I’d convinced myself that this thing with Darcy could never happen — that even the idea of it was dirty, wrong, bad, and that she would only ever see it as dirty, wrong, bad. Or maybe she still thought it was. Maybe the dirty, wrong, badness of it gave this whole thing a spicy bite that I knew would make it all taste and feel so much fucking better. Either way, a subtle suggestion from me that crossed the boundary from harmless flirting to I will most definitely fuck you if given the chance had her spying on me as I masturbated.

A few moments later, I went back into the bedroom to get dressed. I found the bed stripped of its sheets and a fresh set left folded at the foot. Sitting on top of that freshly washed and folded linen was my missing cellphone. The screen flashed. A schedule alert, probably. I picked it up and unlocked the screen. In addition to numerous schedule reminders, I’d just received a text message.

Darcy: When you’re…all cleaned up,

there’s coffee in the kitchen.

We should probably talk.

6

Darcy

I’ve lost my mind.

This was how it happened, wasn’t it? People joked about menopause. About how you experienced extreme mood swings from happy highs to teary-eyed lows, but what about this vicious spike in my libido? Did it cause that, too? Because what else explained the fact that I watched Tommy get off in the shower while whispering filthy things meant for me to hear?

Is this what you wanted? To watch me come for you?

Was it? Because I watched with hungry eyes and a wet pussy, and I swear I don’t know how I left that apartment without stripping out of my clothes and climbing into that shower with him. Instead, I was running back to the main house with sheets that smelled like his stink bundled against my chest.

How weird would it be to bury my face in this smell and make myself come?

Because that’s what I wanted to do.

Oh, god. I’m losing it. I’m fucking losing it.

Matthew, Carter, and Scott were sitting on the back steps waiting for their rideshare. I hid my face from them and scurried into the kitchen, where Minerva had already started the grits and bacon.

“Hey, Minnie,” I said, trying to keep my tone light and not at all like a woman whose aching wet pussy demanded to be satisfied right this instant. “I’m just gonna put Tommy’s sheets in the washer. Can you get those boys a grub-cup? Grits, eggs, and some bacon to help soak up all the whiskey they drank last night. They need to sober up a little bit before their car gets here.”

“Sure, but let me get that laundry for you, Dar—”

“I’ve got it, Minnie. Just make sure those three don’t throw up on my back porch.”