Page 9 of Spark
Cam holds the condoms up, inspecting them with precision. “We could play that up in a marketing campaign. Guys always want to feel more but don’t want to worry about the condom breaking.”
“Strong enough to stop a speeding sperm.” I stretch and pull the condom.
Mouth agape, Cam stares at me. “No. This is why I’m in charge of marketing and the creative stuff.”
“What? That’s good.” I turn to our sister. “Right?”
Aileene shakes her head. “Yeah… no. Stay in your lane, Fin.”
“If we’re going sustainable, the packaging needs to be biodegradable too.” The sound of Cam’s felt-tip pen dancing across his “idea book” sparks pride in me for the talent he has. He may be an over-sized Golden Retriever puppy, but he’s gifted in so many ways. “I’ll meet with my team, and we’ll come up with some ideas about packaging and marketing.”
I pull up my calendar on my phone. “Can you have some ideas to present next week?”
“Sure.”
I turn to Aileene. “What else do you need to do on your end?”
“We need more testing and to get feedback on how they feel. Because we’re not using latex, they’re hypoallergenic, which is a plus.”
“And when will we be ready for FDA approval?” I jot notes on follow-up to add to my calendar.
“Since we’ve had an open dialogue with them from the beginning, I don’t anticipate any issues.” Aileene taps her tablet and pulls up an email for my review. “I’ll forward this to you. They’re also interested in the spray-on condom we’ve been working on."
I scan the email. If we can perfect the spray-on condom, we’ll be able to revolutionize the condom industry. “How’s that coming along?”
Aileene huffs a breath causing the strand of hair that has come loose from her ponytail to flutter. “Not great. We’ll need to schedule a separate meeting for that.”
Setting down his idea book, Cam folds his hands on the metal table and pins me with one of his we-need-to-talk looks, which can mean one of two things. Either something major is going on with him and/or Olive, which pinches my insides and unleashes all my big brother/uncle protective responses. Or he has some ridiculous request. Like the time he asked if I would join him for the Philly Naked Bike Ride. “I want to note, for the record, that I have waited until ten a.m. to discuss a very important matter.”
“Here we go…” Aileene rolls her eyes and walks over to the small, enclosed room along the back wall that houses the coffee maker and a mini-fridge. “Who wants coffee?”
Keeping my attention on Cam, I raise my hand and try to keep my voice level. “What’s going on?”
“That’s what I’d like to know.” Cam leans in. “What’s going on with you and Mateo?”
And there it is.
A ridiculous request. Though, thankfully nothing to do with my junk hanging out while biking through Center City. “There’s nothing going on.”
From the back room, a derisive snort resonates. Cam lifts a dark blond brow. “Really?” Each syllable is enunciated slowly, with precision and enough scoffing to indicate he will not let this go. “It didn’tlooklike nothing. In fact…” He shifts, tapping his bottom lip with his finger. “It looked more likesomething.”
“Well, it wasn’t.” If Cam’s head snapping back like he’s been punched and Aileene’s stare are any indication, my words are harsher than intended. Back-peddling without apologizing—because my love life is none of my nosy brother’s business—I check my irritation. “He seemed like a nice enough guy.”
“He is, and he’s one of the best props in the league.” Trying, and failing, to act nonchalant, Cam continues to share information I don’t need or want to hear. “I know for a fact that he hasn’t dated anyone in months.”
Aileene sets a mug in front of me on the stainless-steel table and joins us again. “You’re not trying to revive your matchmaking business, are you?”
Cam holds his hand to his chest. Shock and indignation—however fraudulent—blanket his face. “I would never charge people for my natural talents. My matchmaking skills are superior, and my record is indisputable. Remember Mrs. Newhouse?”
Mrs. Newhouse was Gran’s ornery neighbor growing up. Anytime Aileen, Cam, and I visited Gran, Mrs. Newhouse would complain about the noise. Her house was an acre away from Gran’s.
“Don’t try to tell me you fixed up Mrs. Newhouse.” I bring the Davidson’s Condoms mug to my lips, smiling before the coffee touches my tongue. “You gave me the coffee from your secret stash? Thanks, Leenie.”
Aileene winks and blows me a kiss.
“I certainly did fix her up.” Cam pushes himself from the table, gliding on his stool to the back room and the coffee pot. “If you had told me you were making the good stuff, I would have asked for some,” he says to Aileene. Pouring himself a mug and stirring at least half-a-pound of sugar into his cup, he keeps on yammering, “Remember the abandoned cat we found?”
Aileene sips her coffee and studies her tablet, never looking up. “The calico with the attitude?”
