7. Mrs. Butterworth, Still a Syrup Slut

CHAPTER 7

MRS. BUTTERWORTH, STILL A SYRUP SLUT

HOLLYWOOD

“So there he was,” Ophelia forced out through her barely contained laughter, “in the kitchen. Naked. But not completely. Because he still wore his leather cut and his boots. But other than that, naked and hanging free.”

“Hanging low. Hanging down. Hanging long,” I drawled, well on my way to drunk and stupid.

Judge held up his pinky and wiggled it.

“No one is talking to you,” I bit out. “Or about you. I can whip it—”

Mac put her hand over my mouth, muffling my shit-talk. “Continue. Then what happened?”

“Okay, so here’s the backstory you have to know,” O said, gesturing with her cup and causing some of the vodka and soda to slosh out. “Before Judge and I were us, I walked into the kitchen and saw him… adjusting himself in front of a Mrs. Butterworth syrup bottle.”

“I’d been thinkin’ of O,” Judge clarified. “Not the plastic bottle’s tits.”

“Sure, sure,” Mac muttered, making me chuckle.

“But I like to give him a hard time about the moment he had with that syrup slut. So as a wedding present, the brothers gave him a life-sized cardboard cutout replica of the bottle.”

The pieces began to click together in Mac’s head. Her gaze went between O and me. “Naked with the cardboard cutout?”

“Gets worse,” I freely admitted. I had no shame.

“Worse? Were there unfortunate papercuts?”

I hissed and shifted in my seat, the phantom pain at that thought feeling damn real.

“He was asleep on the cutout while spooning the actual bottle. And there was syrup…” O’s gaze pointedly dropped before coming back up. “Coating places.”

Mac whipped around to look at me, the picture of shock and horror.

“I was eating waffles before I passed out. It got messy.”

“Right.” She gave a snarky nod. “Sure. Uh-huh. Whatever you say.”

“Anyway, that’s why we have to buy the store brand now,” O continued before pointing between Judge and me. “These two just can’t control themselves.”

“All those sticky, sweet curves.” I shrugged. “Who could blame us?”

O and Mac’s laughter started up again until they were wiping away tears.

I hadn’t been jerking it to the bottle or using the syrup as lube. In my vodka and weed-addled mind, being naked made sense. Spilling the messy waffle on myself was better than spilling it on my clothes.

No idea why I’d put my boots and cut back on.

Waking up to a hangover from hell and Judge’s photo evidence hadn’t been my proudest moment. But I didn’t care that Ophelia was sharing it or any of the other stories she’d told.