I gave her what I thought were good rebuttals to each of her concerns, she was more amenable to me coming over.

I’ve just barely lifted my hand to knock on the door when it suddenly flies open, and two very serious-looking replicas of a little blonde girl peer back at me, as if they’re viewing me through X-ray vision.

Clone A whispers to Clone B with a hand over her mouth, “That box doesn’t look like the portable external hard drive we ordered.”

Let me point out that Clone A doesn’t know how to whisper.

“No. And he looks . . .primitive.”

“Like a science experiment gone wrong.”

What the hell? I reel back before dropping my head to examine myself.Primitive?! A science experiment gone wrong?That’s not what the “Hottest Men of Boston” list I was featured in would say. Man, these girls are mean! They’ve gotta be the Destructive Demons Shay talks about.

Before I can defend myself–or string any two words together–they slam the door in my face.

I look up and then behind me, wondering if there’s a hidden camera somewhere and if the past two minutes have been a practical joke. I lift my arm to knock on the door again when it once again swings open.Is this place haunted?

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