Charming as Puck(4)

Bite me.

Kami

I have no idea what he’ll think I did to his bed, if anything, but as a friend once said, sometimes making them think you did something terrible is just as effective as actually doing something terrible. And making his bed neatly—which he’ll notice, since he never makes it himself—is a pretty good sign that I’ve been in his bedroom.

I smirk.

And then I leave a tube of my lipstick next to Nick’s toothbrush in the bathroom.

When I realize he might think it’s from a bunny he banged—no, I don’t want to talk about not demanding that we be exclusive in our arrangement, and about never asking him if he was hooking up with anyone else on the side—I get mad all over again, so I also pull the toilet paper off the roll and hide it under the counter, knowing he won’t notice until he needs it.

“Kami?” Muffy says.

“What? Oh. Um—wait. Did you just ask me what brand of dildo I prefer?”

“First, yes. Second, nice to see you’re paying attention. That last answer had me worried.”

“What answer?” What did she ask? Oh, crapola. What did I say?

“Would you consider moving for love?”

That wasn’t the question, but I’m not sure I care. “Yes.”

“Yes?”

“Yes. I always wanted to live on a farm. With goats and chickens and cows, but instead, all I do is get emergency phone calls from hockey players who need all my dream animals vacated out of their living spaces. You know what? Bonus points if you can find me a guy who doesn’t know anything at all about sports and owns a baby giraffe.”

It’s possible I shouldn’t make dating decisions while I’m mad.

But it’s also completely undeniable that being mad is the only thing that could lead to me signing up for a dating service at all.

Especially Muffy’s dating service.

“Age preference?” Muffy asks.

“Legal?”

She snorts. “Oh, you’re in a mood. This is fun. I highly recommend being in a mood more often. It’s good for cleansing your aura.”

“My aura? What do you know about auras?”

“Nothing, really, but I was reading the article that came in my toy of the month subscription box…”

I tune her out, both because I already read that article and didn’t quite get it, and because Sugarbear’s nuzzling my arm. “Mooo?”

“He’s an ass, Sugarbear.” The words are sour and foreign, because I’ve always thought Nick Murphy was more than the world gave him credit for, but he called me first thing in the morning, on my birthday, to cuss about a cow and completely ignored my hints about what today is.

I can’t deny it any longer.

He’s a self-centered ass. He’s always been an ass, and he’ll always be an ass.

Just not my ass.

Sugarbear’s sweet eyes watch me while I look around at the marble sink and the porcelain and glass tile lining the built-in shower with the rain spout and the wall nozzles.

Nick Murphy might be an ass, but he’s an ass who knows how to give good shower sex.

I shiver.

“Are you done talking to the cow?” Muffy asks.

“Probably not. Do you have stats on penis size? I want a big penis.”

“Wow, you’re really pissed. Note to self: don’t write off the men with weird fetishes. Okay, last question. If you were going to get caught doing something illegal, would it be smoking pot, stealing underwear, or grand theft auto?”

“That is not a real question.”

“Maybe it is. Maybe I’m not just looking for a new partner in crime on a Saturday night. But you still have to answer if you want me to match your muff.”

“You seriously need a new tagline.”

“This one makes me money, baby.”

I was pretty sure that was a lie, but I let her have it. “Stealing underwear.”

“Great, and now I’ve got everything I need,” she says. “I’m gonna run you through the muff matcher and I’ll have you a date for Friday before you can say my vibrator ran out of batteries.”

This is where I’m probably supposed to say thank you.

“You’re right to move on, Kami,” she adds quietly. “You deserve to be more than somebody’s secret piece on the side. And you deserve a guy who’ll remember—”

The line goes dead. I pull my phone back, a lump ballooning in my throat, and now I’m growling at the brick in my hand.

I freaking charged it last night, but the battery couldn’t even get me to the office. I have got to get a new phone.

And I also realize I probably shouldn’t have asked for a guy with a big penis before my battery gave way.

But that shower—and the way he liked to shove me against the wall and fill me and— “Sex isn’t everything,” I tell Sugarbear, more because I need to hear it and I need to not give myself a reason to offer Nick another chance. “He never once ordered pizza with mushrooms only on half. Every single time, I had to pick them off.”

And every single time, I told myself it didn’t matter. Or that he liked sharing food with me, and he knew I’d pick them off, so he could eat my leftovers. Or that I only ate a quarter of the pizza anyway, so why bother with leaving mushrooms off an entire half?