Page 119 of Pucking Sweet

Lemon glances between us, confused. “Vi, I thought you said your sister was an insufferable prude, and that’s why Anderson dumped her?”

I slowly turn to stare at my sister. Oh, isthatthe story we’re going with?

Violet just laughs.

“Lem, honey, that’s what it means to be a stick in the mud,” Olivia teases, patting her arm.

“Yeah, Perfect Poppy would never be caught dead playing a game like this,” Violet adds. “She’s too good for us.”

“You should lighten up,” says Olivia, brushing my beach braid off my shoulder. “Life is more fun if you’re willing to be just a little bit bad.”

A few of the girls laugh and clink their glasses.

“Actually, I’m pretty sure Poppy’s stick is in her ass,” Violet teases. “Anderson said he could feel it lodged up in there while they fucked!”

Olivia cackles. Some of the others laugh too, though they have the grace to look uncomfortable about it.

“Vi, you’re crazy,” says Maggie.

Heart racing, I just wait and pray for this to be over soon.

Violet shrugs, sloshing her champagne. “What? Some sisters share makeup and dresses. Poppy and I share a dick. It’s no big thing. Actually, well, with Anderson itisa big thing.” She winks at me. “You remember. Right, Pop? It’s got a little bend in it, like this.” She curls her finger. On that charming note, she stumbles away, her champagne glass raised in the air as she bops along to the music.

“Don’t worry, Poppy. You can be our DD,” Olivia says, stroking my face. “You’re such a thoughtful big sister.”

If only my eyes had freaking lasers. I lean away from her touch, snatching the bingo card from her hand. As soon as she turns away, I start reading the challenges. “Oh my—”

If I were wearing pearls right now, they would officially be clutched. By the time I scan the third row, I think my heart is gonna give out. I look frantically over to Tina. She just shakes her head.

“Time to get ready, bitches,” Olivia shouts. “Whip out your glitter and your sequins and everything pink because tonight’s party theme is Barbies!”

The girls all laugh and chatter, racing to their rooms to get ready.

Clutching my coconut water, I stand by helplessly and watch as the fun, tasteful evening I had planned goes up in smoke. It’s fitting, really. Because watching seven drunk women play this raunchy bingo game is about to become my own personal hell.

40

Standing in the middle of Novy’s empty living room, I turn a half circle. “You weren’t kidding about the ‘no decorating’ thing.”

“Right?” He leans against the kitchen island, watching me take it all in. And byall, I mean his sectional sofa in the middle of the floor angled toward the hundred-inch TV he has perched atop its own box.

That’s it. That’s all he has in this whole goddamn room.

This is our first weekend free in a month, and he invited me over tonight to watch the Bruins/Oilers game. Our takeout containers of chicken fettuccini alfredo sit on the counter, along with a case of double IPA. “You don’t even have a coffee table we can set the beers on,” I mutter.

“Oh, I use this.” Stepping around the other side of the sofa, he picks up an overturned packing box. I can see the faded water rings dotting the surface.

I sigh. “Just show me the rest.”

He takes me on a quick tour of the rest of his empty beach house. The bones of this place are great. Good natural light, lots of wall space he could use for built-ins. There’s a room in the back that would make a great in-home theater. A room on the second floor would make an awesome library-slash-office.

Wait, does Novy read?

I mean, I know hecanread. But does heliketo read?

I realize as I’m walking around, dreaming up what this space could look like, that I really don’t know much about him. He’s one of the chattiest guys you’ll ever meet, but it’s only on reflection that I realize he doesn’t ever share anything personal. It’s usually just crazy stories from his travels, his parties, or the girls he wheels. He nevertalks about Novy. He never lets anyone in.

“And this is my room,” he says, leading the way through the double doors into a large bedroom. There’s a pair of king-sized mattresses stacked on the floor with no frame. The bed at least looks comfortable. He’s got a fluffy comforter and a generous amount of pillows. But it’s all stark white, devoid of any personality, like a hotel.