Page 50 of It's Always Sonny

What is she doing?

PJ doesn’t grin and laugh and flick her hair in girl gangs. That’s what made the Janes so different. They didn’t expect that from her. I love my family. I love my in-laws, but they don’t know who they’re really dealing with. That isn’t PJ.

They’re pushing her. They’re pulling a Sonny and taking advantage of her lack of self-control around us.

What in the world am I supposed to do?

Ash and Rusty stay to help the next group of Lucianos, and I sidle up to my old friend.

“Ashley Jane,” I say, holding out my arms.

She gives me a hug, squeezing my shoulders appreciatively before we let go. “When did you get so ripped? I love it! Are your abs still certifiable tummy waffles?”

“Wouldn’t you like to know?”

“Obviously. You know you’re my white whale, Sonny.”

“Keep dreaming, Ahab.”

She chuckles.

Sophomore year, Ash started an “abs ranking page” for a class, and it went huge. She took pictures of abs, as you’d expect, but the best ones got photo-shopped onto plates, sometimes with pats of butter and syrup over them with the phrase “tummy waffles.” Then it became “certifiable tummy waffles.”

It was massive.

I never let her take a pic of my abs. I’m proud of what this body can do, but I’m not a gym bro who needs people ogling at me.

But for the record, my tummy waffles are absolutely certifiable. (Pun intended.)

Rusty straightens and leans closer to Ash. I’ll have to pull him aside later and assure him I pose no threat, because the guy may look like the boy next door, but he also looks like he wants to break my thumbs for touching the woman he loves.

The effort to suppress all that would-be boyfriend energy must be killing him.

“The abs are a job hazard. Nothing more,” I tell her. “But when did your hair become the stuff of influencers’ dreams?” I tug on a curl that stops a couple of inches past her shoulders and pull. And keep pulling. “Holy moly, is this real?” Straightened, the hair is almost to her waist.

“I know. It’s crazy. Since I started the Curly Girl method, it’s like a Pantene commercial up in here.”

I laugh. “So how did PJ rope you into this? Don’t you have a job? When do you sleep?”

“Yuck. Sleep is for wolves of Wall Street. And farmers.” She hitches her thumb toward Rusty with a grimace, and Rusty wraps an arm around her neck, pulling her in for a …

A noogie.

Rusty noogies Ash. She squeals and can’t see the torn look on his face, but boy, is it torn. I can’t read tells like Duke, but I’m pretty good at sensing emotions, and I’m willing to bet Rusty here feels like an idiot for that noogie, but a lucky one, because at least she’s in his arms.

If this guy is going to get out of the friend zone, he’s gotta up his game.

“For your information,” Ash says, holding one finger up and pausing for effect. Rusty’s arm is slung around her neck, and she’s resting her hands on his forearm companionably. “I didn’t have to get roped into anything. Parker asked for advice on the flow of activities, and I thought it sounded fun, so I asked if I could help.”

“Ash, come on. This setup has you written all over it.”

The corner of her mouth jumps knowingly. “Sorry to disappoint. This was all Parker.”

It’s exactly what I was hoping to hear, but after seeing her fold herself into the Luciano Ladies club, I don’t know up from down anymore. “So you’re here just out of boredom?”

“Think of it more as moral support.”

“And what does PJ need moral support for, pray tell?” She doesn’t answer, and I can’t read her stony expression. Dang it! “Don’t you have any other work you need to get done?”

---