Page 6 of Sterling Touch
Clint is the painting side of our business; I’m the roofing.
On that thought, my back pinches a little, and I sit up a bit straighter on the hard wooden seat attempting to stretch out my spine.
“That so?” I mutter, responding to Clint’s expanded information about the Sylvers and their love lives.
Continuing to stare at the table, I notice our sister, Trinity, a blonde-headed spitfire of a woman who can scare the crap out of me sometimes, among the ladies.
“Must be Thursday.” Tate wiggles his brows.
“What’s special about Thursday?” I ask.
“Every Thursday, Trinity hasbook club.” Clint air-quotes thefinal words, and I turn my head wondering just what the fuck these two are talking about.
“Book club?” I mock back at him like I’m missing the obvious.
“You know, the code word for what Meredith Mulligan is doing above her store,” Clint explains.
Now I’m really lost and not certain I want to know, but laughter from the other side of the bar draws my attention and I glance across the space to find Vale’s head tipped back. Her throat exposed. Her hair dangling down her back. The rich timbre of her laugh shooting up into the air like a volcanic eruption.
I want to feel the heat of that sound on my skin.
Instead, I shift my gaze to the television above the bar, fighting the unwanted sensation in my chest, and the urge to ask my brothers for clarification.
Fuck it. “What’s Meredith Mulligan doing above her store?”
Meredith is the owner of The She Shed, a knitting supply store across the street from the Roadhouse. As a widow in her early seventies, she’s a good friend to our widowed mother, and the two of them get up to all kinds of trouble.
“Selling sex toys,” Tate blurts.
“What?” My head turns so sharply, my neck cracks and I cup the back of it.
Clint chokes on a sip of beer that mysteriously appeared before us. “Would you keep your voice down?” he chides.
I continue staring at Tate, blinking like it will help me clarify what I’ve just learned.
“Everyone knows that book club is not just about books, if it’s even about books at all. It’s a way for Meredith to hustle her side gig.” Tate rubs his hands together like he’s in on the business. “And I am not complaining. Her profit is my gain.”
“Isn’t the saying ‘her profit is your loss’?” Clint asks.
I’ve never heard such a statement and I’m not certain I wantto have this conversation. Where have I been that I don’t know anything about this so-called secret side to the local book club?
“Nope,” Tate corrects. “The more she sells, the moreinvestedI become.” He wiggles his brows, insinuating the sexual benefit he receives from Meredith’s sales.
A thought hits me hard. “Ew. You’re talking aboutour mother’s friend.” And I do not want the image of Meredith Mulligan pleasuring herself with a dildo in my head, let alone our brother assisting her.
“Not Meredith,” Tate clarifies, scrunching up his face as well.
I glance at Clint like he can help me, but his elbow is on the bar, his forehead in his hand, shielding his eyes like he can hide himself from this discussion.
“What am I missing?” I finally admit, sounding like a dumb ass.
Tate responds. “It means, the ladies of this town seek gratification by having sex toys.” He chuckles at his own pun. “And Momma taught me to share my toys.” Tate double taps his hands on the wooden bar.
“You meantheyshare their toys with you,” Clint clarifies.
Tate only smiles wider, exposing his perfectly white teeth. “Exactly.”
My head swivels again toward the table of women, and I’m grossed out for half a second considering our sister fits the bill of ladies in this county that partake in this book club slash sex toy store.
