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  I grinned. He was right, I loved being rimmed. I had a standing rule, if the guy can’t pass the oral exam, no sense takin’ the final. A good top knows how to open a bottom properly and in my opinion, a good ass-eater is born, not taught. Either you like doing it or you don’t, case closed.

  “Boys!” Momma yelled and we both started laughing at her red face.

  “They’re right, Lynnie. If a man won’t lick the postage stamp, he don’t get to send the mail.” Mawmaw chuckled and my momma grew redder.

  “I can’t believe—” She never finished her statement because the front door flew open and Poppy came stomping in with Avery hot on her heals. We all turned and stared at them.

  “Poppy Marie Gaither, you stop right there!” Avery admonished and she jerked to a halt, spun on her heels, crossed her arms over her chest and glowered at him. “What have you been told about hittin’ Peg?”

  She scrunched up her nose and hotly answered, “You’re takin’ his side ‘cause he’s your real kid!” She hung her head and sulked, refusing to look at Avery.

  I sucked in a breath and held it. Ouch, that’s gotta sting! Avery, however, remained nonplussed. He crouched down and tipped up her chin, making her look at him. “You know that’s not true. I love you just as much as Peg. But you can’t always hit. Remember what we talked about?”

  “Use your words, not your fists,” Poppy repeated and he touched her cheek softly.

  “And I know you can talk aplenty, Pops.”

  “Are you mad at me, Avery?” She gave him a tremulous smile.

  “I’m not happy but remember… happy or mad, I will always love you. Now please go sit down at the table. I’ll be there in a minute.” He soothed his words with a quick hug. She sighed and after a moment he let her go so she could troop into the kitchen to Momma. I was about to ask her what happened to Martin and Peg, when they came through the door.

  “Good gravy, Peg, can you whine a little bit more? You need me to call you a wambulance?”

  “Poppy was bein’ mean to me!” He stamped his small foot and I saw Martin’s mouth twitch.

  “And you did nothin’ to make her mad?” It was not so much a question as a statement.

  Peg flushed and looked down. “No,” he whispered and Martin’s lips thinned.

  “Peg?” I’d never heard Martin sound stern before.

  Hmmm, kind of sexy.

  “Well she started it!” Peg wailed.

  “Peg, you were eggin’ her on.” Martin took Peg aside and sat down on a living-room chair to bring him to Peg’s level. “She shouldn’t have hit you, but you can’t tease her and not expect her to fight back. What did you say?”

  Peg mumbled and Martin repeated his question more forcibly.

  “I called her carrot top.”

  “You know makin’ fun of her hair hurts her feelins’. Would you say that to me?”

  Damn, Martin was good.

  Peg looked stricken and fat tears welled in his eyes. “No!” he cried and threw himself into Martin’s arms. He patted Peg’s head and rocked him gently. Peg was much more sensitive than Poppy, and Martin parlayed that into some good parental guilt.

  After a minute, he let Peg go and said, “Name callin’ is mean and hurtful, Peg. Go apologize to Poppy please.” Martin patted him again and Peg nodded.

  “’Kay. ‘M sorry, Martin.” He turned to do as he was told then stopped. “You still love me?” His voice was so tiny and uncertain that my heart damn near broke for him. Martin grabbed him and hugged him hard.

  “I’ll always love you, Peg. You’re my son now and always will be.” Martin let him go and Peg trudged into the kitchen. Avery, who had been standing to the side, watched Peg walk over to Poppy.

  “’M sorry, Poppy.”

  “’S’okay, Peg,” she replied and patted the seat next to her. “Sit down. Grandma Lynnie and Mawmaw said we’re havin’ cheap ‘petzghetti.”

  Peg brightened and sat down. Avery and Martin talked in hushed tones before they came into the kitchen. Momma stopped Martin and asked him outright, as mothers do.

  “What’s goin’ on, Martin?”

  “Nothin’ new, Lynda,” Martin replied with a smile. “Just a case of sibling rivalry that got outta control.” Avery nodded in agreement and he and Martin sat down next to each other at the table. I smiled and quirked a brow at Avery. He rolled his eyes and scowled at the two kids. In general, Poppy and Peg got along fine but lately they were behaving more like brother and sister and the squabbling had escalated. Avery and Martin decided to let the opposing parent discipline the other’s child to reinforce that they were a united front.

