Welcome home, Olivia.

I sit on the porch, wishing the ground would open up and swallow me—

Nope. Wrong adjective.

Ew!

“Well,” Ryan says with a grin, quickly shutting the door behind him. “I guess that’s one way to meet the parents.”

“Don’t say another word,” I tell him, holding a hand up and wishing I had some bleach for my eyes. I’ve definitely experienced my fair share of FML moments over the course of my thirty years on this planet, but walking in on my father balls-deep in my college roommate is solidly at the top of the list. Not for the first time, I wonder why my dad can’t be a normal kind of embarrassing, like a Civil War re-enactor. Or a Scientologist.

Ryan shrugs good-naturedly. “At least they’re into each other,” he points out, sitting down beside me and stretching his long legs out in front of him. “And good for your dad, right? I guess if you’re going to marry a young person, you ought to fuck like one.”

“I really don’t want to think about how my dad . . . does anything. Eww.” I shudder. “Seriously. EW!”

Ryan chuckles, and then my dad opens the front door a moment later, grinning sheepishly, his gray hair sticking up in all directions. “Sorry, honey,” he says with a laugh, still buttoning up his pants. “Come on in. I guess we got a little carried away.”

“Uh huh,” I say faintly, offering my cheek for a kiss—before I realize where that mouth might have been.

Did I mention, ew?!

I take a deep breath and decide to act like the whole thing never happened. “Dad, this is my boyfriend, Ryan,” I say, like we just arrived. “Ryan, Larry.”

“Oh my God! You do exist!” Vanessa cries, hurrying across the foyer and enfolding Ryan in a big, showy hug. She’s pulled on her maxi dress without the benefit of a bra, and she presses her suspiciously perky tits against his chest. “Just between you and me, I thought maybe Livvie made you up out of desperation,” she adds with a wink.

“Um, nope,” Ryan says, pointedly keeping his eyes on her face. “Here I am. A real-life, totally not fictional boyfriend. Isn’t that right, sweetheart?”

“Uh huh,” I manage.

“Well, come on in,” my dad insists. Ryan carries our bags in, setting them down in the tiled foyer, while I look around. My dad bought the house when he was still with his last wife, a moderately successfully clairvoyant named Monica, and it sprawls in all directions, with big windows offering a view of the ocean and ceiling fans whirring lazily overhead. The sofas are upholstered in beachy white canvas, the rugs a sturdy, sand-camouflaging jute. A wide veranda runs along the back of the house, perfect for watching the sunset.

It was always a calm, beachy place, but Vanessa has already made her imprint, I see when glancing at my dad’s office off the living room—or what used to be his office, at least. It’s been converted into a tricked-out yoga studio, complete with an altar to some eastern deity of indeterminate origin and a quietly bubbling fountain in one corner.

“Let me show you two where you’ll be staying,” Vanessa trills, just as Jagger, my dad’s thirteen-year-old golden retriever, trots into the living room. The fur on his muzzle has gone silver and he moves a lot more slowly than he used to, but he thumps his tail in a cheerful greeting anyway.

“Hey, handsome,” I grin, dropping to my knees to scratch him behind the ear and look into his soulful brown eyes. “Who’s the handsomest dog in the whole world? Who is? You are! Yes you are!” I glance up and catch Ryan watching me with open interest. “Um,” I say, blushing a little at my display. “This is Jagger.”

Ryan smiles. “I see that,” he says, offering one big hand for the dog to sniff. “Hey, boy.”

“His hair gets everywhere,” Vanessa complains, rolling her eyes like she’d send him off to the glue factory as soon as look at him. “But I heard labs don’t live that long anyway. Now come on. My bridesmaids are going to be taking up all the bedrooms, so I’ve got you guys in the guest cottage out back.”

“The guest—” My eyes narrow as I get to my feet. “You mean the pool shed?”

“Oh Livvie, you’re hilarious!” Vanessa says, tossing her hair with a giggle. “It’s a little rustic, maybe, but I think you lovebirds will find it super cozy.”

