Joey

I distract Gracie from her inquisition about Zeus Berger on the ride back to the hotel with stories about Bailey the caddy, and I’m in the shower when Peach calls Gracie’s line to let us know Meemaw made it out of surgery with flying colors despite the delay.

She also wants an update on my conversations with Chase Jett, which Gracie apparently texted her about in the midst of smack-talking about how many steps she got on her fitness tracker while hiking today.

That’s the good news.

The bad news is, no relief for that unfortunate throbbing in my clit still taking up half my mental space. I’m wrapped in a robe with my hair drying in a towel while I answer more of Peach’s questions. Gracie’s walking in place, since she knows I’m talking to Peach, who’s probably also walking in place on her end of the phone.

“Hot damn, Fireball,” Peach says as I finish giving her the run-down of my golf game. In which I do not mention Prince Manning, because Gracie’s listening, and I don’t want her to know he’s flying with me tomorrow too. On his dime. “You do business shit even better than I do.”

“I insulted three potential customers and all but told an investor to fuck off.”

“You’re weeding out the wusses. Good job.”

“Tell her to quit walking,” Gracie hisses.

“Aw, is your baby sister getting all het up over losin’ to a girl?” Peach says. “Bless her heart.”

Peach loves Gracie more than I do, if that’s possible. When Gracie launched Facookies—the online storefront for her bakery back home where people can order sugar cookies with anyone’s face printed on them—Peach all but begged to play Gracie in a series of social media ads. Because there’s nothing like a sweet Southern woman saying, “I’m gonna eat all y’all’s faces off,” to inspire buttloads of cookie sales.

It was also Peach’s idea for Gracie to branch out into Dickookies and Pussookies too.

Yes, it is exactly what you’re thinking.

I pretend I don’t know my baby sister is making a shit ton of money off putting people’s genitals on cookies. She pretends her profits are up because of high demand for Facookies alone.

And we all go to bed happy, most nights with me considering myself the sanest of the lot of us.

Though with Zeus still floating in my brain, I’m not sure I qualify as sane today. Horny? Yes. Conflicted? Undoubtedly. In need of a vacation? Most likely.

I fucking hate it when I need a vacation.

I don’t vacation well.

“Anything else we need to cover?” I ask Peach, because I’m hungry, I’m tired, and I need to make sure my crew’s ready for tomorrow before I hit the sack.

“Just that I got a little update that Zeus Berger himself reserved a private flight in early November. You plannin’ on mentioning that he drove you into a lake today? You know that’s the kind of thing normal people talk about with their girlfriends.”

I blink at the notes on my tablet in front of me.

Because November?

That’s definitely not related to his bet.

Is it?

November makes it seem like…like he’ll be thinking about me for the next few months.

Or like he made the reservation just for show, and he’ll cancel it tomorrow. Or he won’t cancel, and he just won’t show up.

There’s no way Zeus Berger plans his booty calls three months out.

And why is booty call the first thing that popped in my head? Maybe the last twenty-four hours have really been about him getting into my jet.

Shit.

If he just wanted to get in my jet, he wouldn’t be betting me a date. I can’t hide behind that one.

“Is she talking about Zeus?” Gracie demands. “Put her on speaker.”

“Yeah, put me on speaker,” Peach echoes.

“There’s nothing to talk about,” I tell them both.

Gracie snatches my phone and pounds the button to put it on speaker. “I had to separate them,” she tells Peach.

No point in fighting it. They love to gossip. Instead, I cross the room to look for a pair of sweatpants and a T-shirt in the drawer I claimed.

“Like they were fighting, or like they were tongue-wrestling?” Peach asks.

Dog. Attila the Tongue.

Yeah, he was totally doing it for me before those fucking alarms went off last night.

Interest flares to life once more in my pussy—as if it’s actually died down at all—and I suppress a shiver.

“Like he’s trying to talk his way into her pants,” Gracie says.

“Joey Diamonte, you are a stud,” Peach crows.

“Are you serious?” Gracie fires back. “She’s so much better than some overgrown puckhead.”

“Lighten up, Gracie-girl. She ain’t fixin’ to marry him. She’s lookin’ for a ride on the Brute train.”

