I Pucking Love You (The Copper Valley Thrusters #5) - Pippa Grant Page 0,37

hockey bar?

Another time, she saved Klein from a bunch of pissed-off fans by pretending to be his angry pregnant girlfriend, speaking only in some kind of French-Russian accent and using broken English to accuse him of leaving her out of his planned orgy, which left them feeling incredibly sorry for him instead of angry.

And then there was the time we were playing darts at a party at Lavoie’s house and I swear she threw the game for the sake of my ego.

Must’ve been beginner’s luck, she’d said with a shrug when she couldn’t hit the board anymore.

Her methods might be weird, but until she came shrieking into Murphy’s house the other day, begging for a date, she’s not usually asking for things for herself.

Tonight?

Yeah. Tonight she’s definitely in need of something.

And I want to know why.

She and Veda are doing that silent communication thing my sisters do sometimes, and I’m positive Muffy’s told her friend to not speak a word about when they were in med school together here, because every time one of them says Blackwell or school or anything else related to education, the conversation abruptly stops, and they switch to the weather or Muff Matchers or Veda’s family practice or stories about their parents.

Mostly Muffy’s mom and Veda’s dad, since Veda’s mom apparently died when she was young, and Muffy’s dad moved away when she was in grade school after her parents’ divorce, and she got very creative in finding ways to avoid going to her assigned weekends with him.

Plus, there are endless stories to tell about Hilda Periwinkle.

I’ve only met the woman a handful of times and also have stories from every single time.

Makes sense.

Also, no, I don’t want to talk about any of them. The woman has even fewer boundaries than my sisters, and that takes skills that I’d prefer to avoid.

Once I’m done with my steak and on to my third beer, I turn my phone back on and catch up on all the messages from all day long about my brother-in-law’s vasectomy issues.

He’s fine now. Back home. Resting with more ice.

But I have a private, one-on-one text message from my sister-in-law asking if I’m okay and threatening to bring the whole family into it if I don’t answer her immediately.

Shit.

“Bathroom,” I grunt to the women.

I’m dialing Daisy before I’ve left the table, on my way to the brightly lit parking lot in the chilly evening.

Feels good to not be boxed in.

“Tyler! You’re alive!” Daisy cheers after picking up on the second ring.

“What exactly were you planning on telling my family if I didn’t call you?”

“I heard you passed out at a funeral home. West’s packing our bags. If you’re going to pass out and die, you couldn’t pick a better place than a funeral home, but I’m really glad you’re not dead. At least, not yet. What are you doing in Richmond? How did you know Professor Harris?”

Professor Harris.

That must be Veda’s dad. I don’t actually know her last name. Or maybe that’s the funeral guy and she thinks I hang out at mortuaries three hours from my place for fun. “How do you know Professor Harris?” I counter.

“I don’t. I know Barry, the funeral home director. Long story. It involves a hippo and a stun gun mishap on a vacation in an undisclosed location. But not a stun gun used on a hippo, to clarify. Anyway, he recognized you and texted me to ask me to let him know how you’re doing. So, are you okay?”

“I’m fine. Don’t come. I’m doing a friend a favor.”

“A girl friend?”

The idea of Muffy as my girlfriend doesn’t make my balls retract fully into my body, which may or may not be a bad sign. Clearly, I’m out of my normal element, and it’s affecting my brain. “Don’t you dare start…”

“West, Ty’s okay,” she calls. “He says not to come because it was all a plot to score points with a woman. So we’re still going, right?”

“I forgot to eat. Got lightheaded. Passed out.”

“And screamed,” she says helpfully over West’s answer in the background about if they’re still coming, which I can’t make out clearly. “Who’s your friend?”

“We’re not discussing this.”

“I can ask your sisters.”

“And I can clear out my bank account, ditch my phone, use cash to fly to an obscure tropical island, and never have to see any of you again.” Which would be boring as hell, but I’m not telling her that.

“Aww, sweet boy. You’re forgetting there’s basically nowhere you can go that