“Better be good.”
“Also,” I say, just before she opens the door, “while I appreciate being compared to a famous Mongol leader known for his ability to both conquer and unite, I think you might find that Grinch is a more accurate G-letter comparison.”
She laughs suddenly, hard, all animosity gone, and my chest expands with what feels oddly like pride.
“You’re right, that’s perfect. So irritable. So angry.”
“Except I’m not a thief.”
“Well…”
“What? What have I stolen?”
“Holiday cheer?”
“Please. Christmas, like most holidays, is an entirely commercial invention. Nobody actually believes in the… What are you laughing at?” I smile, knowing exactly what she’s laughing at and feeling like a million dollars for making her smile again when she’s spent the whole day as mad as a snake.
“Actually. Wanna know what you stole?” She leans close, every fantasy I’ve ever had wrapped up in one plump little package, andsays, “You took all the orgasms in Whoville.” The door opens with a swoosh. “I better get them back.”
“Just wear what I gave you,” I call, watching every move as she struts out.
This, right here, is the moment when it occurs to me that I am in way over my head.
CHAPTER FORTY-NINE
Rae
IT’S A VIBRATOR. REMOTE-CONTROLLED, of course, and, according to the instructions and the app I’ve downloaded, it works from anywhere in the world.
Do I plan to wear it to the Paint and Sip session with my sisters? Hell no.
But then he texts me, right as I’m leaving.
Grant: Wear it, Sunny. I’m counting on you.
Dammit.
I send back a selfie of myself sticking out my tongue and, after a moment’s consideration, head back into the bathroom. I switch the thing on, sync it with my phone before putting it in my panties, and use the magnet on the outside of my underwear to hold it in place. Oh, wow. Okay. This is not going to be easy.
Grant: Show me.
Feeling feisty, I take a quick full-length snap of myself, fully dressed.
Grant: Sunny.
Me: I guess you’ll just have to find out, won’t you?
Grant: Fine. Who’s driving tonight?
Me: We all are.
Grant: Take a rideshare. Please. On me.
I sigh, halfway to my car, and call him. “I’m driving.”
“I’d rather you not.”
“Yeah, well, this isn’t up to you.”
