“That’s it,” I murmur. “I’ve got you.”
“Asher…” Her voice is high, breathy. She grips my shoulders, nails digging in. “Right there. Don’t stop.”
I don’t stop. I keep the pressure steady, the rhythm constant, curling my fingers slightly on each stroke. Her whole body tenses, thighs clamping around mine, back arching, mouth open against my skin.
She comes with a sound I want to record and play back every morning for the rest of my life. A broken, beautiful, unguarded cry that reverberates off the tile and straight into my chest. Her inner muscles pulse around my fingers as she rides it out, her body shuddering against mine, and I hold her through every last tremor.
We sit there for a long moment afterward, tangled on the toilet seat, catching our breath.
* * *
It’s hard to pull myself together for family dinner, but Eva seems desperate to be there, hand in hand, a real couple. The Bedds are going to be smug about us, but I suppose there are worse things.
I drive us in the golf cart, and we enter the farmhouse to the usual chaos of children and dogs and bickering siblings. Gran glances at our clasped hands and beams like she’s responsible, which…I guess she is.
Lia waves at me from the couch, where she’s nursing Porter and half-watching Ethan attempt to keep another Bedd kid from feeding crackers to the dogs. I feel the familiar pang of being grateful that Lia is alive and well and making this kind of life with my oldest friend.
“You shaved,” Lia says, eyes widening.
“I do groom myself.”
“You literally haven’t been groomed in months.” She shifts Porter to her shoulder for a burp. “You look human. I approve.”
Eva is immediately absorbed into the kitchen orbit, pulled in by Colleen asking about marketing strategy for the restaurant and Molly wanting advice on image filters for Udderly Creamy’s website. I watch Eva fold into these conversations like she’s been here forever, and am stunned to realize my response to this is … contentment. Huh.
Samuel drops into the chair beside me and slides a cold bottle across the table. The label reads Eye of the Storm—Eila’s beer, apparently. I take a sip and nod my approval.
“Heard you’re in a spot,” Sam says, because the Bedd family has never once, in their collective history, beaten around a bush.
“News travels.”
He strokes his beard—well-maintained and apparently acceptable. “So, what’s the deal? Meow Mobile’s done?”
I take a longer pull off the beer. “Meow Mobile got acquired. They kept the mission, but they don’t need me.”
“Shit.”
“Yeah.”
Samuel is quiet for a moment, watching his kids weave through the dining room table legs. Sam’s always been the thinker of the Bedd siblings.
“You know my buddy, Josh?” Sam says, in the tone of someone who’s been waiting for the right moment to bring this up.
“Josh who?”
“Josh Harmon. He works at Trede.”
I guess I knew Sam was friends with someone from the incubator who initially got Meow Mobile the funding. I’m not sure why I’d want anything to do with them now. Sam nods. “Josh is management there. I could introduce you, if you want.”
I take a long swig from my beer. “I’m not sure what good that would do.”
Sam rolls his eyes. “Trede is a big company. I bet they have in-house tech jobs. Someone runs their website, I’m sure.”
My mind spins. I’m still not over the hospital suggestion, and now Samuel wants me to network. But I also know that’s going to be what I need to do to find another job. I’m going to have to go to interviews. This is more of a nightmare than I let myself imagine. I slump forward and rest my head on Gran’s table.
A hand claps me on the back. Maybe Sam’s. “Josh is a good guy. He’s normal. You’ll be okay. Maybe I’ll just set the two of you down at Tiddy’s or something.”
Before I can respond, Ethel calls everyone to the table, and they come like a stampede of bison. Chairs scrape, dogs bark, and I sit myself up, holding my beer out of reach of the Hotman twins until I’m wedged between Eva and Samuel, Eva’s knee pressed reassuringly against mine under the table.
