The Grass Is Greener [McQueen Was My Valley 3] (Siren Publishing Ménage Everlasting)

by Karen Mercury

  Was he inviting her, or making sure she’d be around in case one of them fell upon a sharp object? “I’ll be getting ready for my sister’s wedding. So yes, I’ll be around. Can you tell me, Sam? What attracts grown men to a cartoon meant for little girls? I’m curious from a clinical standpoint.”

  “What do you mean, cartoon?”

  Sasha frowned. “Isn’t My Little Pony a cartoon for little girls? I must be mistaken.”

  “Oh, yeah, yeah, it is,” said Sam, more uncertainly now. “It’s the bright colors we like, the innocence, you know? Brings us back to a more innocent time of our lives, before we all became completely messed up by our parents. My Little Pony breeds friendship and happiness. Friendship is magic! That’s the Brony motto!”

  Sasha managed to get rid of the creepy guy who really didn’t seem to know that much about the Brony lifestyle—or Elton John, for that matter. It occurred to her that she’d seen an Elton John CD, actually, in her own living room. It had appeared right after arriving in the suite days before when she had rifled through her enormous travelling purse to find some lipstick or other. She had no idea how it had gotten in her purse, and now she dialed Brooke. She walked and talked, locking Cass’s office behind her.

  “Brooke. Do you like Elton John? I saw a CD in my suite, thought I could add a track to the playlist.”

  “Sure, Elton is all right. We could maybe use one of his dance numbers for the reception. Which album is it?”

  “You know, I’m not sure. I’m heading to my suite right now so I’ll check.”

  “Sasha! I heard you broke up with that delicious Rowan O’Shea. Why, in God’s name? He’s the best thing that ever happened to you! Take it from me, Sasha—these mercenaries are more than they’re cracked up to be. Tough on the outside, soft on the inside. Adrian tells me that Rowan is interested in retiring from The Circuit, too. Why’d you have to send him packing?”

  Sasha sighed deeply. “I got scared, Brooke. The last time I let anyone get close to me, look what wound up happening. You know, I keep remembering incidents from my marriage, things that didn’t occur to me at the time, and are only now occurring to me. Just yesterday I remembered a time Colin came home at four in the morning and immediately raced right into the shower. He even went and did a load of laundry, washing what he’d been wearing.”

  “Yeah, yeah, yeah,” Brooke said impatiently, “but it does no good to dwell in the past if you’re not going to learn from it and move forward, right? Is there any way you think Rowan would take you back? I know that’s what you want. Screw that underwater convention! Go find Rowan, ask if he’ll reconsider, figure something out! You can stay in our new house while we’re all on honeymoon in Italy for two weeks. Believe you me, I’ve got a king-size bed.”

  Sasha sighed again as she opened the door to her room. “I don’t know, Brooke. I fear I may have blown it with Rowan. He’s got an awfully manly pride, as you’re probably familiar with.”

  “Yes,” Brooke admitted, “but love conquers all. He might make you grovel, but he’ll cave in when you profess your love.”

  Sasha rolled her eyes. “Which soap operas have you been watching?” she grumbled.

  But she knew her sister was right.

  Chapter Fifteen

  “Yeah? And you scared her away with your childish pranks, like fire play and general stupidity!”

  Perry pointed at himself. “I scared her away? You’re the brutal thug who just wants to dominate her! She broke up with you, not me!”

  Weren’t people supposed to languish in a mellow mood after having an orgasm? Rowan had just allowed Perry to mount him again. The sweet waves of sheer ecstasy still buzzed in Perry’s limbs now from the monumental orgasm he’d had inside of his friend. It was even sexier, in a different way, to have Rowan stand and lean on the back of the couch and offer his delectable ass up to Perry for the taking. In a mirror Perry had conveniently situated across the living room, he could watch himself fuck Rowan. His fist was wrapped around Rowan’s jutting, fat cock, and without a shirt Perry was able to admire his chest and diddle with his nipples.

  It was a world of difference, fucking another man. The smacking of their flesh, the heft of the penis in his grip, the musky scent of Rowan’s broad, muscled shoulders—it was apples and oranges to compare the two. And Perry didn’t jack his friend to completion. No, when he had satisfied himself and his prick had drained fully, Perry had dropped to his knees, flipped Rowan around so he sat on the couch’s back, and sucked him to orgasm.