Cozy is one word for it. Ever since he moved down to Key West my dad has used the broken-down shed down by the water to store all the crap he doesn’t know what to do with, and when Vanessa flings open the door and shows us inside, it’s clear she hasn’t even pretended to clear it out. There’s a rickety twin bed shoved in one corner, surrounded by boxes and broken lamps and ugly 70s art prints and a tandem bicycle from I-don’t-know-where.

“Here we are!” Vanessa chirps, handing us both welcome bags including bottled water and organic granola bars. “Plus, I’ve included a list of the wedding hashtags.”

“The what?” I blink.

“For social media. We’re doing #VanLarry4Eva, #LarryessaBitches and #TrueLoveMeditates. I’ll let you cuties unpack before brunch. Take your time,” she adds with a wink. “And let me know if you forgot to pack any essentials. We have KY jelly and condoms in the bathroom back at the house!”

Repeat it with me: EW.

Vanessa flounces away, slamming the door behind her, and I let out a long breath. “What’s that serenity prayer again?” I ask. “Lord, grant me the strength to accept the step-mothers I can’t drown in the nearest pond?”

Ryan laughs, leaning gingerly against a bookcase that’s stuffed to the gills with encyclopedias that probably date back to the Cold War. “So that’s Vanessa, huh?”

“That’s Vanessa.” I sit down on the edge of the twin bed, a cloud of dust puffing up off the mildewy-smelling sheets. “You know how most bitches are just lonely, insecure people who need to be loved?” I ask miserably. “Well, not her!”

Ryan sits down on the mattress beside me, rusty springs groaning dangerously under his weight. “It’s just a few days, right?” he points out. “You can handle it.”

“Can I?” I ask him darkly.

“You can handle anything,” he insists, putting a solid, muscular arm around my shoulders. I rest my head on his chest before I know I’m going to do it, breathing in the warm, slightly spicy smell of him.

He feels sturdy.

Safe.

“And look,” he points out, the smile audible in his voice, “you didn’t flinch when I touched you this time.”

“Progress,” I say, forcing myself to pull away—even though I could have happily stayed an hour in his arms. Away from my family. But there’s no avoiding the inevitable shit-show. The best I can do is just get through it. “Come on,” I say, wanting to get out of the shed before something bites and/or stings me. “Let’s go eat.”

The four of us head out to brunch in town, at a cute dockside café with a view of the beach and a bar built out of a vintage catamaran. Vanessa somehow takes even longer to order than she did at lunch back in New York, literally getting up and scurrying back into the kitchen to find out whether it’s possible to get her mahi seared with just a teaspoon of organic ghee. Whatever that is.

“Um, Vanessa,” I say, resisting the urge to chug my entire Bellini in one go. “Do you think we could possibly do something about all the . . . stuff in the shed?”

I’m expecting something bitchy in return, but Vanessa just nods earnestly. “Oh, totally!” she says. “Sorry about that. I meant to have it cleared out before you guys got here, but, you know.” She giggles, looking moonily at my dad. “Wedding brain!”

“Thanks,” I say, surprised and feeling a little bit like a jerk. Maybe she’s trying after all. Maybe I could try, too.

“Vanessa and I are delighted you could make it down for the wedding, Ryan,” my dad says, sitting back in his chair and looking across the table at Ryan and me. “Now, tell me. How did you two kids meet?”

I glance at Ryan, taking a deep breath. I’m fully prepared to launch into the nondescript mutual friends cover story I came up with—and which I printed in bold at the top of his itinerary so that he could study for this exact moment. But Ryan just plunks one hand down on my thigh and grins.

“Well,” he says, gesturing at me with his beer bottle, “I’m sure you know this already, but our girl Olivia here is something of a football groupie.”

“Olivia?” My dad looks confused, which is understandable. Besides my dreaded gym sessions, I’m notoriously lazy. Until I took Ryan on as a client, I didn’t know the difference between a fullback and a Full Monty. “Really?”

