Page 45 of The Spite Date (Small Town Sisterhood #1)

IT WAS JUST GOOD SEX, NOT LOVE

Bea

“Someone’s cheerful this morning,” Daphne says as she passes me to start the coffee maker Thursday morning.

“I’m literally standing here still half asleep.”

“With a smile.”

I lift a block of cheese. “Even half-asleep me smiles over finding hidden rosemary and sea salt gouda in the fridge.”

Daphne’s hair is a wreck. She looks like she was battling demons in her sleep, and the bags under her eyes suggest she slept about forty-five minutes the whole night.

But she’s still smirking at me. “Nice grass stains on your knees.”

“Oh, shit, I thought I scrubbed those when I got home.”

“How’s the hopeless romantic vajayjay today?”

“She and I are negotiating terms of how much I can let myself like him knowing he’s leaving at the end of the summer.”

“You’re fucked, aren’t you?”

“No.” Yes.

“I can hear you both,” Hudson grumbles from the living room.

And now I’m three-quarters awake and smiling back at Daphne. “Still worth it,” I whisper.

Seriously, though. It is.

I know I’ll get hurt.

That’s no reason to not have fun in the meantime.

While pretending like I somehow won’t get hurt.

Dammit, hopeless romantic vagina .

I raise my voice and change the subject. “Why do you look like you pulled an all-nighter?”

She wrinkles her nose and sticks her head in the fridge, clearly avoiding the question.

“Daaaapphhnneeeeeee,” I whine. “What’s wroooooonnnngg?”

“I hate your brothers for teaching you to talk like that.”

“It was Griff, and I hate him too,” Hudson says.

The living room lights are still off, and in deference to his sleeping habits, I only turned on the light over the stove, but the light from the fridge is making the kitchen even brighter.

I poke my best friend. “Come on. Out with it so we can solve it.”

“You can’t solve this.”

“I’m superwoman. I can do anything.”

“No offense, Bea, but having an orgasm doesn’t actually turn you into superwoman.”

“Again, I can still hear you,” Hudson says.

Daphne grabs a glass storage container holding what looks like leftover lasagna and shuts the fridge while the coffee maker starts to sputter loudly.

“Your job?” I guess.

She grunts and shoves the lasagna in the microwave.

Pretty sure that’s a no grunt.

“Friend issue?”

Another grunt.

“Family?”

“Freaking Margot.” She stares at the microwave while the lasagna circles inside and the coffee maker gets louder.

“Our father is insisting she give her ex another chance once his dad’s out of prison, and I just—they’re not right together.

Like, if they were truly soulmates, that would be one thing.

But he’s easy for her. He’s not right for her. You know?”

“I think so. Does she want him back?”

“She keeps saying well, I’m not dating anyone else and there would be strategic business advantages . Like that’s a reason to get back together with an ex who broke her heart.”

“If he broke her heart…there was something there.”

She wrinkles her nose. “Maybe. I’ve always thought she was more brokenhearted at the loss of the idea of him than she was at the actuality of him. Like, it wasn’t him that she was mourning so much as it was mourning the idea of checking falling in love and getting married off of her to-do list.”

“Oh. That’s complicated.”

“Yeah. She wasn’t unhappy with him, and he hurt her a lot when he dumped her, but they were boring. And boring and not unhappy is never a good standard for a relationship.”

“I’d take boring over toxic or abusive.”

“No. You take being single. You never take being bored. And he is so boring . So boring. Like, he redefines boring. That’s how boring he is.”

“What’s the dude in prison for?” Hudson ambles into the kitchen, apparently interested enough in gossip to voluntarily wake up.

“Not her ex. His dad.”

“Whoever. What’d he do?”

Instead of answering, Daphne pulls up her phone, thumbs over the screen, and then passes it to him.

Hudson makes a strangled noise. “Oh, shit—your sister dated that family?”

“Not the whole family. Just the only son.”

I peer over his shoulder and take in the headline from several years ago. “Miles2Go CEO Sentenced to Four Years in Embezzlement and Wine Fraud Case.”

“They own gas station convenience stores, we own hotels…” Daph pulls a face as she takes the lasagna out of the microwave. “Margot’s the good girl who always does everything Daddy tells her to, Oliver’s the boring guy who always does everything his daddy tells him to…”

My body flushes involuntarily at the mention of good girl .

