Hosed (Happy Cat #1)(25)

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Cassie: I do! I want your advice.





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Savannah: No. I can’t endorse healthy sexual relationships because I don’t know what they look like. I’m a fraud. And it’s high time I figure out what else I can do with my life.





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Cassie: Getting hurt because you loved someone does not make you a fraud. It makes you human and real and even wiser than you were before. The women of the world need you, Savannah. And everyone in Happy Cat misses you and supports you.





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Savannah: Not Gerald and all those people who think I’m lying about Steve’s torrid love affair with a sheep.





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Cassie: Gerald misses you too! He told me so just yesterday.





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Savannah: He misses me buying cinnamon rolls for staff meetings every Monday morning. By the way, you should buy cinnamon rolls for the staff meeting Monday morning.





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Cassie: The staff miss you too. And forget those people who don’t believe you. They’d take sides with a toaster just to be obstinate.





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Savannah: I can’t come home, Cassie. Not yet. I’m meant to be here. I can feel it. I just don’t know why yet.





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Cassie: Well… If I can help you figure it out, you know I’m here.





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Savannah: I love you, sissy.





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Cassie: I love you too, pumpkin.





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Savannah: Now quit kissing men and go dig into the secret drawer. heart emoji hug emoji eggplant emoji





Twelve





Ryan





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It’s ten, Cassie’s normal breakfast time, and I have a stack of waffles with her name on it. I don’t know if waffles are a good I’m sorry my raccoon fell on us while we were making out offering, but if they don’t work, I have a few more tricks up my sleeve.

I’m pulling the heated stack out of the oven when my phone rings.

Ruthie May’s calling.

I brace myself. It’s Sunday morning, and most of the gossip about Jace and Ginger comes in on Sundays. Saturday is Ginger’s favorite night to hang out at the Wild Hog.

I want to see Cassie, but if my brother’s in a bad spot, I’ll be there.

I put the waffles back in the oven and swipe to answer. “Mornin’, Ruthie May.”

“Ryan. Are you home? Have you looked at InstaChat this morning? Is the sheriff headed down your street?”

My pulse leaps and I start for the door, grabbing my keys on the way. “What happened? Where’s Jace? Is he okay?”

“Jace? You think Jace had something to do with it?” She cackles. It’s a muffled cackle, like she’s trying to hide it, but it still carries through the line. “Oh, you think he found Ginger’s stash?”

“Stash?” Fuck. She’s into drugs? If she’s getting my brother hooked, I will kill her. Never pegged her for the druggie type, but I’ve been wrong a time or two. “Stash of what?”

“Of sex toys,” Ruthie May says. “Jealousy makes a man do crazy things.”

My pulse starts to slow as I drop my keys back on their hook. “Ruthie May, what the hell are you talking about?”

“You haven’t been online today? Or seen Cassie?”

“Cassie? No. Not y—Ruthie May. Spell this out for me.”

I grab my tablet and pull up InstaChat, which Ruthie May probably suspects I’m doing, because instead of going for a dramatic delivery, she blurts, “The dildo-pocalypse hit Main Street last night!”

I open my mouth to answer, but my screen is suddenly filled with pictures of sex toys littered all over Main Street and Sunshine Square, named after the Savannah Sunshine TV show, of course, not the sex toy factory.

Dildos in all shapes, sizes, and colors. Feather ticklers. Vibrators. Condoms. Packets of lube. Some stuff that I can’t even identify, but which sort of resembles gymnastic equipment.

“Are you looking at the pictures?” Ruthie May is breathless with excitement.

“Uh-huh,” I confirm.

“You think Jace did it?”

“What—no. I thought he— Ruthie May, I can promise you with utmost certainty that neither I nor any of my brothers had anything to do with this. I’m ending this conversation now.”

“Okay, but can you go check on Cassie? You were about to say you hadn’t seen her yet, weren’t you? You two have plans?”

An incoming call beeps through. I glance at my phone display and can’t help a grin.

There’s something magical about Cassie’s name lighting up my phone. There’s also relief that she’s still willing to talk to me.

“No, Ruthie May. I have to go so I can go feed George his breakfast.”