  It was a whole different world, being with another man. But without Sasha, the balance was off. The two men could rut and grunt till the cows came home and gain physical satisfaction, but there was something about the womanly presence that created a fine balance. So now that they had both satisfied themselves, like men, they fought. Perry tried to convince Rowan to approach Sasha again, because he hadn’t made it clear to Sasha how deeply in love with her he was.

  Rowan, of course, was against it. He’d had enough insults, and didn’t need to set himself up for any more abuse. Furthermore, he somehow miraculously knew that Sasha would only allow herself to marry millionaires from England, even if she didn’t love them.

  “So you’re admitting that she loves you?” Perry yelled.

  “How can I admit something that isn’t true?” Rowan yelled back.

  “I’ve seen it, dude! I’ve seen it in her eyes, in her face! She absolutely worships the ground you walk on, and I can say that I see her point of view.”

  Instead of yelling back, Rowan paused, his eyes narrowing at Perry. “What are you trying to say,” he said in a low, murderous tone.

  Perry shrugged. He was accustomed to being the fool, and it took a lot to make him feel foolish anymore. “I’m in love with you, too. So I know how she feels. You’re just a blind douche bag if you can’t see it.”

  Rowan continued to analyze Perry for another few seconds. Then he leaped right back into action. “If she loved me, she wouldn’t have dumped me, buddy. That’s all there is to it.”

  “All right, that’s it! I’m not going to sit around listening to you grouse. I’m going to find Sasha.”

  Rowan, of course, tried to prevent him, but Perry got out the cabin’s door while tossing back over his shoulder, “Take Fubar for a walk. I’ve got to take him on a sniffing tour of the building in an hour.”

  “I can do that,” said Rowan, swiping at the leash on the table while the excited dog danced around him. “I’ve dealt with detection dogs before.”

  Perry had to admit, Fubar had gone to extreme lengths to protect Rowan from that gigantic Garfield, so they had bonded. He told Rowan to take Fubar around the north wing of the lodge.

  That’s how Perry had come to the main lodge, and Sasha had answered the door to her suite. His heart actually leaped when he saw her, as though his entire chemistry had changed just by being near her again. He was in love with Sasha, too, he knew, and would have to find a way to reunite his two lovers. She was seemingly distracted by an Elton John CD she kept fanning herself with, but she set it aside when Perry took her by the arms and said, “Rowan is a mess without you. Why did you push him away?”

  Sighing, she removed his hands in order to bend her knees and look into the CD player’s display window. “Error,” she breathed. She punched a few buttons in the fruitless manner of people who receive an error message. Straightening up again, she addressed Perry freshly. “I know, I know, Perry. It was a stupid move for me to make. I panicked, Perry. The intensity of the emotion, when we were in the desert, it all just snowballed, and I panicked. I suddenly realized, how can I keep seeing this man who I love so deeply already, when I know we only have a few more days together? Isn’t that the nature of vacations and flings? I’m just not cut out for a vacation fling, I’m afraid. Already I’m in it too deeply. And you, as well! How can I continue our play when I’ll never see you again? What’s the point?”

  “The point is you will see us again—that is, if you wan
t.”

  Sasha put her hands on her hips. “How? I just don’t see how, Perry. I work in Charleston, Rowan works in DC—”

  Perry shook her again. “Rowan’s not tied to DC. He’s sick of his job, and look. Your two sisters’ husbands did it, why shouldn’t Rowan? He said that he told you he lives practically in a warehouse and it sounds completely depressing. He wants more happiness in his life, more light, more joy. More life. Sasha, he doesn’t even own a goldfish and it’s getting to him. You didn’t have to put up with his whining and rampages the past twelve hours. He’s a basket case. Talk to him. Figure something out.”

  A slow smile spread over her face. “All right,” she said slowly. “I will.”

  Perry couldn’t resist gathering her into his arms, tucking her face against his clavicle, squeezing her. She was so delicate and petite. She sent buckets of manly testosterone rushing through his veins. He kissed the top of her head. “I’m so glad.”