I told Simon last night that I was always the good girl too.

And then he gave me the greatest orgasm I’ve ever had.

In his backyard.

With our clothes still half on, which weirdly made it even hotter.

I shiver, smile, and realize Daphne and Hudson are both looking at me.

Crap.

Missed something.

“You can’t control what your sister does, but you can be there for her to offer perspective when she’s ready to hear it,” I say.

“That’s why you need to talk to her. Oldest daughter to oldest daughter.”

Ah.

That’s what I missed.

“I can try, but Daph, our parents weren’t exactly running a multi-billion-dollar international corporation when they died… What Margot wants isn’t what I might want. Or even need.”

“Being rich doesn’t mean you shouldn’t want love above all else. And there’s no fucking way Oliver can love her the way she deserves to be loved.”

Fair enough. “Okay. When do you want me to talk to her?”

“We have a few weeks until the dumbass gets out of prison.”

“Think she’ll come visit again?” It’s unlikely, and I know it. I moved in with Daphne four months ago, and last weekend was the first time I’ve seen Margot since.

So I’m not surprised when Daphne shakes her head. “We’ll video call. Or—when’s Griff in New York next?”

“September,” Hudson answers instantly, which I knew too. We both know when we’re going to see him play locally.

Daphne wrinkles her nose.

“Maybe Simon needs to take Bea to the city,” my brother adds.

“We’re just friends,” I say.

Both of them stare at me.

And then both of them look pointedly at my knees.

I really thought I got all of the grass stains off in the shower last night.

Clearly not.

“Friends who do…friend…things,” I add.

Daphne cracks up.

Hudson grunts.

And my phone dings.

All three of us dive for it where it’s sitting in the little corner of the kitchen where mail and phone chargers pile up.

Hudson gets there first, and he uses his height and his stupid inherent male strength to keep my phone out of my reach while he reads the text message in a terrible British accent.

“Would you like to accompany my children and me on the paddleboats at the lake after I’ve completed my writing on this terribly slow computer for the day? The boats are built for four, and I fear we should turn in circles were there only three of us.”

“Physics was never my favorite, but even I know that’s not how those paddleboats work,” Daphne says. “They don’t actually need you.”

“You should go with Simon,” Hudson says. “Jake’s restaurant keeps selling out because not enough people know he’s terrible. So use Simon’s star power to pull in customers for the burger bus.”

“Jake’s restaurant is brand-new and everyone’s still curious,” Daphne says. “He might be able to move real estate, but I don’t think he has the chops for the restaurant world. It won’t last another month. Meanwhile, Bea had a stellar sales day yesterday.”

“Because Simon paraded around naked for her and drew in a big crowd.”

“See? That’s what I’m talking about. Oliver would never parade around naked to sell vacation packages for Margot and Aurora Gardens. She deserves a man who’d use his body to help her when she’s in a bind.”

My phone dings again.

Hudson makes a face, but he still holds it out of my reach.

Doesn’t mean I can’t see the screen too though.

It’s a picture of the strawberry shortcake with a short note.

Simon: Also, thank you for breakfast. Quite tasty.

And now I’m wishing I could have Simon for breakfast.

Yep.

I’m not instantly in over my head at all.

“Why can’t I be a casual sex type of person?” I ask Daphne. “Why does my body have to try to convince me I’m in love with anyone who’s halfway competent with his penis? And it was dark. I didn’t even actually see his penis.”

“Oldest daughter syndrome,” she answers.

Hudson makes a gagging face and passes me my phone. “I’m going to take a shower.”

“Before goat yoga?” I ask.

“Don’t use all of the hot water,” Daph adds.

He flips us both off and heads down the hall.

Daph frowns at me.

“What? What now?”

“I’m rethinking having you talk to Margot. If semidecent sex is all it takes for you to fall in love with a guy?—”

“I’m not in love with him. My vagina is infatuated. There’s a difference, and I know what it is now. Also, it was better than semidecent. It was top tier.”

“Still reconsidering.”

My phone dings once more.

It’s Simon again.

