Page 5

Vivienne

After the chaos of today's camp, I need chocolate and an orgasm. Preferably in that order. Neither has ever failed me--at least, not when I'm the one in charge of them--and I need that kind of consistency right now.

Nothing kills the mood like crappy chocolate or those delightful tingles fading before they even have a chance to peak because your partner rolls over and gets up. Or worse, mutters the fatal words: "You're good, right?"

No, I'm not good, you nitwit. You've been diddling my left labia for ten minutes.

In comparison, today wasn't all bad. The camp was a success, despite the fact that I spent more time babysitting grown men than working with my kids. But after wrangling one stressed-out single dad and laying down the law with Braxton Hayes, I've earned a little self-care.

Intent on indulging in everything I deserve, I tug my silk blouse over my head--a small luxury from my "treat myself" era. Halfway off, the condo door slams closed.

"Aunty Vi!" Tenley's voice rings out, brimming with excitement. "I know you're home!"

I can't help the twitch of a smile as her steps grow louder. "In here, getting changed." Any second now, she'll launch herself onto the couch, dark chocolate in hand, waiting for me to join her and gush about her day. It's been our thing since she moved in, and I love it.

She's been my universe since the moment she took her first breath.

Our bond is unshakable. I'm part-big sister, with only ten years between us, part-best friend, because I was her only confidant in a house full of boys, and part-guardian, though I could never replace her mother.

Tenley was only two when Erica passed away at twenty years old. Complications during her brother, Cade's, delivery stole her mother before she ever really knew her. Buried in grief, my brother threw himself into work, leaving a void I stepped into without even realizing it. At twelve, I didn't think about the weight of what I was doing, I just wanted Tenley to be okay.

While Mom took care of Cade, I spent every free minute loving my niece--devoted to making her laugh when she cried for her mom, and holding her hand so she wouldn't be alone. Over time, as my older brothers added more kids to the mix and everyone struggled to keep up with the growth of the vineyard, I naturally became the family shepherd. My teenage years weren't spent at parties or dances--they were filled with diapers, feedings, and refereeing fights between siblings and cousins.

I swap my blouse for a crop top, pull on my rattiest sweatpants, and head to join Tenley because she still has me wrapped around her finger.

"I see you've donned your uniform." She's upside down on the couch, legs propped against the back, a bag of dark chocolate morsels resting on her stomach. Her phone dips as she gives me a once-over.

Tenley still looks adorable in the skirt and sweater she wore to the stadium--youthful, cute, and undeniably her . Growing up on a vineyard, I lived in boots and jeans. Now, a good dress or skirt makes me feel unstoppable at work. But outside the office? Comfort wins.

"You'll have to pry these sweats from my cold, dead hands."

"So . . . I take it you're staying in?" She flips, taking the chocolate with her and rearranges herself on the couch, giving me the look .

Avoiding her critical stare, I duck into the kitchen, grabbing two spoons and a jar of peanut butter.

"Yes. I'm all people-d out."

"I'm people."

I drop down on the couch next to her, holding out a spoon.

"But you're my people. And besides, I'm pretty sure you're half angel."

The laugh that bursts free from her sounds anything but angelic. "Far from it."

I tilt my head, pretending to consider. "You have your moments. Like today, helping with Kingsley's childcare emergency. I shouldn't have called you, but I was in a pinch." Pressing chocolate chips into the peanut butter piled on my spoon, I use the bite to silence myself before guilt drives me into over-apologizing.

Asking Tenley to step in felt a lot like crossing a boundary. Taking care of my younger nieces and nephews left me jaded and hypersensitive to asking for help, especially from family. But Tenley doesn't know how much it shaped me--and she never will. The last thing I want is for her to think she's a burden, then or now, when she's anything but.

"Are you kidding? Holland was perfect. If anyone's an angel, it's her. Best. Day. Ever!" Tenley squeals.

"That's great, but I'm sure it was inconvenient." My chest tightens. I love her kind heart, but I've seen it taken advantage of too often. I owe it to her to protect this slice of independence she got when she moved here for college--not just from guys like Braxton Hayes or Xavier Kingsley, but from me, too.

Tenley shifts, dipping her spoon into the peanut butter. "Not at all. Do you know if he still needs a nanny? I'm not taking any classes this summer. I could help." She's beaming, giddy at the prospect.

Giving it some thought, I stall, taking a spoonful of heaven for myself. "Are you sure that's a good idea? Shouldn't be focused on finding a summer job in your field and enjoying your time in college."

"Are you kidding? I'm literally going to school to be a pediatric nurse and all my friends are working this summer. Besides, I love kids, and the extra cash would let me get my own place next year."

The thick peanut butter sticks in my throat. Struggling to clear it, I ask, "What's wrong with staying here?"

