She couldn’t remember just how bad it had been since she’d fallen into bed after 2:00 a.m. and gotten up before the sun, but if memory served, her entire apartment was a mess. Between testing out Mother’s Day craft ideas and trying to singlehandedly save her grandma’s shop, Harper’s apartment looked as if a lingerie and glitter pi?ata had exploded.
“We tidied up a bit, because what better place to sell sin than in the private sleeping chambers of our very own Hometown Temptress?” Clovis paused as if she’d had an epiphany. “I coined a phrase.”
Peggy clapped delightedly, and before Harper knew what was happening the two fist-bumped like homies, even adding little explosions at the end.
Harper rubbed the headache growing between her eyes. “What are you talking about?”
“Didn’t you know that orange is the new black?” Peggy said, running her hands over the sweater, her voice all atwitter. “And you are the new sexy?”
“In what world?” Harper asked, because the last male she’d made direct eye contact with had freckles and a milk mustache.
“The one where you landed yourself Mr. July,” Peggy said in awe, and Harper realized she had somehow landed herself a fangirl.
“Mr. July?” Oh God, this was the last thing she needed today. She was supposed to be clearing up the rumors, not encouraging them.
“So many have come before, most only getting a few nibbles, but my granddaughter reeled in the Moby Dick of men.” Clovis took a moment to let that settle, then fanned herself. “Although if you want Moby rearing out of the water you might want to consider new sheets. That’s not the kind of kitty he wants to snuggle up with, if you know what I mean.”
Unfortunately, she knew exactly what Clovis meant. An official Panty Raid had been thrown on her Grumpy Cat sheets.
If this was anything close to what Adam had been experiencing the past week, then she needed to put an end to it. Immediately. Then let him off the hook. She might need him for the shoot, but she wasn’t willing to sacrifice his promotion to get a photo.
“Look,” Harper said in her best inside voice, then remembered that Clovis only had one volume. And it was “Can I get a witness?” She took the ladies by the arm and led them to a quieter part of the store. “Adam and I aren’t dating.”
“Labels are so passé,” Clovis said. “I told Giles that we didn’t need to DTR in order to get DND.”
“DTR?”
“Define the relationship,” Peggy said. “And DND means to get down and—”
“Got it.” Harper held up a hand and tried not to picture her grandma and Giles getting DND.
“Harper, order up,” Lexi said from the counter where she was dangling Harper’s box of courage.
“We aren’t DNDing or LH6ing or sexting or any of the other terms you might come up with.” Although they had been KISSing. “Adam and I are just friends. F R N D S.”
“Say what you want,” her grandmother said, “but I know women, and I know lingerie. No woman wears Luscious lace cheekinis for a friend. Especially when that friend ranks a solid fifteen on the man-candy meter.”
Harper didn’t bother to ask how her grandmother knew her lingerie of choice—the woman had a God-given gift. But she also had a mouth the size of the Grand Canyon, so Harper needed to make herself clear. “We. Are. Not. Dating.”
“But Facebook—”
“I lied. Okay?”
Clovis tsked. It was a sound that always managed to make Harper’s throat fill with guilt, even if she hadn’t just confessed to lying.
“Oh, honey, you’re a horrible liar. You always look like you’re going to cry when you fib.” Clovis patted her on the arm, and if she weren’t Harper’s grandmother, Harper would say it was condescending in nature. “Kind of like now. But a word to the wise, even if Facebook is saying you had him at hello”—Clovis looked at Harper for so long she felt her ears heat—“if you want to have him screaming Oh, you might want to be more forthcoming with your cookies.”
There wasn’t much Adam couldn’t handle. From jumping out of planes to charging headfirst into some gnarly situations, he tackled problems balls-out and head-on. The bigger the risk, the bigger the rush, and the greater the thrill.
So then why did he feel as if he was about to pass out just looking at a book of party themes?
“How about this one?” Seth said, pointing to the page with black tablecloths, poker table paraphernalia, and fuzzy dice table decor.
“It’s a family-friendly picnic, not a bachelor party,” Adam said, wondering how, out of everyone he knew, he’d managed to get stuck with the FNG as his party planner.
Right, because the universe was bitch-slapping him for his past indiscretions. So when Seth mentioned he’d planned all the poker nights for his fraternity, Adam drafted him as the decorations committee. A decision he should have made before they’d ordered their second round of beer.
“If this is a picnic, then can’t we just buy some hotdogs, paper plates, and chips? I mean, everyone likes hotdogs and chips.”