He dashed out the door, and Lula huffed and took off after him. I exchanged a glance with Paula.
“Think she’ll get it out of him?” Paula asked.
I smirked. “I think he enjoys the pain he’s inflicting a little too much to give up the secret easily.”
She giggled. “You’re probably right. Thank you so much for this lovely bouquet. Are you sure you don’t want an invite to the party?”
“I’m su?—”
I stopped short, a devious smile creeping across my face. I didn’t have any desire to go to a sex toy party, especially one full of middle-aged or older women who would scar me mentally. But…I knewsomeonewho’d be looking to get me back for that little “truck for sale” prank and who was definitelyworthyof a little bit of scarring.
Figuratively speaking, of course.
“Any chance I could buy something without attending a party?” I asked.
Paula beamed. “Actually, now that you mention it, I have a few things in my trunk. Would you like to come see?”
Buying sex toys out of an old woman’s car trunk? Sounded sketchy.
“I’m in!”
CHAPTER 4
Damon
Dad squirted lighterfluid on the charcoal grill, sending the flames shooting sky-high.
“Craig!” my mother protested. “You’re going to get it too hot. Then everything will be burnt to a crisp on the outside.”
Dad waved her off with his tongs. “It’ll be fine. I know what I’m doing.”
“That’s what you said the last time.” She turned to me. “Damon, will you rein him in, please?”
Mom went through the patio doors into the kitchen, where she was prepping all the vegetables she’d try to foist upon us later.
“Listen to the woman,” I called from the Adirondack chair I’d claimed under the shade of the covered patio. “I like my steak rare, not charbroiled.”
“You think you’re getting steak?” He chortled. “That’s too rich for my blood. All my money is going into that danged bathroom remodel your mom wants so darn much. Like weneed a big ole tub.”
“It’s zero-entry, Dad,” my sister, Wendy, said as she came out the door with a beer in her hand. Her husband, Neil, followed. “And you’re going to need it when you get that hip replacement surgery.”
Dad muttered something about not needing any dang surgery. He was fit as a fiddle. We all ignored his protests because it’d taken us six long months of watching him suffer before we’d managed to persuade him to go to the doctor and schedule the surgery. We weren’t about to indulge his cold feet now.
I made grabby hands at Wendy. “Give me your beer. I’m dying out here.”
Summer in Nebraska was a bitch, and I was pouring sweat. The heat of the blazing hot grill wasn’t helping. Mom kept asking Dad to buy a propane-operated one, but he liked playing with fire too much.
Or maybe he just worried he’d lose his ol’ country boy card. My folks had a big farmhouse outside town, which they’d slowly been remodeling over the years—with my help more often than not—and my dad loved to boast about how many acres stood between them and any neighbors.
I gazed out at the summer-browned grass, looking more like hay this time of year, the battered wooden fence, and the ruts carved into the earth that were as close as we got to a driveway. It was picturesque enough for a postcard depicting country living.
My sister lifted her beer and took a big drink. “Ah, so cool and refreshing.”
“So cruel,” I added. “I’m thirsty.”
“Get your own beer, fool.”
“I’ve been slaving away in hot construction all day. Cut me a break.”