“Oh, yeah.” Ryan nods, ignoring the way I’m digging my nails into the back of his hand underneath the table. “Back when I played pro, she used to drive down to Jersey for every home game and tailgate all day with her friends, then wait outside the team bus in her Callahan jersey and a pair of daisy dukes.”

I almost choke on my cocktail. “That’s not quite how I remember it,” I say, trying not to laugh, but Ryan shakes his head.

“Don’t be embarrassed, peaches. I think it’s cute.” He looks back at my dad and Vanessa—he’s clearly enjoying himself, that maddening dimple popping in his cheek. “She had a real reputation, though. Just wouldn’t quit. Even after I retired, she just kept managing to ‘mysteriously’ run into me all over the city. Every club I went to, hanging out at my gym—even the grocery store. I thought about filing a sexual harassment claim against her, but she’s such a goddamn looker that I decided to take advantage of the situation instead.” He puts an arm around me, nuzzling my neck a bit. “We’ve been together ever since.”

He kisses my cheek. “I’m going to kill you,” I murmur quietly in his ear.

“Sure thing, peaches.” Ryan looks smug as hell.

My dad takes the whole thing in stride. Well,” he says, “Olivia’s always been tenacious.”

“That’s one word for it,” Ryan agrees. “One time, she even showed up at my apartment wearing a trench coat and nothing else—Wait,” he stops himself with a chuckle. “That’s a private story, isn’t it, doll?” he winks.

“Oh my God, Livvie, you animal!” Vanessa squeals. “I love it. Sometimes you just have to show them who’s boss, if you know what I mean.” She makes eyes at my dad. “We have a pair of handcuffs you can borrow if you want.”

It’s a good thing I haven’t eaten all day, because something would definitely be on the way back up right now.

“Good to know,” Ryan answers for me. “But Livvie likes it best when I take charge. Show her what a real man can do.”

I shove my fork into his thigh, and Ryan finally shuts up, but dammit if his words don’t make me blush.

Because the idea of Ryan bossing me around in bed?

It’s not the worst thing in the world.

In fact . . .

“Food’s here!” Vanessa thankfully breaks that train of thought, and conversation turns to more normal things, like wedding plans and football war stories. We finish the rest of brunch with no more major drama. Vanessa can’t get enough of Ryan—not surprising, since she’s never met a hot guy she didn’t like—asking him all about his plans for PowerBar and the celebrity athletes he knows, laying her hand on his muscular forearm and gazing into his eyes. I feel a weird hit of jealousy before I remember he and I aren’t actually together.

Then I just feel dumb.

Finally, my dad heads out to the valet and Vanessa toddles off to powder her nose, leaving Ryan and me alone at the table. “I think that went well,” he says pleasantly, stretching.

“Seriously?” I ask. “Was that fun for you?”

“It was, actually,” Ryan says, draining the rest of his beer and grinning at me. “I’m having a great day.” His gaze lingers on my bare shoulders an extra moment, and I feel myself blush.

“All right,” I say, trying to keep my voice professional. This is a business relationship, right? “That stupid twin bed is way too small, so we should probably set some ground rules about sleeping arrangements—”

I snap my jaws shut as I spy Vanessa out of the corner of my eye. Ryan spots her too, but instead of standing up so we can head outside he takes the opportunity to slide a hand behind my head and pulls me in for a kiss.

I burble against his mouth, surprised. Ryan draws back slightly and gives me a look, like we’re supposed to be selling this romance.

He’s right.

I close my eyes, and a moment later, he’s kissing me again.

And boy, is he kissing me.

Mmmm . . . His mouth is warm, and purposeful, and he tastes faintly of beer. My hands flutter absently before they finally land on his broad, solid chest. He’s an amazing kisser—just for a moment I forget what this is and the world narrows to only the two of us, and a surge of electricity I feel right between my legs.

When he finally pulls back I’m left blinking, shocked into silence, but Ryan is already smiling at Vanessa. “Oh hey,” he says, one hand still stroking my hair. “We didn’t see you there.”

Vanessa holds her hands up. “Don’t let me interrupt you lovebirds,” she coos, looking impressed.