"Nothing. I mean, I love you, Vi. There's no one I would rather be roomies with, but . . . Don't you want some space to . . . I don't know, bring home a date once in a while?"

"Dating is overrated. I have other things I want to accomplish, and I'm too busy to pretend all the mediocre men I meet are interesting."

"Why are you spending any time with mediocre men to begin with? Those aren't the kind we strive for." She waves her peanut butter covered spoon around as she continues her rant. "But if you don't want to date, you could host a party here, make new friends. The girls you worked with on the volunteer fair a few months ago, Lara and Indie, must know people they can introduce you to," she suggests, and I know she's grasping at straws because she's never even met Lara or Indie.

I scrunch my nose, offended. "I have friends."

"Harlow lives ten hours away. Your FaceTime chats hardly count as having company over."

My niece flashes that same crooked smile I've known since before she could walk--a clear signal of trouble. When she rubs her hands together, I brace myself, already knowing a setup is coming. This month alone, I've already turned down a barista, a random guy from the grocery store, and the new trainer at the campus gym that she swears are all perfect for me.

"I still think you should try dating. It doesn't have to be serious. Please let me set you up. I have this one professor--so hot." She scrunches her nose adorably. "Too old for me, but perfect for you. Or I could make you a dating profile. You millennials love your apps."

"Seriously? I'm barely a millennial. And no, you're not setting me up with your hot professor--wait, how hot are we talking? No. Never mind." I manage to sound serious instead of intrigued.

Her smile turns feral.

Dammit, he must be really hot.

"Say yes, please." She bounces on her knees. "I hate that you're alone."

I haven't been alone since the day I was born. "If I wanted to date, I would. It's not a priority for me."

And I certainly wouldn't use dating apps. Been there, done that. It's a swamp of men looking to hook up. Which would be fine if any of them showed even a bit of consideration for the women they were sleeping with. The algorithm only sends me guys who think the clit works like a doorbell. Press it once and someone comes.

"Make it one. You've never had a real boyfriend, and it's been a long time since you've even been on a date. It's just . . . tragic."

"Um . . . ouch. I've had a real boyfriend." Two, actually, my freshman year of college. Neither was serious, but I tried dating. All it did was take away from time I should've been studying. When it became clear that they couldn't handle not being my only focus, I cut them loose. Since then, it's only been casual dating and hook-ups. Both have left me unimpressed.

"This decade?" She deadpans.

My laugh sputters out. "Ten, you're relentless tonight. What's this about?"

"It's those sweatpants, they're making me mean. But seriously it's a Friday night, there's good dick out there, and you're here like a spinster instead of the hottie you are."

"Ten!"

"What? Everyone needs it."

I almost tell her I'm getting what I need. It's not like anyone's ever fucked me better than I can myself. Sure, there are things I miss, like the rough scrape of a man's hands against my hips, the look in his eye when he likes what he sees, the heat of a body against mine for post-sex snuggles. Companionship is nice, even if the sex is boring.

"No dating app, no professors," I say firmly.

"Whatever. You'll get bored when I move out."

"Are you trying to hurt me tonight?"

"Of course not." Tenley snuggles closer, her dark hair tickling my neck as she makes herself comfortable, setting her head on my shoulder. Then she shifts, turning those pleading green irises up at me.

They're a shade darker than mine and so much like her mother's. It's almost like Erica's with us when she looks at me like this. My beautiful sister-in-law was magnetic. Even as a child, I was drawn to her. Erica was part of our family from the first time she stepped foot on the vineyard.

She would hate that I haven't dated or made any real friends outside of work since moving here.

A choked laugh comes out of me. "You remind me so much of her, you know. She'd be so proud of you--for a lot of things--but this would make her the most proud. You, meddling in my life, making sure I'm okay, that was her thing. She was always fussing over me, but she was nicer about it." It's hard to believe that Tenley is almost the same age Erica was when we lost her.

Her eyes twinkle, and she kisses my cheek.

"What am I going to do with you?" I inhale the scent of her strawberry shampoo, letting it momentarily take me back to when she was little enough to crawl into my lap for a bedtime story.

"You could find out if Xavier still needs a nanny for me? Please." She bats those thick brown lashes knowing damn well it's my weakness.

"And how am I supposed to do that? I don't even have his number." Not entirely true. I have access to it through Double Play, but I would never abuse my position like that.

"You're the smartest person I know. I'm sure you'll figure it out."

Fucking menace, using praise against me like I don't know exactly what she's doing.

"We'll see."

She pumps her fist silently.

"That wasn't a yes," I remind her, holding out the peanut butter.

"Coming from you, it's as good as one."

I guess that's the thing about knowing her better than she knows herself--it goes both ways.