Hosed

by Pippa Grant

  “What…” I start.

  “They’re playing dildo-ball,” Ruthie May explains. “It’s like football, but with—”

  “This is an obscene display, Miss Sunderwell,” the sheriff interrupts, rubbing the side of his face.

  “I have nothing to do with that game, honest.” Though I wish I had half their comfort level with handling dildos.

  “I was talking about the vulgar products littering our town,” he snaps. “Things like this should never see the light of day.”

  “Well, that’s going a little far, isn’t it? There’s nothing shameful about these toys. What’s a shame is that we treat something natural and beautiful like it’s a dirty secret,” I reply, completely channeling my sister now. But it feels good. Right.

  “There are laws and rules against dumping pornographic materials. You can’t just—”

  “Whoa, hold up. Are you saying you think I did this?” All those righteous feelings dissolve into a ball of unease.

  He stares me down with that wrinkly-eyed, grandfatherly glare. “We got six news trucks from Atlanta pulling into town. Awful darn good for business to get all this free publicity, isn’t it?”

  “To show our town split and divided?” I point to the line of citizens marching with Stop Corrupting Our Children and Sunshine Must Go signs. “We would never pull a publicity stunt that would hurt anyone, including the town itself.”

  “Sheriff, we all know about your inferiority complex,” Ruthie May interrupts, “but if you don’t want those news vans getting pictures of our square dressed up for Playtime at the Kinky Corral, grab a bag and get to work.”

  “Where were you last night?” the sheriff asks me.

  “At h-home,” I stammer. “Savannah’s house. All night.”

  “Alone?”

  “She wasn’t alone. She was with Ryan O’Dell.” Ruthie May winks at me. “I want details on that later, by the way.”

  “All night?” the sheriff asks.

  “Incoming!” someone yells.

  We all duck, and another dildo whizzes over our heads.

  “Ava Leigh, you play dildo-ball on your own time,” Ruthie May hollers. “Right now, we need to get this square cleaned up.”

  “Sorry, ma’am,” the teenager replies. “Can we keep a couple of these?”

  “Only if you promise not to use them for anything other than dildo-ball. They’re not sanitary. You understand me?”

  “Yes, ma’am.”

  “Those are evidence,” the sheriff growls.

  “You’ve got pictures, sheriff,” Ruthie May snaps. “And by now, those girls’ fingerprints are all over those. Help or get out of the way.”

  “We’ll help,” a soothing, familiar voice says. Tingles race down my spine, and despite everything wrong in the square this morning, when I turn to look at Ryan, I’m smiling.

  He smiles back, and my insides flip upside down. “We’ll take two bags each, Ruthie May.”

  “Two? I’ll do three before you’ve filled one.” Blake grins at me. It takes me a minute to recognize him with the long hair, but he has the O’Dell build and smile. “Hey, Cassie. Great to see you again. Hear you’re keeping this old guy in line.”

  “Mostly just his raccoon,” I reply.

  Ryan and Blake both laugh. Jace cracks a half-smile that doesn’t reach his eyes.

  Ruthie May smiles broadly, and I have no doubt the whole town will soon be debating how many children Ryan and I will have by the time I’m thirty.

  “Miss Sunderwell,” the sheriff starts again.

  I shake open my trash bag. “Excuse me, sheriff. I have community service to do.”

  Ryan, Blake, and Jace follow me toward the end of the square near Maud and Gerald’s donut shop and bakery along Main Street. They each have a trash bag in hand and another in a back pocket. The volunteers have made a lot of progress, but there’s still so much to do, and no one’s tackled this corner yet.

  And as promised, Ryan’s brought gloves.

  I’ve never wanted to kiss a man over rubber gloves before, but I definitely want to kiss him now.

  “What’s with the sheriff?” he asks.

  Gloves on, I bend to grab a dildo by the base with two fingers and drop it in my trash bag. “Not enough fiber in his diet?”

  Blake laughs. Jace cracks another half-grin.

  “If he’s giving you trouble—” Ryan starts.