Ryan grins. “Oh, we won’t,” he promises. And is it terrible that I hope he’s telling the truth?

Back at the house, my long day finally catches up with me and I let out an almighty yawn. “Tired?” Ryan asks.

I nod. “I’m thinking I might take a quick nap. I’ve been up since 4 a.m., and I’m dragging so hard that even the lumpy twin mattress in the pool shed sounds good to me.”

“Knock yourself out,” he says. “Me and Jagger here are going to get to know each other.”

The old lab is already panting at Ryan like he’s one of those groupies, so I slip out of my heels as I make my way across the deck, enjoying the warmth of the concrete on the soles of my feet as I head down to our love nest, aka the shed.

Then I freeze. The doors are thrown wide open, and everything that was in here this morning is gone—the old lamps with their fraying cords, the dusty CD player, even the treadmill.

Also: my suitcases.

No!

I hurry inside, and search around, but they’re nowhere to be seen. Ryan’s designer duffel bag is sitting right there on the bed, but as for my carefully-packed wardrobe—not to mention hair-styling tools, makeup, and accessories that I need to make it through not just all the wedding events, but Ryan’s investor schmoozing too?

Gone.

Please let this just be a mix-up. I race back into the main house, trying not to freak the hell out. Did we get robbed? Or are my things just in one of the guest-rooms now, moved by mistake? I search the house frantically, but there’s no sign of them.

So where the hell is my stuff?

The answer is right in front of me—upside down on her yoga mat, wearing a sports bra and tiny yoga shorts that could moonlight as a thong.

“Um, Vanessa,” I interrupt, trying to keep my voice even. “Have you seen my bags?”

“Shh,” Vanessa says, eyes closed and toes still pointed directly at the ceiling. “I’m chanting.”

“I see that,” I tell her, biting my tongue hard enough to taste blood. “But this is important. My suitcases were in the shed, but now they’re gone. I can’t find them anywhere.”

Vanessa keeps her eyes closed, so I’m not even sure she’s listening until finally she kicks herself forward and stands upright. “Whoopsie,” she says, with a little grin. “I called from the restaurant and had the groundskeepers clean out the cottage, just like you asked. I guess they got mixed up and thought your stuff was trash.”

I take a breath. “They thought my matching designer suitcases were trash?”

She shrugs. “Sorry?”

I can fix this, I promise myself. I can fix this. “Well, where would they have taken them?”

“The dump?” she guesses cheerily, then launches herself into another headstand. I would be impressed by her athletic balance—if I didn’t want to break every limb in her toned little body.

I stumble into the living room, my mind racing. Is she seriously saying that all my stuff is gone? I’m half tempted to call up the dump and then go rummage around to find them, but I can already tell, it’s no use. I’ve got a sneaking suspicion that whatever mixed messages the crew got, they included instructions to sink my belongings so deep in the garbage I couldn’t find them with a submarine.

And there I was, thinking Vanessa was trying. Trying to drive me completely round the bend!

“Uh oh, what’s happened now?” Ryan comes strolling in with Jagger trotting happily behind. Clearly, they’re BFFs now, but I’m too stressed to appreciate it.

I quickly explain the situation. “All my stuff! Everything!” I groan. I’m not high-maintenance—OK, I’m not super-high-maintenance—but any woman will tell you it takes more than just soap and water and wishful thinking to look effortlessly put together. Every carefully planned outfit, all my makeup—hell, even my underwear. All sitting at the bottom of a swamp getting munched by gators as we speak.

“Can’t you just buy some new stuff?” Ryan asks. “I saw some stores in town, and it’s just a few days, right?”

“Sure,” I agree, trying not to laugh hysterically. It’s not even the bags, it’s the principle of the thing. Because Vanessa has just made it clear she’s out for blood.

And failing that, my super-luxe-retinol moisturizer.

God, why did I agree to this again? Every instinct in my body is screaming at me to get directly back on a plane to New York. “Only a few days,” I mutter, taking a deep breath. “I can do this.”

Jagger farts loudly in agreement.