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Then Luna’s brows lift almost to her hairline. “Are you sure? Huge congrats on the bonus.” She smiles as she acknowledges my boast. “But it takes a lot of hustle to sell that much all the time. What if you can’t do that again?”
I nod, reasonably sure of my decision. Jaxx was right. Sex sells, and orgasms sell even more. And worst-case scenario, I can get another job in the blink of an eye if everything goes to hell. Being a college area, there are always jobs available at retail stores, restaurants, and coffee shops. It’s not ideal, but it’s supported me well enough the last few years.
“Speaking of, could I interest you in our new Velvetream Rabbit?”
“What? No!” Luna protests... too much.
“Babe, I know you’re not that innocent anymore. You and Carter get up to some probably illegal, definitely immoral, and totally unholy things, and you can’t tell me otherwise.” I’m mostly teasing because Luna was a virgin before she met Carter, but she’s definitely made up for lost time with her new husband.
Luna laughs, covering her mouth with her paint-splattered hand as though she's a little embarrassed by my assessment. “Nope, maybe, and you’redaaaamnright. But I don’t think we need to add anything buzzy to the rotation.”
“Buzzy, non-buzzy, sucking, thrusting, numbing, sensitizing... we’ve got it all. Direct and indirect stim, Bluetooth, remote controlled, and more.” I add a little bit of a snake oil salesman vibe to my list of possible contenders, but Luna’s not having it.
“Thanks, but no thanks. Carter’s enough for me.”
Shaking my head, I give it one more go. “It’s not about his not being enough. It’s more about adding some spice, some va-va-va-voom, some surprise.”
“Mm-hmm,” she murmurs disbelievingly, but she’s saved from my next round of sales tactics by Olivia screeching.
“You fucker!”
I look over and nearly panic because I think she’s talking to Gracie like that. But thankfully, that assumption is quickly assuaged because though she’s looking down at the girl, she’s talking to Peanut Butter, whom Gracie is lying over protectively as if Olivia is going to attack him instead of vice versa. Peanut Butter doesn’t seem concerned with the yelling and is licking Gracie’s face like this is a new game.
I jump up and rush over, Luna right behind me. “What’s wrong?”
Olivia is wiping away at her jeans and kicks off her tennis shoe as she tells me, “I was sitting here, minding my own business—”
Gracie interrupts and corrects her, “Texting on your phone to Mercedes, whining about how bitchy Samantha is. Which she isnot.” Gracie throws her hands on her hips and glares at Olivia in my defense.
Luna whispers to the girl, “Don’t say bitchy around your dad either.”
Olivia grits her teeth and hammers on, “Minding my own business, and that monster peed on my new 550s.” Her shoes are chunky, white, grass-cutting, Dad-style and currently covered in yellow tinted liquid. “Can we go now?”
Without waiting for an answer, she starts stomping across the park toward the car, her whole body going up and down, getting taller and shorter with each step depending on whether it’s her bare foot or shoed foot.
“Guess I’m leaving,” I tell Luna. “Sorry, Gracie. Maybe next time we can swing?”
“Okay,” she says unhappily. “Olivia’s mad at Nutbuster, huh?”
“Yeah, but I think she’s mad at a whole lot more than that,” Luna says wisely. To me, she adds, “Hey, Carter’s taking me ice skating at the mall tonight. Wanna come? Zack’ll be there for a minute. He’s got some prospect property for Carter to look at.”
Zack is Luna’s brother, her husband’s business partner, and she hopes, my soon-to-be-boyfriend. But Zack and I are polite acquaintances with Luna in common, nothing more.
“I don’t know—”
“I’ll send you the details. And you can probably sell a product or two to Carter and Zack. If nothing else, they’ll buy your whole stock to get you to stop talking about it,” she teases, knowing that I’ll show up if there’s a chance I could get another sale.
“Fine, see ya later!” I shout back, nearly running to catch up with Olivia.
The drive home is completely silent. Olivia’s anger is heavy. Her lips are pressed into a straight line, and she’s pointedly looking out the window in an effort to avoid me entirely.
When I pull into the driveway, I try to apologize. “Olivia, I’m sorry about your—”
She cuts me off. “You owe me new shoes if these don’t clean up. They’d better bepristine.” And with that declaration, she slams my car door and hobbles to the house.
Seeing that Mom’s home now, I turn off the car and head inside too. I don’t knock or anything like that. Mom told me when I moved out that this will always be my home and to treat it as such. Admittedly, knocking on my own front door would be strange, so I’m glad she made her feelings about it abundantly clear.
“Mom?”