  I grab a packet of lube, and my cheeks are on fire, but I reach for a butt plug too. “He’s just doing his job.”

  “He should be asking to see Maud’s webcam footage,” Jace says, pointing to the bakery with a dildo he’s just grabbed.

  He looks down at what he’s pointing with, sighs, and stuffs it in his trash bag.

  Ryan glances back at the sheriff, then hands his bag over to Blake. “You wanted to fill three of these. Here you go.”

  “Ah, taking the lazy way out,” Blake says with a grin.

  “Helping build your character,” Ryan replies.

  A familiar laugh rings from across the park. Olivia’s under the shelter in the center of the square, playing tug-of-war with George and a string of anal beads.

  “Your raccoon’s quite the ladies’ man,” Blake says. “Maybe you can take him on your next date.”

  Ryan and I share a glance. He grimaces, and I giggle. George was not a ladies’ man last night.

  “C’mon, Cassie. Let’s go see Maud.” He takes my garbage bag and holds it out to Jace, who’s staring at Olivia with his jaw ticking. Blake notices and grabs my bag too.

  “Lazy, both of you,” he teases. He elbows Jace. “Earth to loverboy.”

  Jace jerks away. “I’m going to get a ladder,” he mutters.

  “I get it. Abandon the youngest. That’s always how it is.” If Blake’s really put out, his amused grin doesn’t show it.

  “You’re not the youngest,” Ryan reminds him.

  “I’m the youngest in the country at the moment. Go on, go talk to Maud while I do all the hard work.”

  He winks at me, and the playful banter between the two brothers makes me want to hug Savannah so badly I can hardly breathe.

  I miss my sister.

  “You okay?” Ryan slips an arm around my shoulders, and the pain in my lungs eases.

  I nod. “Let’s go see Maud. I’m not letting Savannah come home to a mess.”

  He hooks his hand through mine as we step over butt plugs and feather ticklers and head to the street, and an electric current shoots up my arm.

  He still likes me, despite the toilet trouble.

  I squeeze his hand. “Thank you.”

  “For rescuing you from the dildos?” he replies with a teasing grin.

  “Ugh, that too.”

  “They really bother you.”

  I step over an extra-large model that looks like it could cause some damage. “I’ve just never been as comfortable with talking about sex as Savannah is. I’m missing that gene, I guess. Or maybe I was old enough to understand what my parents really meant when they told us to stay away from certain people while we were on set for her show. Or maybe it’s just that everything was so public when I was little, that I like privacy in everything now.”

  “Ah, privacy. That anonymity you love in San Francisco.”

  I sway into him while we step off the curb to cross the street, and the brush of our arms makes me tingle more. “Yeah. But being anonymous in a big city hasn’t brought me out of my shell. I should be grateful to whoever tossed these dildos. Maybe I’ll touch enough of them today to get over blushing every time I look at one.”

  He grins down at me. “I like your blush. In fact, I’d like to watch your whole body blush.”

  I bite my lip. “I’d like to enjoy my body and not worry if it’s blushing or not.”

  “God, Cassie, now I’m getting a little uncomfortable.”

  “What? I’m sorry—oh.”

  He makes a subtle adjustment to his pants. “Don’t be sorry. I like the thought of you en
joying yourself. I just like the thought of you enjoying yourself with me even more.”

  “Me too,” I say, blushing again, though by this point I don’t care.

  He likes me. He really likes me and is attracted to me and maybe it’s time to trust that I can handle a sexual relationship with another adult.

  Maybe it’s time to trust that I’m not a natural screw-up. That I am beautiful and special and worthy, and that I deserve happiness and pleasure.

  We walk into the bakery, and my mouth waters at the scent of donuts and cinnamon rolls. Gerald looks up from behind the glass counter and gives me a squirrely eyeball. “Look who the raccoon dragged in,” he grumbles.

  “Morning, Gerald,” Ryan says easily. “Y’all still have cinnamon rolls?”

  “And donuts?” I add hopefully.

  “All out,” he says.

