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I’ve built a career, a life, on clear-thinking action. I raised my daughter as best I could with that in mind. I climbed the corporate ladder with that as my mantra. See it, make up my mind, and do it.
Now I’m waffling back and forth like a kid trying to decide between chocolate chunk or peanut butter cup ice cream. And the world’s not going to wait forever.
Neither is Tiffany, a voice whispers.
Ricky speaks out of the side of his mouth to Billy, “Dude, family movies are better than Viagra for Miranda. I love spending time with the kids, but I really love the way Miranda says thank you after they go to bed.”
Billy nods, understanding. “Okay, I got that. Take care of her babies, and she wants to taste your dick. Cool, cool.”
But at least they’re sitting now, and finally, they turn their attention back to me.
“So?” Billy prompts. “Need us to do some recon?”
The idea is laughable. Ricky and Billy are each roughly the size of a refrigerator and quite obvious in any crowd. About the only place they could blend in would be on the sidelines of an NFL game. “No, not recon. Just . . . intel. Tell me what you know.”
“About what?” Billy asks.
Ricky gives me an amused look, also not letting me off the hook. “About who?”
I’m going to have to say it.
Billy chuckles, and I realize they’re both smirking, well fucking aware of who and what I want to know. “Out with it. Everything you know.”
It’s the closest I can come to asking for the information I desperately want. For me, it’s damn near begging and way beyond any boundaries of appropriateness.
But I don’t care anymore.
I need to know.
Ricky gives a relieved sigh, looking to the ceiling like he’s silently thanking some deity for divine intervention. “About fucking time. Have a seat, Uncle Daniel, and buckle up because we’re about to tell you some good shit about your girl.”
I open my mouth to say that she’s not my anything, and certainly not my girl, given that she’s a sexy, bold woman, but Ricky gives me a cold stare that dares me to disagree with him, and my mouth clacks shut for once.
Because the truth is . . . I want anything and everything he knows about Tiffany Young.
“Okay, so we’ll skip the bullshit you know about Tiffany Young,” Ricky says, leaning forward. “We know Elle told you a bunch of stuff, and that’s all true. At least about her background.”
“Well, most of the time, Elle was covering for her own ass,” Billy says. “Like the dares. Let’s face it, Tiffany was her sidekick, but that was Elle’s thing.”
“True . . . like remember that time they did topless karaoke?” Ricky says. “Man, you know Elle wanted to but—”
“But she needed Tiff to dare her to do it,” Billy finishes, grinning widely.
“They what?”
“Ah, relax,” Ricky says. “They still had their bras on and it was just at the end of a karaoke routine.”
“Yeah, they got booed for being boring. Can you imagine?” He shakes his head in disbelief. “Nah, truth is, Tiff and Elle were like Yin and Yang, you know? Elle needed Tiff to hold her back, Tiff needed Elle to feel taken care of. And most of the time, the dares were totally silly stuff.”
“Except that time Tiffany dared Elle to go after Colton,” Ricky points out. “I know for a fact that Tiff dared Elle to make a copy of her ass to leave in his office.”
“What?” I shout, shocked.
“Hey, it worked out in the end,” Ricky says as I take a steadying breath. I don’t want to yell about my daughter . . . and he’s right. It did work out in the end. Besides, if I call her up and chew her out about it, there’d be questions. Like how I found out and why Ricky and Billy are spilling their guts.
“Okay, go on.”
“You gotta watch out for that metabolism,” Billy says, pointing at me in warning. “Seriously, that girl can go from happy to hangry in like, an hour sometimes. Especially if she’s nervous. She’ll just start machine gunning little nibbles, like a squirrel or something.”
He mimics a chipmunk or squirrel gnawing at a nut or snack, and I dimly remember seeing that even in our dinner. She didn’t take big bites but almost buzz-sawed her vegetable bits in quick, rapid bites.
“Yeah, but her faves are those peanut butter crackers,” Ricky adds. “You know, those nasty ass orange ones they stock in the vending machines downstairs? Those are basically her emergency supplies if she goes through the two packs in her purse and the box in her desk.”
“Definitely a two pack a day girl,” Billy says. “I tried to get her on granola, but she said she kept missing her tosses.”
