And the apartment was just due for a scrub that I had been too tired to give it. It was clean enough with just some shoes thrown about, a couple piles of books of Peyton's here and there, and a bit of an accumulation of dog hair in the corners.
But, whatever, I guess.
Peyton's friends dropped in here and there all the time. Sometimes the apartment was still smelling of floor cleaner. Other times, it looked like a bomb detonated in the living room. They wouldn't care too much.
I was making a big deal out of nothing.
Truth be told, I was just in a crummy mood.
And, yes, if you must know, it had a lot of everything to do with a man who had amazing blue eyes, inky black hair, and lips that could set a woman's panties on fire.
I hadn't been able to move from the spot leaning against that wall for an almost embarrassingly long time. My legs felt wobbly, my head a little woozy. It just seemed smart to stay in that spot until the aching need between my thighs eased enough to make clear thought possible. Then I walked myself back to my store to sit for another fifteen minutes before I started getting emoji messages from Peyton that had pictures of peaches and cucumbers. Of tongues sticking out and Spock fingers. Of a hotdog and a bagel.
Then and only then, having a small chuckle, I grabbed Coop and made my way home.
Where, well, I spent some quality time with various devices I had bought from my own store. You know, for research purposes.
None of it helped.
If anything, I felt even more frustrated afterward.
Then I tossed and turned, sweating through my sheets as I had vivid sex dreams about having my pants yanked down and fucked hard and dirty against a wall down a side street.
Then I dragged myself back into work after too-little sleep to discuss BDSM with a pair of new enthusiasts. I had to clean up the coffee he had brought the night before.
Then darn Coop dragged me down the side street where it all happened. Because I needed that.
The butthead.
So my snapping at Peyton had nothing to do with the house being a bit messy and me looking a wreck. Her friends wouldn't care. They were the most chill group of men and women I had ever met. They'd have to be to hang with my weirdo sister.
I just needed to get a grip.
Hell, maybe seeing some people would get my mind off things that it had no business contemplating.
"Sorry," I said, stirring the spaghetti with the slotted spoon, realizing it was a poor excuse for a meal to serve guests, but I had only been planning on feeding it to myself when I started cooking. "I'm just in a mood."
"You're in a dude-mood," she agreed, ducking into the fridge to grab the veggies she had sautéed up for lunch. "Mix these in the sauce," she instructed, and I did since it was a vast improvement in the way of making it actually seem like dinner and not a pity-me meal. "That is some good old-fashioned blue tubes you've got going on."
"Why do I tell you things?" I asked, shaking my head.
"'Cause you loooove me. And you know I'm just thinking of your health here. Orgasms make you live longer. It's science."
"I have orgasms."
"Yeah, yeah, yeah. Poor BOB isn't getting a break lately. Garlic bread?" she asked, reaching for what was left of the crusty bread we had bought for lazy day sandwiches.
"You're really going all out," I observed, looking for the colander.
"So?"
"So, I once saw you serve your friends Ritz crackers and vodka."
"I'm hungry!" she objected, something in her tone I couldn't quite make out, and completely didn't trust.
"Alright," I said, brows drawn together as I strained the pasta and tossed it back into the pot, mixing in the veggies and sauce as she slathered butter and garlic into slices of the bread. "Whatever. I'm going to go put Coop in my room so he doesn't hurt anyone with his enthusiasm."
I was just coming out of my bedroom when there was a knock at the door followed by Peyton's voice going all sing-song and calling out, "I'm cooooming!"
My brows drew together as I moved into the doorway of the living room. Peyton's friends had a tendency to just burst in since more than a few of them had keys in case of late-night drinking and needing a place to crash.
"Oh! Wine!" Peyton cheered, making me smile. She was a sucker for a decent - or cheap - bottle - or box - of wine. "Come on in. Hey, Autumn, Doggy-Daddy is here!" she called, obviously unaware that I had come back out.
Doggy-Daddy?
Doggy-Daddy!
Even as the implications of that settled in, she was moving out of the doorway, and there he was.