  So far it was working, but not without its ups and downs. I have to give my brother and Martin credit, raising two six-year-olds was no walk in the park. After a brief prayer, we began eating. I loved my momma’s cooking and this was a favorite of mine, cheap spaghetti. It was a recipe she came up with that cost next to nothing and made a whole bunch of food. Two boxes of cooked, drained spaghetti, two cans of chili with beans, four teaspoons of garlic salt and a can of tomato paste, put all the ingredients in a huge skillet over medium heat, mix until combined and voilà, food for ten. Or in our case four bottomless pits, two kids, a Momma and a Mawmaw. We ate, chatted and caught up on daily bullshit and, after we’d cleaned up the kitchen, Avery and Martin sent the kids to go in the backyard and play while we adults had some private time.

  “Howya doin’, Cotton?” I asked and he folded his hands in his lap. Momma and Mawmaw had said he spent a lot of time alone in his room. Hell, Avery and I could barely get him to leave and go out for dinner with either of us.

  “’M good. Takin’ it one day at a time.”

  “Tell them about your gentleman caller, Cottonball.” Mawmaw nudged him in the side. He frowned but a tiny smile tugged at his mouth. Only his Mawmaw could call him Cottonball.

  “You holdin’ out on us, bro?” Avery asked, surprise written all over his face.

  “Nah. Just takin’ my time.” A splash of pink tinged his cheeks.

  “Well give. Who is he?” Martin sat up and leaned closer.

  Cotton gazed at each one us and sighed. “His name is Caleb Jaspers. I met him on the flight to Raleigh and back. He’s an airline attendant and he asked me out for a drink.” Before any of us could say a word, he continued quickly, “I told him I don’t drink but would be glad to have dinner with him. He won’t be back in Atlanta ‘til the end of the month, so we have a date the day after he arrives.”

  “What’s he like, sweetie?” Lynda enquired, mother hen come to the fore.

  Another smile ghosted across his lips. “He’s cute. Blonde, blue eyes, maybe five nine.” Cotton’s gaze grew dreamy and then snapped back to reality. “It’s just a date guys. I warned him about my past. That I’m… damaged goods.” His head hung and he looked so defeated. “Prob’ly gonna cancel on me anyway.”

  “Bullshit!” We all jumped at Mawmaw’s sharp tone. “You’re a good man, Cotton Myer. Not one of us is perfect and if he can’t see past that, then he’s not good enough for you.” She smacked her hand on the table, emphasizing her point.

  “She’s right, Cotton.” I wholeheartedly agreed. “Each of us has our scars. It’s called life. If he’s really interested, he’ll keep your date.”

  “You’re a Myer,” Avery boasted. “We’re total catches. Right, Martin?”

  “Yes, you are.” Martin grinned and leaned in for a soft kiss from Avery.

  “Damn if you two ain’t sickenin’,” I grumped and Avery gave me the bird while still kissing Martin.

  “I hope so,” Cotton whispered and I could tell he didn’t want to talk about it anymore, so I changed the subject.

  “Guess what, Martin?” I interjected and all gazes shifted to me. “Your cousin and his fiancé are comin’ to the bakery tomorrow for our first meetin’. I’m so stoked. They sent me some preliminary pictures and I like their choice, very modern. Oh and some bossy little queen sayin’ he was their weddin’ p
lanner called me on Saturday, actin’ all high and mighty, so I told him I was busy and to stop buggin’ me.”

  Martin snorted a laugh. “That would be my cousin, Robbie.”

  “Oh you mean, Robert Jonathan Gaither?” I mimicked a snooty voice and my momma and Cotton chuckled.

  “That would be him!” Martin laughed. “You’re in for a treat. He’s my Uncle Eli’s youngest and is an event planner here in Atlanta. He did Autumn House this year and it was a huge success.”

  Avery nodded. “My boss’ restaurant, Avanti Blue, did the food. Val said it was spectacular.”

  “Be ready, Boone. Robbie is a force to be reckoned with, just like his daddy,” Martin cautioned. “He’s meticulous, has OCD and doesn’t take no for an answer.”

  “I ain’t gonna be bossed around by no…” I threw up some air quotes. “Prissy little event planner.”

  “You’ve been warned,” Martin sang and unease swirled in my stomach. I was pretty confident in my abilities but the last thing I needed was some event queen mucking up my day. Besides, he was going to be on my turf, so I had the home team advantage. What could go wrong?

