Page 18 of Sunshine's Grump

“It could have been. Alpha jizz isdangerous. Remember what we promised each other?”

“That we’d never partake in high-fructose porn syrup without protection, I know.”

“That’s right. Now you will promise not to let his baby batter near your muffin maker again. If you come home pregnant, and you haven’t even gotten to feel what a wine bottle dick could do to your poor little ladybits—”

“Rain, stop. I can’t think about it.” I’d just put on new swimsuit bottoms, ones Rain had left at my house the year before. I stood and pulled them out of my butt crack. I had no business wearing my teeny-tiny bestie’s bikini.

She snorted. “Was it really that big? Are we talking a sauvignon blanc? Or, like, a limoncello bottle… Please tell me not an Italian chianti.”

We both laughed hysterically for a long moment.

“Okay, Rainy, real talk. You know that bottle of Campari you got me for my birthday?”

“Of course.”

“Mmhm. Every bit as wide, and almost as long, so not actually wine-bottle-sized. But so thick. I don’t know.” I shivered. “I guess with a peen, there’s some give…”

“Holy shit, girl. There’s not enough give in the world. There may not be enoughlubein the world. If you could swim, I’d tell you to jump overboard. Your poor vagina needs to get to safety.”

“It’s not going in my vagina, apparently, since he’s my boss,” I muttered, yanking a brush through my hair with so much force, it pulled a few hairs out.

Pulling my hair.Oh, fuck.

I remembered those thick fingers tangled in my hair, tugging my neck back, his teeth on me… “God bless America!” I shouted. “I’m going to have to change my dang swimsuit again!” I pulled the red bikini bottoms off and flung them onto my messy bed, purposefully not looking at the mounded-up sheets that were starting to form a very obvious nest shape.Against Giovanni’s final command, I’d wiped myself down last night with washcloths… but I hadn’t put them into the laundry. No, I’d slept with one of them shoved right against my face all night, and another one in between my legs, like some kind of desperate omega.

Okay, that was precisely what I was. I shoved a wad of toilet paper into my crotch while I scrambled naked around on the closet floor to find my gold and silver sandals.Rain was laughing so hard she sounded like a hyena, and I told her so.

“Stop thinking about your Abominable Cock Monster, you thirsty ray of sunshine, and tell me about the job.”

“The job kicks butt.” I told her all about Sylvia as I pulled on my second outfit of the day, an even-smaller gold bikini bottom with a mismatched daisy-printed top, and a white sundress that had fit me back in eighth grade. It worked as a cover-up, though.

“Oh my gosh, she sounds like a mini-me,” Rain said when I was done. “What are your plans for today?”

“Well, I’m staying away from wine bottles of all kinds,” I declared, checking my lip gloss in the mirror and hiking my sundress over my boobs. I asked Rain about her gig, but she just mumbled something about chickens coming home to roost, rushed out a goodbye, and hung up.Hmm.There was something going on with her.

A soft knock at my door kept me from calling her back and forcing her to tell me. I’d locked the door after Gio had left, and hung the discreet Do Not Disturb sign on the handle, so I knew who it must be. “Hey, Sylvia.”

She had on the black outfit from the day before, along with a shy half-smile. “Good morning, Miss—”

I stopped her with one hand. “No. I can’t be anything but Soleil today. At least not until after coffee. Are you Sylvia or Ennui?”

Her eyes sparkled even as she flattened her smile. “Definitely Ennui.”

“How did the dress go?”

“They loved it.” Her nose wrinkled. “Can I keep it?”

“What use would it do me?” I asked as we entered the hall. “It’s been custom altered for you.” Her smile grew, and she practically skipped ahead to open the next door. “What lies ahead of us today, Ennui?”

A real frown creased her small brow. “Breakfast, swimming, group activities, and then dinner. Same boring thing every day, until we get to Uncle G’s island, and then the wedding.” She said the last two words with a tone most people saved for talking about serial killers or tax audits.

I replied using the same tone. “Breakfast?”

She peeked back at me. I sighed heavily and rolled my eyes, dragging my feet on the shiny teak so hard my sandals squeaked. “It’s so tedious, isn’t it? Having to go to a mundane breakfast, as if muffins can feed the existential hunger in our souls.”

“Precisely,” she agreed, making a terrible expression between amusement and disgust. “How can toast address the spiritual starvation these people inflict on me every day?”

My stomach growled audibly, and we both smiled. “You know, cheesy scrambled eggs can sometimes fill both physical and metaphysical voids,” I suggested. “Or so I’ve read.”

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