“I did! But, Willa,” I gush, “he talked to me more today than he ever has, and I swear he was flirting with me.”
Willa snorts, and I can just imagine her rolling her eyes. “Of course he was. You’re single and hot. Not a washed-up mom like me.”
I sigh deeply at the pain in her words. I know she meant it offhandedly, but my sister hasn’t had the best luck lately. “Do we need a pep talk?”
I hear the tears in her voice clearly through the speakerphone. “Maybe? It was a rough day. The boys ran me ragged, and then Adam asked why everyone else gets a dad but his has to be dead, and Wyatt pops off with because he was at the wrong place at the wrong time, and everyone in the bleachers looked at me like I was the worst mom on earth, and then the bag boy called mema’am. Like I’m an old lady and not a young, hip mom.”
She exhales hard after her little ramble, and my lips turn down. My older sister hasn’t had it easy since losing her husband Garrett in a DUI accident. That he caused. Yeah, not good, especially when he had allegedly been sober for over four years.
I think the unknown is what’s killing her. Like, why? What caused him to drink and then drive like a dumbass?
“Listen to me, sister,” I say, sitting up on the couch and leaning my elbows on my knees. “No one, and I mean no one, could be the woman you are. You went to hell and back with Garrett. Now, you are raising two young boys who are going to be the best tribute to all your hard work and love. You work your ass off to make ends meet so you don’t have to depend on our parents or me, and just think, your kids are able to talk about their feelings to you because they trust you. Sister, that’s a win.”
She hiccups a sob. “Yeah?”
“Yeah. And fuck that bag boy—he’s just mad you won’t let him call you Mommy.”
That has her cackling. “Right? I’m a baddie!”
“Yes, queen!” I exclaim, but when I clap, I cringe at the noise due to my still-throbbing head. “You are doing great, Willa. I love you, and I only love awesome people.”
“Because you’re awesome.”
I smile. “Now go get some wine and take a bath. Maybe practice some self-care with an orgasm or three.”
She groans loudly. “I’m so tired of battery-operated orgasms. I just want a man to throw me around and eat me out.”
“Amen, sister.”
“Hush, you,” she snaps. “You have a hot doctor sniffing around.”
“Should I bend over for him?”
She lets out a loud snort. “You are so bad!”
I have always been very sex positive, even as a teen. I wrote the most unhinged Backstreet Boy fan fiction. Me and AJ, man… He took my virginity like eighteen times, and each time, I begged him to “move” once he was settled inside me.
I learned very quickly never to include that in my books.
Holy cringe, right?
Anyway, I was the one having safe-sex talks with my sisters. As much as Ilovelove, I adore sex. It’s so intimate and fun.
“I should have been a prostitute.”
“Please, you’d fall for each John and then be sad when they didn’t want you past one night.”
“Yeah, sounds like me.”
She giggles. “I don’t know, but I feel good about Dr. Do-My-Body-Good.”
I grin. “I called him that—to his face.”
“And I bet you didn’t bat an eye at it.”
“Nope, but Mom yelled, and he turned beet red.”
My sister giggles manically. “He blushes?”