  “Gerald! We are not.” Maud hustles out of the kitchen, glances at my and Ryan’s joined hands, and her face crinkles in a huge smile. “Coffee and treats on the house, just to apologize for someone being rude. Sit, sit, you two. How was your bike ride yesterday? Cassie, did you really flip upside down on the zipline? It happens, honey. And I’m sure Ryan was there to catch you.”

  She’s piling a plate with cinnamon rolls and muffins and donuts while she talks, and we both know the price of breakfast is some good, juicy gossip. “We have to get back to the park,” I tell Maud, “but we were wondering if we could see your webcam footage from last night?”

  “Of course you can.” She plops a second plate on the counter and turns to grab two coffee mugs. “Gerald, go get the computer.”

  “Ain’t got anything on it,” he grumbles.

  “We don’t know until we check, now, do we?”

  Sixteen

  Ryan

  * * *

  Forty minutes later, we’re back in the park with no more information than we started with, because Maud and Gerald’s webcam didn’t record anything last night but the scrap of black fabric someone tossed over the lens. Whoever did this knew the town well enough to know where the security cameras are.

  I figured it was a local, but the confirmation of the fact still leaves a bad taste in my mouth. I’ve come to expect better from the citizens of Happy Cat. We gossip and take sides, but most of us have respect for the town and personal property.

  News crews are set up all over the park, interviewing protesters and volunteers alike while the teens huddle behind the playground. Jace is pulling sex toy ornaments off the trees, and Blake is the proud owner of three full trash bags.

  “You want to take these home?” he asks me. “Make art out of them?”

  “Art?” Cassie says.

  “You can’t weld silicone,” I tell my brother.

  “Lots of handcuffs in here,” he replies with a grin.

  “Savannah doesn’t sell handcuffs,” Cassie says. “Long story involving an anti-nuke protest when she was twelve.”

  “So these aren’t all Sunshine Toys?” Interesting.

  “Some of the dildos definitely aren’t, and I think the butt plugs are cheap knock-offs,” Olivia announces. She points to Blake’s bags. “May I please have those? I’m sorting the evidence.”

  “Uh, yeah.” Blake’s brows are up toward his hairline, which is understandable. I don’t know if any of us saw Detective Olivia coming, but he recovers quickly. “Where do you want them?”

  She smiles. “Over in the picnic shelter, please.”

  “You got it.”

  He hustles across the park, stopping along the way to grab more litter.

  “Olivia, that’s a great idea,” Cassie says. “Thank you.”

  “Ruthie May suggested it.” Olivia touches my arm. “And, Ryan, I’ve been meaning to talk to you. When is George Cooney’s birthday?”

  “Ah…sometime in April?”

  “Oh, no. I was afraid of that.”

  Cassie presses her lips together and grabs a bag, abandoning me to pick up lube packets and errant cock rings, which is oddly arousing.

  But then just about everything about Cassie is arousing.

  I blink back at Olivia. “April is a bad month for raccoons?”

  “I was reading his star chart. Now’s a critical time for George to find a mate. If you haven’t found a mating in captivity group yet, you need to, like yesterday.”

  “Oh. Ah, I see. Thank you.”

  She nods. “You’re welcome.”

  She floats off to gather more bags of trash, and I catch up to Cassie. Her pigtails are touching the ground as she bends over to snag a trio of feather ticklers while a parade of protesters march by twenty feet away.

  “No More Sunshine! No More Sunshine!”

  “That would be really funny if it wasn’t my sister they were talking about,” Cassie tells me. “Here. You can put your dildo in my bag.”

  I drop the litter in, and we both reach for a string of anal beads on the ground.

  She snorts a soft laugh. “It’s like Lady and the Tramp, the X-rated version.”

  “By all means, they’re yours.”

  We’re both laughing when the sheriff ambles back over, sluggish but determined. “Miss Sunderwell, we didn’t finish our conversation.”

  He’s holding handcuffs.

  Seven pairs, to be exact. Four fuzzy pink, two fuzzy black, and one fuzzy leopard print.

  “Hold on just a minute,” I growl.

  The sheriff shoves all seven pairs into a trash bag and ignores me. “Miss Sunderwell, I need you to come with me.”

