Hosed (Happy Cat #1)(24)

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Savannah: No! Oh, Cassie, just no. No kissing. PLEASE DO NOT KISS RYAN AGAIN.





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Cassie: Why? OMG. He has a girlfriend, doesn’t he? And I’m the last one to know. Of course. Or—OMG, does he secretly like sheep too?





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Savannah: Cassie. He’s a MAN. With a PENIS. angry profanity emoji eggplant emoji knife emoji





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Cassie: Well, yes. I noticed. I REALLY noticed, believe me. But does he have a girlfriend? Or some creepy, top-secret fetish I should know about?





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Savannah: Penises – peni? – are BAD.





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Cassie: So no girlfriend? Or sheep friend? Other farm animal friend? Please tell me that he and George are just pals. PLEASE. Or I won’t be able to sleep tonight.





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Savannah: Ryan O’Dell is a normal, healthy, kind, smart, caring, responsible person who had the unfortunate luck to have been born a male of the species, a condition for which there is currently no cure. So please, dearest sister, PLEASE get thee to a dildo. Dildos can’t hurt you. I mean, maybe if you forget the lube and aren’t in the mood, they might, but they’re not going to savage your soul with their betrayal. The dildos still want to help. And they won’t get jealous if you throw a vibrator into the mix. Which, by the way, I also have a stash of unopened vibrators in the bottom drawer in the vanity. Help yourself to those too.





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Cassie: So to clarify, your objection is ONLY that he’s a man, and not that you have evidence that he’s a BAD man?





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Savannah: If you HAD to choose a man, you couldn’t choose a better one. However, you DON’T have to choose a man. You can choose to embrace the power to provide your own happiness, satisfaction, and orgasms. You have to love yourself first and most, Cassie. If you love someone else first or most, you’ll lose yourself. And then you’ll find yourself twenty pounds later after a torrid love affair with English tea and scones and wonder if you’ll ever fit back into a size eight. But you can love yourself WITHOUT ever having to go through all that pain, suffering, and scone-induced hip-spreading.





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Cassie: I’m not asking him to marry me, Van. He’s a wild stallion. I’m a sea cow who’s blind in one eye. I’m just considering letting him kiss me again because I actually liked it. I’m smart enough not to let emotions get involved.





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Savannah: Oh, pumpkin pie. YOU ARE THE STALLION. He’s barely a sea cucumber. And at least promise me he’s putting his fair share of effort into the kissing. Kissing is nice. And so far, there’s no artificial substitute. frowny face emoji





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Cassie: You could work on that if you came home. Sunshine Toys could develop a lip dildo that simulates kissing. OMG, I just typed that.





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Savannah: You should come here, instead. There’s no reason to keep trying to salvage Sunshine Toys when you could be here with me in Europe where the people are wonderful and the food is full of delicious butter and the roundabouts are so adorable and efficient.





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Cassie: The roundabouts? Savannah. You’re praising ROUNDABOUTS. What’s going on? Are you okay?





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Savannah: Olivia should come too. We could buy an old English estate and turn it into a haven for women who have been done wrong in the game of love. We’ll serve tea all hours of the day and teach women that their sexual satisfaction is important, and that their emotional and spiritual well-being is paramount.





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Cassie: I don’t have the training for any of that. And you don’t have to start over in England! You have half of everything you’re talking about right here, in Happy Cat! Sunshine Toys is just the start. When you get back, you can add extra staff for website expansion with a blog and life enrichment courses. Also, the deserted Mason plantation near the county line would be perfect for retreats. You could renovate it and bring English tea time to Georgia! The driveway is so long, you could even have a roundabout.





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Savannah: You are such a sweet, sweet optimist, dear Cassie.





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Cassie: I learned it from you, Savannah. I miss you. Olivia misses you. Ruthie May misses you. The Happy Cat Gazette misses you. Olivia’s been writing your weekly column, but the last one was a sex position chart based on astrological sign that was four thousand words too long. The editor chucked it and ran a column on making homemade donuts instead, and now everyone’s arguing over yeast versus cake instead of getting in touch with their sexuality.





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Savannah: No one wants my advice right now.