Page 116 of Tickled Pink

I don’t bother with appearances. Fuck this lady. “Been better, actually.”

He reacts with a barely noticeable twitch of his cheek.

“Oh, there’s no need to involve him in our little girl talk,” Donna says, a word of warning.

“Yes,” he says. “Though, I must admit, I couldn’t help but overhear the end of your conversation.”

Well, that’s just great.

Where the hell are Max and Thad?

Rutger shakes his head, showing some sympathy that I can’t tell is genuine or not. “Try not to take it too personally, Ms. Pink,” he says. “There’s not a girl in this world good enough for Max. Monahan standards being what they are.”

Donna chuckles. “Well, you’re not wrong about that,” she says.

Rutger smirks as she basks in his attention. “But, as I recall, you were nothing but a buck-toothed cocktail waitress from Flyover, Missouri before Keith got a hold of you, so perhaps Monahan standards have been slipping for quite some time now.”

My jaw drops.

Donna freezes, her smile melting on ice. A moment later, she silently stomps off, her elegant red heels clacking along the floor as she disappears into the kitchen.

Holy shit.

I look at Rutger, my eyes wide.

He takes a delicate step forward and bows his head with that familiar Hemsley smirk. “Pay them no mind, darling,” he says, lightly swishing the drink in his glass. “You’re the only genuine person in this entire goddamn house. Fuck ‘em all.”

I bite my lip, holding back a smile. “Thank you, Mr. Hemsley,” I say.

He raises his glass.

“I should go,” I say after a moment, “find Max and Thad.”

“Oh, I saw them.” He points toward the foyer. “As I was coming in. A few minutes ago, heading upstairs.”

“Thank you,” I say again before walking away.

“You’re very welcome,” I hear him say behind me. “Ms. Pink.”

I don’t look back, plowing out of the sitting room and bolting toward the stairs across the foyer. My heart pounds the entire way up, the pulse blazing in my ears as I continue down the hallway.

I stop somewhere in the middle, realizing I have no idea where I’m going.

“Max?” I say, not bothering to keep my voice down. “Thad?”

“In here, Pheebs.”

I follow Thad’s response a little further down the hall to the door labeled Max.

Duh, Phoebe.

I open the door and walk into the bedroom of a typical teenage boy. Max and Thad are sitting on the bed, looking adorably comfortable with one another, and my heart warms a bit.

My boys.

As they look at me, their smiles fade and they sit forward.

“Phoebe, you okay?” Max asks.

---