“She is not going to sleep with him any more than I’m going to sleep with a prince.” She gives me the little-sister stink eye.

“You ain’t thinking she’s some kind of virgin, are you, Gracie-pie?”

I am most definitely some kind of virgin. Not that it matters. Sex doesn’t inspire me.

Not that there’s anything wrong with sex. It’s just not my primary motivational factor, and when it threatens to become such, I take care of it.

Maybe my problem is that I can’t jack off with my sister in the room.

“I’m thinking she has better taste than to sleep with Zeus Berger,” Gracie replies.

“What’s wrong with him?” I ask.

Like an idiot. Because now Gracie’s staring at me as though an alien has possessed my body, and I’ve known Peach since my second week of flight training, and I know she’ll hear the interest. She has the ears of a bat and the nosiness of her Meemaw.

“You like him?” Gracie squeaks.

I don’t know that I like him—he still fucking walked away last night—but I feel like I should at least defend him. “He was here to play in a tournament to raise money for kids starting life at a disadvantage. Even I can respect that.”

And—spider and his alternate methods of playing golf aside—he’s oddly endearing in his own way.

Plus, I can’t tell you the last time a man asked me on a date. Even if he had to bet his way to getting there.

Peach is right—I’m not going to marry the man—but he’s definitely more than meets the eye.

Which shouldn’t matter, because I’m not going on a date with him. Even if he is mildly intriguing.

You don’t get where Peach and I are—running a successful flight adventure company at our ages—by having a life.

But we’re almost there. Weightless is profitable. We pay our staff well, benefits included. Another year or four of hard work, maybe some investment money to expand, and we’ll be able to relax knowing we’re all set for a very comfortable future.

That our families are set for a comfortable future too.

My dad was my fucking hero. After my mother walked out, he single-handedly raised me and Gracie on a handyman salary in a place where everyone already knew how to fix their own shit, which meant he was often out of work. But he still made sure we had what we needed.

Doesn’t mean I ever want Gracie’s kids to lie awake at night worrying about where they’ll go if she can’t make a mortgage payment.

“You like Zeus Berger,” Gracie says. Not asking this time. Accusing.

“Always had a thing for guys in pink wigs and minidresses.”

“Did we all just take a trip to an alternate dimension, or did she just say hockey’s biggest badass was wearing a dress?” Peach asks Gracie, who’s now running in place, even after hiking all day. “No, wait, don’t answer that. She’s playing those mind tricks to distract me again. Joey, I will never forgive you if you don’t tap that while you got the chance.”

Gracie shudders as she lifts her knees higher. “I’ll never forgive you if you do.”

“Moot point,” I tell them both. “I’m never seeing the man again”

“He asked her on a date, Peach,” Gracie says. “When’s the last time a man asked her on a date?”

“We counting that time Bullwinkle Jones bet her she couldn’t shoot that can of Bud Light during the Okra Festival a couple years back?”

“Nope.”

“Huh. Don’t have a clue then. Meemaw’s gonna be so excited to hear Joey’s got herself a boyfriend, even if he does dress up better than she does.”

Gracie sucks in a smile.

Peach cackles like she knows it.

“Hanging up now,” I tell Peach. “It’s dinner time.”

“You take those kids and those moneybags on the ride of their lives tomorrow, honey-pie. Then bring the money home to mama.”

I hang up. Gracie looks on the edge of keeling over, but she’s still jogging in place. “She’s cheating,” she says. “I know she’s cheating. She was in a hospital all day. And she’s so not right. How is it possible to hate and love someone so much all at the same time?”

Probably the same way it’s possible to be completely disappointed and yet still so completely interested in an egotistical ape on skates. “It’s nature’s way of making sure we’re too stupid to truly take over the universe.”

Gracie laughs and collapses on the nearest bed. “Thirty thousand steps,” she says to me. “Thirty thousand. And she’s still beating me.”

“She’s just seeing how far you can go.”

“Freaking forever,” Gracie declares. “Quitters never win. And I’m going to freaking win if it kills me.”

Yeah, that’s my sister.

“Thai, Indian, or sushi?” I ask, just to see her nose crinkle.

“Hamburgers. With extra pickle.”

She’s so very predictable. With excellent taste.

And I love her for it.