  She pulled away, but her smile quickly faded as she gripped his arms. “Perry, I think I may have seen El Zeub.”

  Perry gasped. “The Dickhead? Why didn’t you tell me that first? Never mind—where? Where did you see him?”

  “He came to my medical office—Cass Cameron’s office, complaining of a puncture wound. Perry, he was dressed as a goddamned Little Pony, of course I didn’t recognize him from the picture Rowan showed us! His face was painted pink with little blue hearts all over it, and he was wearing a horse’s pink mane!”

  “All right, calm down, no one’s blaming you. Puncture wound? Could it have been a bullet wound from Rowan shooting at his ass last night?”

  “Yes, entirely. At the time I thought so, but I put it out of my mind because he looked like a harmless pink horse. Why would anyone shoot a pink horse, right? Now it strikes me that he bought the costume from someone, and isn’t even really a Brony.”

  “A what?”

  “Never mind. I don’t think he’s onto me that I’m onto him, so don’t you think the next step should be to find the pink frigging horse? All the booths are set up in the ballroom, but I don’t know when the festivities are supposed to start. I don’t think you or Rowan should go, though, because he knows to hide from you. I should go. He obviously likes me, in some weird creepy way.”

  Perry rolled his eyes. “I think we’d have another murder if I allowed that, because Rowan would shoot me.” The cell phone on his duty belt buzzed.

  Sasha said, “Get it. Who is it? Could be important.”

  Perry didn’t recognize the number. “This is Officer Donovan.”

  “Officer, it’s Red Bullard.” He must have been in the convention hall because Red had to shout to be heard over the hubbub. “I just saw someone wearing half a Garfield-type fursuit—whole body minus the head.”

  Perry was temporarily confused, because he thought he was looking for a pink horse. “Where?”

  “If you hurry you can catch him in the ballroom. I don’t think he’s going anywhere soon because he’s on the bottom of a furpile. Find me next to the big sign for Artist Alley, by the display of leather harnesses.”

  Punching the END button, Perry told Sasha, “Stay here. Don’t fucking move. Call Rowan to come here if you want, but do not leave this suite. That was Red Bullard. Said he found half the Garfield costume.”

  “All right. I’ll call Rowan. Call me the second you find out anything.”

  Having no idea what a furpile was, Perry proceeded directly to the leather harness booth. He had to push past dozens of furry fans who clogged the aisles, booths selling fluffy tails and gloves, and of course tons of comics. Since he was the only person in the ballroom dressed normally, it was probably easier for Red to find him, and Red did. The little leopard jumped up and down, waving.

  “What’s a furpile, Red?”

  Red took Perry by the sleeve and led him away from the harnesses. “A furpile happens spontaneously. We’re just trying to get comfortable, or people get too frisky, and a pileup occurs.”

  “Are people yiffing?”

  “Not usually.”

  Perry didn’t feel too comfortable with that “not usually” assurance. “Have you seen anyone dressed like a pink Little Pony?”

  Red probably laughed—it was hard to tell from lack of expression on the giant leopard head. “Uh, about a dozen?”

  “A male.”

  “Eleven, then. Here’s the furpile, and there, see under that fox dressed as a ballerina?”

  There was no mistaking that orange cat’s arm. The fake fur was even still dusty with red sandstone from its nefarious vacation in the high desert. Perry whipped his expandable baton to its full extension and prodded in the vicinity of Garfield’s shoulder. He had to shout to be heard. “Garfield! Or whatever your name is. Out of that pile!”

  The cat’s voice came from under the ballerina’s tutu. “What? Who is that?”

  Red yelled, “This is Officer Donovan of the Department of Wildlife Resources, and he’s not kidding around. He arrested me for yiffing.”

  At least half of the people in the furpile stopped their squirming, jumping, and hugging and looked at Perry. This enabled the orange cat to slither out from under the weight of fluffy limbs, and Perry took his hand to haul him to his feet. This was undoubtedly not El Zeub, who was a thin, pizza-faced, blond kid. This guy was lacking the enormous head Rowan had found, so he’d tried to make up for it with face paint. Someone had painted his chubby cheeks orange and his brunet hair had been spray painted.