  *

  I woke up the next morning, showered, shaved and… well I did my morning routine then stood in my closet and tried to figure out what to wear for the day. I had turned Cotton’s bedroom into a walk-in-closet after he moved in with Momma and Mawmaw. I had to. My clothes were in boxes and containers piled high in my room and my own closet was bursting at the seams. It seemed logical to convert his old room to a twelve by fifteen closet. I am a total clothes horse and freely admit it. Avery is our shoe queen. Cotton has his underwear fetish. And me? I loved clothes, but not always new ones. I shopped vintage, mixing it with high-end stuff and things I bought from Target.

  I guess you could say I had a hipster vibe going on but I didn’t do it on purpose, it just happened. I stood there, naked, contemplating my choices as I sipped my coffee and absently scratched my nads, feeling stubble.

  Hmmm… time for another trip to Big Bears.

  Anyhoo, the gray shorts were a must. They fit snug and showed off my ass to its best advantage. Every morning for the last five years I have been doing squats and lunges trying to build me an ass. As a rule, Myer men have no butts. Avery and Cotton’s were kind of flat and small and while mine was not huge, it was a nice bubble butt and as firm as all get out.

  I’m also the only Myer who works out. I have to because of my diabetes. Exercise helped control my spikes in blood sugar and reduced my insulin need at times. Do I like to exercise? No. Do I need to exercise? Yes.

  I slipped on the shorts, going commando as always because I hate underwear lines and was barely able to close the top button.

  Man, they’re tight.

  I took a moment to put on my diabetic monitor. Cleaning the skin on the left side of my lower belly, which had a nice six pack by the way, I snapped the needle cartridge into place. The sharp sting of the needle was momentary. The transparent dressing I covered the needle with held it in place and I checked the data as it came up. My blood sugar was sixty-nine.

  Kind of low there Boone old boy.

  I seldom noticed highs and lows unless they were really drastic. The last time I felt my sugar go dangerously low, I was thirty-two. You become more immune to the extremes as you age. I opened the drawer in the accessory island in the middle of the room.

  Damn, did I ever get ribbed for my accessory island. I’d bought two dressers and screwed them together then glued a remnant piece of marble to the top. It had nine drawers on each side and all were full. As much as Avery and Cotton teased me, Martin thought it was cool and wanted one for his kitchen. Avery only cursed me and told Martin, he’d build him one.

  I found glucose tabs in my emergency drawer and wolfed three down. Good thing I did because my alarm pinged. I was sixty-five and dropping. Sipping my coffee, I perused my wall of T-shirts while I waited for my sugar to rise. Hmmm… nope too loose, too red, too gay even for me, ha as if, too green, too yellow, too—bingo. My new black T-shirt that said ‘Because I’m a Lady, Assface’ won the lottery for today. My focus grew sharper and I checked my numbers. I was up to one hundred and two… much better. I yanked the shirt down and slipped it over my head. I hadn’t done my hair yet, so I didn’t need to careful. Now, shoes.

  Unlike my brother, Avery, I only had ten pair of shoes. Eleven with my brand new pair of pink Converse. Avery and I had spotted them at a sale at Nordstrom’s Off the Rack but I grabbed them first. Man was he ever pissed.

  You snooze you lose!

  I tugged them on and laced them up.

  Time for hair and makeup!

  I chuckled as I walked into my bathroom. A quick dip of Spike It and my short locks were frozen skyward. My beard was rounded at the bottom and full, however I was suffering from a case of beard face this morning. Chunks and tufts stuck out in all directions and I grimaced. Grabbing the beard balm, I palmed a healthy dollop and massaged it into my beard. A few good long strokes with my bristle brush and I was beautiful. I looked up at the clock and cursed. I was going to be late—again!

  I spritzed my cologne on the key spots: head, chest and the crack of my butt, grabbed my bag and rushed out of the house, slamming the door. I dashed to my old truck, opened the door and hoped in. It took two tries to get it started before the engine roared to life and I was on my way. The drive to the bakery only took ten minutes and I parked in my usual spot. I hurried inside through the back door and was hit by a wall of wonderful. I loved my job. Hell, the smell alone kept me coming back day in and day out.

