“Your neighbors were overreacting. Nobody was in real danger…well, except for Lala. But your doctor husband said her hair will grow back, and there were no serious burns. Don’t make it bigger than it was.”
“Dean,” Kate chastises. “Listen to yourself.”
“I am listening to myself. I replaced Lynsey’s tiki bar, so what more do you two want from me?”
“It’s not about the tiki bar,” Kate blurts, her eyes wide and fierce on mine. “It’s about the fact that you brought an underage girl to Lynsey’s house for margarita night.”
“I wanted to bring a date, and she told me she was twenty-one,” I snap, frustration vibrating through my limbs. “I didn’t think I needed to check her ID—at least she was over eighteen.”
Both Kate and Lynsey gape at me, and I wonder when the fuck I started hanging out with such prudes. Kate writes erotic romance novels, and Lynsey got knocked up by a one-night stand. Surely, bringing a younger woman around isn’t that damn shocking for this group.
Kate exhales heavily. “Dean, I’m not even going to address the fact that you’re thirty-one to that girl’s twenty because I write romance for a living, and I’d be a fool to say that an age gap can’t be super-hot. But that girl had nothing going on upstairs. She thought Ebola was a country.”
I cringe as I recall her arguing fervently with Josh, the doctor, on that particular subject. He had to get out his phone and show her that Ebola was a virus, and even then, she got out her own phone to pull up a map. It was seriously uncomfortable.
“I didn’t realize there was an IQ prerequisite in order to hang out with all of you,” I reply flippantly, knowing I sound more childish than the child sleeping next to me.
Lynsey gets a sad look on her face and glances at sleeping Julianna. “Are you even happy with the women you’re dating, though? You don’t seem happy. You seem…bored.”
“What does it matter?” I snap, seriously wishing I was anywhere but here. “It’s not like I’m marrying these girls.”
I glance out the window at the people milling around Pearl Street, dining and shopping. Kate, Lyns, and I used to own this town. We’d be down here multiple nights a week having so many laughs our stomachs would be sore the next day.
Now, things have changed.
They’ve changed.
They aren’t the fun and wild girls I used to pull pranks on. I miss dropping into Tire Depot to give Kate shit about writing sex scenes in a waiting room. I miss buying Lynsey overpriced charcuterie boards and watching her clumsy ass trip in front of guys. The past year has started to feel…lonely. Which is not something I cope with very well.
Case in point: Lala.
Kate’s eyes find mine again. “We’re worried about you, Dean. The girls you’re dating keep getting younger and younger, and none of them have any substance. You’re floundering, man,” Kate adds, her voice taking on a serious tone I do not like. “This is a peen-tervention.”
“A what? Jesus, would you listen to yourself? I don’t need a peen-tervention…which, by the way, is not a thing. You two don’t need to worry about me.” I mindlessly brush away the scattered remains of our croinuts. “Business has never been better. My hedge fund company is up and running now, and I have six solid investors from Max’s referrals. Plus, I’m investing in Norah’s Denver bakery, which I know will be great. I’m at the top of my game.”
“We’re not talking about your professional life, Dean,” Kate says, her eyes bending with sympathy. “You’ve always been great with your work. We’re talking about your peen.”
What the fuck is going on here? Kate’s my funny friend. She’s the one who doesn’t take life seriously and threatens nut punches. Why is she looking at me like I have a terminal illness right now while calling my dick a peen? How many croinuts did she eat?
She licks her lips and leans across the table. “I just feel like ever since Lynsey had the baby and I got engaged, you’ve been hooking up with girls who are nowhere near your level. You’re a self-taught genius, Dean. You’re attractive, charismatic—”
“Generous,” Lynsey adds with a sad smile that instantly transports me to the days she was pregnant and living with me before Josh was allowed in the picture.
It’s crazy to think how different my life is with these two in it. They are literal pains in my ass seven days a week, but even when they’re annoying the shit out of me, I have a soft spot for them both. There’s nothing I wouldn’t do for them.
They’re kind of like the siblings I never had.
If having inappropriate thoughts about your sisters was okay.
Which obviously…it’s not.
“Are you and your peen depressed maybe?” Kate asks with a sadness to her eyes that is at odds with her ridiculous words.
“God, my peen is not depressed.” I adjust my glasses and exhale heavily while briefly wondering if a plastic fork could impale me enough to have to leave for the emergency room. “I’ll just quit bringing dates around. Problem solved.”
“That’s not what we want,” Kate replies with a shake of her head. “I’d just like to see you with a girl who you could actually have a conversation with. We have a lot of events coming up with the wedding, and I’d die of shock if you had someone beside you who wasn’t a throwaway girl. Lynsey and I have been brainstorming about who we could set your peen up with, haven’t we, Lynsey?”
I roll my eyes as they start rambling names and turn my attention back to Norah, who’s a lot more fun to watch than these two whack jobs trying to set my dick up on a blind date.
My brows furrow when I see Norah’s abandoned her croinut decorating and is now deep in a conversation with an older woman at the end of the counter. The woman gesticulates wildly, and my body tightens at the cornered look on Norah’s face.
Norah suddenly rips off her bandana and shakes her head, her blond hair wild around her face. The woman tries to show her something on her phone, and Norah jerks away and refuses to look at it. When the woman tries again, Norah lets out an exasperated noise and turns to storm out of the bakery through the back exit.
“I want grandbabies, Norah. Not Cronuts!” my mother chastises in a tight, crisp voice while delicately fingering her short, silver hair gelled into spikes. I glance around at my customers to see if anyone has overheard this madness, and to my horror, Dean is staring at me… arguing…in my bakery…with my mother. She steps into my sightline, her nostrils flared. “I’ve been planning this thirty-fifth wedding anniversary party for weeks, and it would mean a lot to see you with a man before I’m dead in the ground.”
“Mom, I make croinuts, not Cronuts,” I correct, ignoring her comment about her untimely demise because Elaine Donahue is as fit as a fiddle. Honestly, I think she could beat me in a 5K race right this second. She’s one of those power-walking, essential-oil-smearing, herbal-tea-drinking fifty-somethings who manage to make silver hair and yoga pants look unbelievably stylish. She’s practically a Jamie Lee Curtis clone with shredded triceps to prove it—it’s no wonder she still has never sampled any of my baked goods.