Simon: The boys have been sent to help tend the gardens at a care home under direct supervision of several of Lana’s mother’s neighbors and Tank and Pinky as well, so if I decide to catch up on my script this evening, I suddenly have the morning free.

Do I recall someone mentioning goat yoga?

Have you participated? I’m intrigued and would adore company if it fits your schedule.

“Maybe you’re not in love, but…” Daph grabs a coffee cup out of the cabinet and pours herself a cup now that the coffee maker’s finished.

“He told me the studio likes the attention he’s getting from being seen with a woman. We’re friends. With benefits. The end.”

Once again, my phone dings.

Simon: Apologies for the large number of messages. My fingers have minds of their own, which should be impossible after how much writing I accomplished last night after you left, but nonetheless, they keep typing and typing.

“I can’t decide if he’s cute or annoying,” Daphne says.

I’m smiling.

I can’t help it.

“He’s—well, I think he’s Simon .”

I text him back?—

Me: Morning. I still have grass stains on my knees and apparently, I keep smiling. Are you up for something other than goat yoga this morning? Lucinda Camille always goes to goat yoga. She’s annoying.

My phone rings before he could’ve possibly had time to read my answer.

And once again—I’m smiling.

Daphne grins at me. “I’m going to eat in my room.”

Before I can object, she’s gone, the smell of lasagna and coffee left behind in her wake.

And I’m answering Simon’s call. “Morning.”

“Could we talk your brother into hosting a separate goat yoga session elsewhere without notifying that Camille woman?”

Yep.

Just the sound of his voice has my vagina doing flips and my heart making moon-eyes. “You can’t declare war on the Camilles and then leave town.”

“So I shouldn’t host my own competing murder mystery dinner since the woman keeps inviting me to hers”

“ No . That’ll only make it worse.”

“Do you know what I despise most in the entire world?”

“Something between milk and letting your parents see when you’re not actually happy?”

Silence settles between us.

That’s unusual.

“Or…something else?” I guess.

“No, you were spot-on,” he says. “Quite an astute observation. Well done. Even more spot-on than what I had intended to say, actually.”

“Which was?”

“Bullies. I despise bullies.”

“Mrs. Camille was very nice while I was dating Jake.”

“Did she make you call her Mrs. Camille ?”

“Yes.”

“That’s terribly awkward for a woman who was auditioning for the role of your mother-in-law. Even I’m allowed to call Lana’s mother by her first name, and her mother dislikes me greatly.”

I grab the teakettle and start filling it with water. “She doesn’t like you?”

“Goodness me, no. She wanted us to get married, and I’m fully to blame for that not happening.”

“Lana wanted to get married?”

“Absolutely not. I was a terrible catch back then. Still am, though I have a bit of fame and money going for me now.”

The man cracks me up. “But it’s still your fault you didn’t get married?”

“Mother logic. Far better to blame me than to acknowledge her daughter wanted to be an unwed mother. So. What time does goat yoga begin? I’d like to make a point to this Mrs. Camille.”

“Simon.”

“Ah, excellent suggestion. I shall do it without my shirt. Thank you for the reminder.”

“ Simon .”

“You are aware that it’s highly arousing when you chide me?”

My face flushes. “That’ll make goat yoga more difficult.”

“So glad you agree it’s a good idea. Shall I see you there in an hour? Also, I’ve officially decided to host my own murder mystery dinner. It sounds like great fun, no?”

“Simon—”

“Oh, yes, please do say my name again.”

“Your kids will still have to live here when you’re away.”

“My children? The children who plot parties that get people tossed in jail and who attempt to steal dogs and who are likely to manage some kind of mischief even while being supervised by six adults? Those children?”

I open my mouth, then close it again.

Hudson strolls back into the kitchen.

He’s dressed for goat yoga in a T-shirt for his band and cotton shorts.

“What?” he says to me. “You have a look.”

“Okay,” I say to Simon. “I’ll meet you at goat yoga in an hour.”

“And you’ll save the date to come to my murder mystery dinner.”

I crack up.

I can’t help it. “Sure. Consider me RSVP-ed. But if Mrs. Camille tosses flaming dog poop in my burger bus because you misbehave, you’re buying me a new one.”

“Deal.”