  Perry asked him bluntly, “Where’d you get the Garfield costume?”

  “Some dude sold it to me—I swear! Do you know how expensive these fursuits are?”

  Perry sighed and rolled his eyes. “Not really.”

  Garfield protested, “I nabbed this entire body for two hundred dollars! It’s quality, too. Look at this shag pile!”

  “That’s nice. Who sold it to you, and when?”

  “Last night, maybe around eleven, in the lounge where everyone was partying. I didn’t ask the guy’s name but he said he was tired of it. Hey, it should’ve been even cheaper because of this damned hole in the hip.”

  “Can you remember anything else about the guy? Did he say where he was staying, what his interests were, anything?”

  The big cat thought. “He said he wanted to buy a pink pony costume, but he didn’t seem to know much about Bronies, because when I said he wanted Pinkie Pie’s costume, he didn’t know who Pinkie Pie was.”

  “God forbid,” said Perry.

  The big cat had nothing else that might be helpful. Then there was a commotion because someone was leading a real, live dog down the ballroom floor. Comments rose around Perry.

  “He must be a cop.”

  “He’s wearing a shoulder holster.”

  “Damn, he’s fine.”

  “Smoking man candy.”

  Of course it was Rowan leading Fubar, and the poor dog seemed confused by all of the fake animals. Fubar would stop every few feet to look at and sniff a new critter, and he seemed very unsure of himself. Rowan had to pull Perry behind a booth selling paws in order to speak privately, but it was difficult with so many people petting the dog with their giant hands and turning their lustful giant plastic eyes on Rowan.

  “Fubar just found an IED with a timer in a janitor’s closet off the other smaller ballroom. I disabled it by unwiring the detonator—it looks like it was supposed to be triggered by a cell phone—but I had to call the bomb squad anyway. Have you dealt with them? How long does it take them to mobilize?”

  “I had to call them once. Some pro-gun guy was chanting racist slogans and threatening that he had a bomb, but it turned out it was only a Frisbee. Still, I had to call them. Took them about two hours. You fucking disabled that wearing only a fucking T-shirt and your holster?”

  “A Kevlar vest wouldn’t have helped me much, now, would it? It’s packed with fishing weights covered in rat poison and that’s El Zeub’s signature. If it’s activated by cell, he could have set i
t off at any second, especially if he saw me sniffing around there. I assured Cass Cameron it was disabled but I think she’s still insisting on evacuating, so let’s get the fuck out of here. I don’t want to be trampled by a herd of fluorescent green foxes.”

  They were threading their way back toward the exit sign when Sasha’s little head popped between the fluffy shoulders of two conventioneers. “Perry!” she cried, but it was Rowan she clutched by the shirtfront. Perry had no idea if they’d ironed out their differences—doubtful, in the short amount of time since he’d left Sasha’s suite—but they were clearly back on the same track now. “I just got a phone call from El Zeub!”

  Rowan looked confused, so Perry knew he wasn’t privy to The Dickhead’s office visit to Sasha. Perry cut to the chase by asking, “What did he want?”

  “He’s somewhere out in the desert, claiming to be injured again. He says he thinks he broke his leg rock-climbing with some Bronies, and he wants me to come out and look at it.”

  “No fucking way,” said Rowan, herding his friends toward the ballroom exit. “Perry and I will go.”

  “But he didn’t give me very good directions,” Sasha protested. “All he said was ‘call me when you reach the turnoff for Horse Collar Canyon.”

  “I know where that is,” said Perry. “It’s nearly to the border of the res. Listen Rowan, she makes sense. If we can get Sasha to return his calls, we can pinpoint his location much more accurately.”

  “Yes,” Sasha agreed. “At least take me with you. He can’t do much to me if I just don’t get out of the car.”

  “Famous last words,” said Rowan, but he seemed to be relenting. He continued shuffling his friends toward the front lobby doors as Cass Cameron’s voice came over the PA system. Perry glimpsed her in her office, holding down the button as she spoke.

  “Due to an emergency drill, will everyone please calmly vacate the ballroom. Do not use elevators. Please proceed to the parking lot next to the circular driveway—”