I smiled again. “Oh yeah?” I said sarcastically, assuming she was the perk she was referring to.
“Obviously, me. But also Wyatt Morgan’s pay-nus.”
I should have seen that coming, but I didn’t so I kinda guffawed, one of those laughs that actually sounds like ‘ha-ha.’
Whispering, I said, “Can you stop pronouncing penis like it’s a French man wearing a beret?”
“Was it? Wearing a beret?” she asked quite seriously, and it took me a minute to realize that for Bev beret was now a euphemism for circumcised or not. But honestly, I wasn’t sure whether with or without the beret equated to circumcised.
“Just stop. I’m not telling you anything else.” My cheeks were hot. I was definitely blushing. There was no chance, none at all, that she was done with this line of conversation.
“You know what I think,” she said. “I think you should go after Wyatt Morgan. And not in the I-love-you-and-want-to-marry-you kind of a way. More in the you-are-smoking-hot-and-I-want-you-to-give-me-orgasms kind of a way.”
I’d never had an orgasm. Bev knew that, and she was baiting me, a little. I wasn’t a virgin. I’d slept with three men, colleagues. In college, there was Richard. He was my lab partner. He was a very clinical kind of a guy; that’s actually why I approached him concerning my virginity. I explained to him that I was curious about sex and would like to perhaps indulge my curiosity with him, but on a strictly physical basis, a kind of study. We slept together most of junior year. He seemed to enjoy himself and was willing to experiment with suggestions and techniques I read about concerning my pleasure, but in the end the operation was a failure.
Then there was Cory in medical school. He swore he would make me come with his ABC cunnilingus technique. And he tried, valiantly, but unfortunately, ABC didn’t inspire O for me. Most recently, I’d had a fling with a guy I met in a bar in Chicago, where I did my residency. His name was Brian. He was burly and brainless. I thought maybe my issue was that I was overthinking the whole thing. But burly, brainless Brian was equally bankrupt in bed.
Bev continued. “Not for nothing, but I bet that boy knows his way around a vulva.”
“I’m sure he does.” I sighed. “But he’d have to want me.”
“He wants you. You’re hot in that skinny white girl way. He wants you. We just have to get you two in the same room for more than a penis dance slash checkup.”
I snickered. I couldn’t help it. She was just always funny. “It’s not going to happen.”
She shook her head at me, and said, “Girl, I’m deeming this coupling tantamount to your happiness. It’s gonna happen. We just need a plan.”
Oh no. I could maybe slow her roll for a day or two, but once Bev had decided to make a plan, there was no stopping her. Like her personality, her plans were always over the top, detailed, and dramatic.
3
Wyatt
“Earth to Wyatt. Please come in, Wyatt Morgan!” my younger brother Cody chanted.
Shit, had he been talking to me? Since I woke up I was trapped in the fog of Caroline Winchester. It had been three days since her close encounter with the penis kind, and I could no longer even pretend that I was functioning.
“Coffee or OJ, genius?” Cody asked, frustrated, clearly having asked this question before.
“Coffee. Seems like I need it.”
“Clearly,” Cody grumbled, grabbing a mug from the cabinet and pouring me a cup.
My dad, Duke, and my niece Molly were making pancakes. They were achingly cute together, the old man and his pretty little red-haired boss. My dad was wearing a green apron and Molly was standing on a step stool, stirring the batter.
“I think Wat-wat needs chocolate chips, Papa Duke,” Molly suggested. Papa Duke was my dad and Wat-wat was me. When Molly was first learning to talk, she couldn’t say Wyatt so she called me Wat-wat and it just stuck.
My father smiled. “Oh yeah, why’s that, Mol?”
She lowered her voice to whisper. “I think he can’t hear good anymore or maybe he’s sad. Either way chocolate will help.”
“Obviously,” my father said, nodding.
Bill, my older brother and Molly’s father, was sitting across from me at the breakfast table. He laughed, and then he said, “All jokes aside, what is up with you, Wyatt?”
I shrugged. “Nothin’, just tired.” I didn’t want to talk to my brothers about Caroline. They’d always had an inkling that I was sweet on her, and it was a constant source of ribbing when we were kids.
“Not buyin’ it,” Cody said, pulling out a chair and sitting down.
The back door opened and my other older brother Luke came in. He and his wife Maddie lived in town, but he often joined us for breakfast prior to the workday.
“Howdy, brethren,” he joked, crossing to Molly, snuggling her. “And how’s the smartest little girl this side of the Rockies?”
“Smarter again!” Molly smiled. “I’m learning to make pancakes.”
Luke strolled to the table, took a piece of crispy vegetarian “bacon” off side plate set out specifically for him, and asked, “And how about you, motley crew?”
Cody, who was notoriously snarky, answered, “Bill and I are fine, but Wyatt must have left his marbles somewhere because he is working with ten, maybe twenty percent at best.”
“I’m fine. Just not enough sleep,” I reiterated.
“Hmm …” Luke said, smiling while he chewed his “bacon”. After he swallowed, he said, “Ya know, I might have an idea about what’s got Wat-wat all tied up in knots.”
Bill and Cody looked at me. I shrugged, acting innocent, hoping with all hope that Luke didn’t know what had me in a tizzy.
“Nothing?” Luke asked teasingly. “Ya sure?”
“I’m sure,” I said, keeping my voice even.
Luke pulled out a chair and flipped it around so he could straddle it and sit with his chest pressed to the wooden rungs on the back. Then he took another piece of “bacon” before he said, “Well, gents, I don’t know if you know this, but a salon—like my sweet wife Maddie’s—is an awfully good place to stay abreast of the local scuttlebutt ...”
I sucked in a breath. Luke definitely knew Caroline was back. That would be all over town by now, but her being back didn’t mean anything much.
He continued. “Seems the lovely Miss Caroline Winchester has returned to Conway.”
Cody, who was in middle school when Caroline went to college, asked, “Winchester? Like as in Sheriff Winchester?”
Bill nodded, smirking. “Oh yeah.” He couldn’t contain himself. He snickered. “Caroline is the sheriff’s daughter.”
“I vaguely remember her,” Cody said. “Real smart, right? What’s she got to do with Mr. I’m-Still-Wearing-My-Pajama-Top over here.”
I looked down. Dammit, I was totally still wearing the long-sleeve shirt I slept in.
“Wyatt’s got a soft spot for the sheriff's daughter.” Luke laughed, and then he looked at our dad and said, “Hey, Pops, didn’t you say Wat-wat had his yearly checkup earlier this week?”