  I stowed my bag and waved at Ria and Jane, the junior decorators. Mikey was plugged into his headphones and was elbow deep in water, washing pans at the far end of the room. I strode over to my station, ready to start my day. I had commandeered a corner of the kitchen, making it my own and there it was, waiting for me—a confectionary nightmare.

  I hated everything about the pink, peach and lilac wedding cake. Minnie D’Argento’s daughter, Brittany, was getting married and I’d been hired to do her cake. Dear Lord, it was hideous. Piles of pink and peach flowers, interspersed with lilacs, loads of fret work and fondant white swags covered each layer of the cake.

  Six tiers in total; it would be assembled on site this Saturday. Ria was coming with me and would help me finish it.

  I thought it was way overdone and had tried to talk Brittany into a simpler cake but no, she wanted tons of flowers and shit. In the end, I gave up and made her the cake she wanted. The money from this cake would allow us to buy a new dishwasher. Something Mikey really wanted and would finally silence his nonstop bitching.

  Sighing, I turned on my favorite radio station and set about doing the delicate lace work. Ria came up beside me and tsked. I palmed a new bag of icing and slipped a fine end cap on it.

  “Jeez! How tacky.” Ria never pulled her punches.

  “I know,” I bemoaned and squirted the air out of my royal icing bag. “I’m embarrassed that it’s my work.”

  “Well, if anyone has met Brittany D’Argento, they’ll understand.” She snorted derisively. “Imagine, wearing a pink track suit with juicy written on the ass.”

  “And what a large ass it is.” I chortled. “Momma always says, just because they make it in your size, doesn’t mean you should wear it.” Ria giggled and left, heading back to her station. She was working on a bat shaped ‘Mitzvah cake and was having a ball doing it.

  I cranked up the music and dove in. No sense putting it off, Saturday was fast approaching.

  *

  I was so close! So close to finishing the last tier when Penny screamed my name, I prit near jumped out of my skin and spun around quicker than shit. Of course, I squeezed the bag of buttercream in my hand, mucking up my shorts and landing a big blop on my new shoes in the process. I opened my mouth to rip her a new one when low and behold, hottie at twelve o’clock.

  Blond, muscled, tanned and squared jawed, I perused him thoroughly and when my gaze d
ropped to his rather sumptuous box I swear my pucker clenched. Then I stuck my foot in my mouth and asked him out.

  Balls!

  “Did you just ask me to dinner?” His dark blond brows knitted in disapproval. I almost laughed, when I spied a handsome brunette and a fuckalicious blond smirking behind him. I tossed my icing bag back on the table and wiped my hands clean on a towel so I could greet them properly.

  “Hold that thought, sweet cheeks.” I breezed past him and stuck my hand out to the brunette. “Boone Myer, nice ta meetchya.”

  The brunette gave me a powerful handshake. “Hi, Emmett Gaither and this is my fiancé, Alex King.” He tilted his head to indicate his companion.

  Alex shook my hand after Emmett then I put my hands on my hips and gave them a good look—damn they were a good-looking couple. Emmett’s bearded face had a big grin plastered on it and his shaggy hair flopped as he turned looked around the bakery. Alex was all golden boy and, from their linked hands and touching shoulders, a couple very much in love.

  “Welcome to 350 Degrees Bakery.” I gestured to a trio of stools, near my work station. “Have a seat.” I noticed Robert Gaither was still befuzzled. “Don’t just stand there, cutiepie, have a seat.”

  He gasped and sputtered and Alex laughed as he and Emmett sat down. “That’s Robbie Gaither, our weddin’ planner.”

  “Ah yes. Mr. Robert Jonathan Gaither,” I teased and chuckled when Robert Gaither’s ears pinked.

  “Don’t call me cutie-pie, or sweet cheeks,” he groused and checked his phone quickly. “My name is Robbie.”

  “My name is Boone, but you can call me anytime,” I purred and he blushed bright red. Oh this is going to be fun! “Have a seat.” He scowled and joined his cousins. I found a clean towel, wiped the frosting off my shorts and shoe and tossed the rag on the counter. I leaned on the table with my elbows and said, “So, I saw the style of cake you sent me on my phone and I’m very excited. It’s beautiful.”

  “So you can do it, Boone?” Alex seemed to be holding his breath.

  “Of course. When is the weddin’?”

  “Late Spring in Tatesville,” Emmett said and I let out a relieved breath. It wasn’t a summer wedding. Buttercream and summer heat do not mix.