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“Why don't you assholes take your brilliant advice and use it on your own women?” I pull out my phone and pretend to be scrolling through it. “I’ve got news for you—your girls have been texting me, complaining. Apparently, none of them are satisfied with your performance…” I shake my head.
They get all defensive, bragging about their sexual prowess.Whatever.
Grammy shuffles into the kitchen, shooting an annoyed look around the room. “What are you boys arguing about this time? I can hear you from out front,” she scolds.
“Just about how we think Harry needs a girlfriend.” Cash grins. And I hiss at him for unleashing our grandmother on me.
Grammy’s head bobs. “Oh, I very much agree.” She snaps her fingers, pointing my way, like a brilliant idea just came to her. “Don’t worry. I’ll work on it.”
Oh, I’mveryworried. Maude Westbrook is a mischievous old lady. There’s no telling what she’ll come up with.
I groan loudly, scrubbing my hands down my face. “Oh, please don’t.”
“You hush.” Grammy slaps my arm. “You got the best of the Westbrook family genes, sonny. It’s your biological duty to reproduce and pass those genes along. And I’d recommend that we get you started as soon as possible.”
“What the hell, Grams? You told meIgot the best genes!” Jasper grimaces. “And have you seen my daughter? That kid is perfection.”
“I don’t believe this,” Cash barks. “My genes are just as good as Harry’s. Better even!”
I dry my hands off on a kitchen towel. I throw it at Jasper’s face as I pass by on my way out the side door. “You all can keep wishing.”
I smugly lead Grammy outside to my car. I help her climb into the passenger seat, and speed off. We hop on the highway in the direction of Sin Valley on the other side of the bridge.
While Honey Hill is a quiet, low-key town in the backwoods of Iowa, Sin Valley is like its loud, obnoxious older cousin. The Strip, in particular, is famous for its glitzy casinos, its quirky nightlife and its round-the-clock wedding chapels. If you’re not careful, a night in Sin Valley can alter the course of your whole life.
On the way, Grammy pokes around on her phone. Her screen reader is shouting out random things, reading in that bland monotone voice so freaking fast, I have no idea how in the world she can understand a single thing.
“Whatchya doing, Grams?” I throw her a glance as I switch lanes.
“I’m talking with my girlfriends from the community center. That nice girl—Nadia—put together a group chat for all of us gals.” My ribs hitch just hearing Nadia’s name. “Now hush, I have to use my voice-to-text thingamajig to send a text message back to them. They want to know why I’m late this morning.” The sassy little lady throws a mock glare in my direction. “I’d better not miss my French class. We’re learning how to say dirty words today.”
Grams taps around, using her accessibility apps that we subscribed to for her when she started losing her vision, and it takes her three tries before she’s satisfied enough with her message to send it to the group.
I smile to myself as we pull into the community center parking lot. Is it weird that I actually look forward to driving Grammy to this social outing on a regular basis? To me it’s just a no-brainer. With the declining state of her health, it’s more important than ever to make sure that she’s enjoying life. Of course.
But I have another reason for wanting to come here. A reason that’s more selfish. Nadia’s the one who set up the non-profit that’s making this whole thing possible to begin with. She’s not here at every meeting—understandable with her demanding career—but whenever I do bump into her here, the encounter is always worth it.
Offering my arm, I walk Grammy inside the community center, safely steering her around the young mothers shoving their strollers through the hallways with their winter coats and diaper bags and a million different baby gadgets draped over their arms.
We follow the music and hollering down the hall until we find the rest of the senior women. Through an open doorway at the end of the hallway, I see close to a dozen seniors with feather boas around their shoulders, doing their own special rendition of a hip hop dance that’s streaming on a TV screen.
I just shake my head. I’ve learned to never be surprised with these ladies.
They’re out in full force today. From the hallway, I spot Jace’s grandma, Granny Bellino, along with her boyfriend, Gordon. Liam’s grandmother, Yaya. Then there’s Delores the troublemaker. Nancy and her husband, Edward. And a bunch of other familiar faces wearing troublemaking grins.
Grammy and I stride closer and I get a better look inside the room. That’s when my eyes hone in on the most perfect sight I’ve ever seen in my life.
Tight pink spandex molded the curvy hips, rotating sensually in time with the music. Oversized T-shirt tied right above the world’s most perfect ass. Nadia slowly draws her hands up her sides, doing some seductive dance and encouraging the rest of her students to mimic her movements.
“Okay, everybody,” she calls out. “This is our last take. Make it good.”
My focus hones in on the width of her round hips, causing everything else to blur on the peripheries. My temperature spikes to a fever pitch.
I thought she looked good in that skirt suit she was wearing the other day? Well, it turns out, no one looks better than Nadia in Lululemon pants, either.
I say a small prayer. Dear god—thank you for bottling up all the ‘sexy’ in the universe and packaging it into this one dazzlingly flawless woman. Amen.
Cheers ring out as the song comes to an end. One of the old women glances out the door and spots Grammy approaching. “Maude, darling! Get in here,” she shouts, waving us in.
