“Are these meetings always like this?” I muttered to Meg.
“Why?” she whispered back. “Can’t handle it? Not too late to drop out of the race.”
“We need more men on the committee.” Dottie patted my arm. “You can’t leave.”
“Yep, we’re trying to make Harrogate healthy, and part of that is making sure our men are performance ready,” Ida declared.
“That’s the one thing that can be said for Hunter,” Meg said dryly. “Despite all of his faults, he’s always primed and ready.”
“I—”
“We need to have city-sponsored workshops targeting men’s sexual health,” Ida declared.
Bettina nodded eagerly. “Did you know that a lot of men are not wearing the correct-sized condoms?”
I reeled.We aren’t seriously having this conversation…
“Before I got sued by that lady who got one of my dildos sucked up in her hoo-ha and had to declare bankruptcy on Bath and Body Twerks,” Ida said, wiping away a tear, “my sex toy company sold condoms, and you would not believe how many guys were buying condoms that were clearly too big for them.”
Apparently, we are having this conversation.
Bettina nodded. “Art had that problem. He would get the extra large, and that thing would be on there like a raggedy sweater.”
Meg sneakily took a sip of something from her purse.
Fuck, I should have brought alcohol.
“We just need fifty thousand dollars to put together our men’s sexual health program,” Ida said.
“Absolutely not,” Meg replied.
“When I’m mayor,” Ida declared, “I’ll sign that check.”
“Yes,” Meg said dryly. “I’m sure citizens of Harrogate will be more than happy to have their tax dollars go to overpriced—”
“I’ll pay it!” I interjected.
“You will?” Edith asked, eyes shining.
I took out my checkbook. “Who do I make it out to?”Because I will literally pay any price not to have to listen to these women talk about their sex lives.
“You can make it out to our new nonprofit—The Intimate Pickle. Don’t worry, we’ll have your logo on all our posters and our website!”
“That’s a memorable name,” Meg said as she snuck another drink.
I scrawled out the check and handed it to Ida.
“That was very nice of you, Hunter,” Meg said, running her finger down the itemized budget Ida had printed out. “And I’m sure your campaign logo is going to look great on the ten-foot-tall inflatable penis that is going out in front of Girl Meets Fig.”
* * *
“I’m never goingto hear the end of it,” I complained after the meeting was over.
Meg snorted as she packed up her bag. “Serves you right for trying to treat this town as your personal fiefdom.”
“You’re mad because I’m going to win.” I leaned back in my chair and grinned at her.
“This meeting”—she gestured around the table—“was not an anomaly. In fact, this is pretty standard. So, you know, if you want to spend your days listening to whatever harebrained, extremely overpriced scheme the town characters concoct, be my guest. Once they figure out that you’re willing to throw money at them, they’ll be lined up like horny squirrels at a nut factory.” She turned and marched out of the door.
