Page 34 of Tennessee Trouble

But Mikayla wasn’t having it. She took it and ran—as if someone had personally offended her.

Turning to face Kyra, I shake my head. “No. I’m not pissed about what he said. It was a joke. I see that.”

Kyra nods triumphantly, more than a little proud of the point she just made. Except, I’m not finished.

“What I am pissed about is…is…” I stumble, at a loss for words about what exactly has my insides curdling like cottage cheese. “This whole weekend! It’s tainted! Like mash going moldy.”

“Moldy?” April questions, face scrunched in disgust.

“Yes, moldy. All the fun I had, all the wonderful, go to your happy place type memories or future dirty fantasies I could be filing away—they’re now undermined by what he did. I won’t be able to escape to those thoughts without immediately thinking about how he did that so he could gain some influence. Or something.”

I huff, trying to punctuate my rant. Until another thought enters my mind.

“And back to my original point, y’all are pissed at him for the comment. I can’t go against the family. We agreed.”

We didn’t just agree—we promised. Eighteen months ago when our parents up and decided they wanted to retire and were officially signing over the long-standing family business to the four of us, we promised each other that no decision would be made in a bubble. It was a one for all and all for one situation. If all four of us didn’t agree, then we weren’t going to proceed.

“Mikayla didn’t exactly stop and ask any of us how we wanted this handled. If she had, she would know that I had a whole plan for an even better response. One that included visuals. But no, she just charged ahead. Soooo…you wouldn’t be out of place to tell her to knock it off.”

“Except now she’ll think it’s because I slept with him.”

“Yeah, probably.” Kyra shrugs. “We really need to get her laid, then maybe she’d chill out.”

April snickers from down the bar where she’s shooting soda into a glass from the gun. The long-standing joke between my siblings and me—and subsequently my bestie—is that the oldest of us really, really needs to get some. Actually, I take that back—it started as a joke, but now, it’s a solid belief. A swift and easy remedy to remove the stick from her ass.

She’d have to come down from her high horse, though, in order for that to happen. Easier said than done.

“Moving it right up the priority list,” I joke. “Know anyone who wouldn’t mind a frosty roll in the hay while being scolded? That’s a thing, right?”

Kyra and April both shrug.

“Hate sex is a thing, so…why not?” Kyra suggests. “In fact, hate sex is supposed to be spectacular.”

I give my little sister a quizzical look, knowing damn well she doesn’t know anything about hate sex. She married her best friend—that was accidental sex, not hate sex. Then again, I also have no room to talk. All my very limited experience has been within the constructs of a traditional relationship. The other night was the first time I’d ever let go enough to do something wild.

Well, mild wild.

I realize that on the scale of wild and crazy, a one-night stand is rookie material. We’re talking room temperature on the spice scale. But it’s still more adventurous than I normally am.

And I chose the wrong fucking guy.

“In fact, maybe that’s the way to go,” April tacks on. “Track this guy down and go for round two. This time fueled by hostility.”

“Oh, yeah, that’s just a brilliant idea.” I roll my eyes, not bothering to hide my sarcasm. “Let me just dial up the man who just sat in our conference room basically telling us to go to hell and see if he’s down for a little somethin’ somethin’.”

“Oooorrrrrrr…” April drags out the word, her eyes full of mischief and the smile starting to take over her face looking almost evil. “You could walk over to the takeout counter at the front of the restaurant and ask him if he wants to tongue tie your cherry again.”

Ugggh…I already regret sharing that detail with her. She’s going to bring that up for the rest of our lives—wait…

Takeout counter?

Shit.

My spine snaps into place, like a stack of Legos coming together. I can’t move—but I need to. I need to look. If only to confirm that my best friend is messing with me. Trying to be funny.

Which, for the record, she is not. This is flat out mean.

“Oh, man…” Kyra whispers conspiratorially. “Looking at him now, outside the conference room, he’s even hotter than this morning. Damn, Lindee…”