  “Why?” I demand.

  “I didn’t do this,” she tells the sheriff.

  “Then you won’t have any issue coming on down to the station to answer a few questions.”

  I step between them. “You can ask her questions right here.”

  “It’s fine, Ryan.” She puts a hand on my arm, and my skin crackles with suppressed energy. I want to toss her over my shoulder, carry her to my truck, and take her away from all of this. “It’s easier to talk away from all the gossip anyway.”

  “I’ll come with you.”

  “No, you stay and finish cleaning up,” she says. “It’s okay. I’ll be fine. And if I can help figure out who did this, all the better.”

  “Cassie—”

  She goes up on tiptoe and kisses my cheek. “He’s not a dildo. I can handle him.”

  And now I’m lightheaded.

  She pulls away, fluttering her fingers. “Thank you. For everything.”

  Blake steps up next to me, grinning, while Cassie turns and walks away with the sheriff.

  “Somebody’s got it bad,” he says.

  Yeah. I do.

  But she’s not in Happy Cat to stay, and with a baby on the way, Jace is going to need me here at home more than ever. There’s no future in Cassie and me.

  But that won’t stop me. I know that the way I know the summer sun is hot and that George won’t make it out of downtown without adding another strand of anal beads to his collection.

  I’m back on another twenty-four-hour shift Monday at the firehouse. I haven’t seen Cassie since she left me in the park yesterday morning, and I’m trying to ignore the itching in my skin from wanting to confirm with my own two eyes that she’s doing okay.

  “Heard you and Cassie are a thing,” Jojo says while we’re washing the fire truck in the early morning. “And she’s still planning on going back to San Francisco.”

  I make a noncommittal noise, because this is the part of small-town living I hate the most. I don’t know what Cassie and I are—friends, yes. Attracted, yes. Beyond that? I have no idea.

  But everyone’s already deciding for us, and already finding the fly in our relationship ointment.

  “She really get grilled by the sheriff for eight hours yesterday?”

  “No.” I’m not the biggest fan of Sheriff Briggs but I’m not going to lie about him. She texted me three hours after she left the park to let me know she had to do inventory at Sunshine Toys to make sure nothing involved
in yesterday’s defacing of downtown had come directly from the warehouse.

  She refused my offer of help, so instead, I spent the afternoon coaxing George home and welding art.

  Without dildos or handcuffs. I work in large reclaimed scrap from the junkyard and not much else.

  Jojo’s staring at me. “You two break up already?”

  “What? No. We’re not—she’s my neighbor. We hang out. Touch her and die.”

  He grins. “Noted.” He swipes the red truck with a rag, pausing to rub at a spot. “Did your neighbor spend the night in the slammer? I would’ve volunteered for jail if I knew I was going home to those protestors.”

  I grunt. “You ever wonder why so many people are opposed to the factory?”

  “Sex is sacred,” he says with a shrug.

  “Is it? Because who’s sleeping with who is a big topic around here.”

  Jojo frowns thoughtfully. “Would it be in bad taste to ask if you need to get laid?”

  I toss a wet sponge at him. He ducks it, snickering. We both straighten when Jessie steps out of the firehouse and onto the concrete pad with us.

  “You missed a spot,” she says dryly.

  Jojo tackles the smudge while she circles the engine. When she reaches me again, she’s frowning. “Heard you’re seeing Cassie Sunderwell.”

  “Gotta take a bio break, Chief,” Jojo calls.

  Chickenshit.

  “We’re friends,” I tell the chief.

  “She talk to you about the factory?”

  That itch I get when one of my brothers is in trouble takes root in my spine. “Mostly about how holding down the fort here is different than programming computer games in San Francisco.”

  “Report came back on that lube fire.”

  “And?”

  “Doesn’t look good. There was some sabotage on bottle labels that looked pretty intentional.” She leans in and touches the C in Happy Cat on the side of the truck. “Heard Savannah wants to sell the factory.”

  “She’s gone through some big life changes,” I hedge. “Cassie says she’ll be back.”