Chapter 5
FIVE
MOLLY
“Oh… my… God.” The horrified whisper behind me makes it almost impossible to contain my giggles. My mother’s fingernails dig into my arm as she stares at the stage, her face frozen in stunned dismay.
“…it will give men and women an insight into what their sexual relationship could look like,” my brother Hendrix announces, completely unfazed.
The room is packed—friends, family, business colleagues, and media—and it’s dead silent as Hendrix walks us through his new app.
He’s partnered with a sex therapist to create what is essentially a sexualized version of Tinder—which is really saying something.
Instead of swiping based on a profile, users answer a series of relationship questions to determine compatibility.
The final hurdle? An interactive tool that lets you set a stimulation scenario.
Basically, you select how you like to be pleasured in bed, and if a potential partner meets all your compatibility criteria, they unlock the scenario. Users who score seventy percent or higher are automatically matched.
To top it off, Hendrix has incorporated his patented machine learning tech to improve matches the more you use the app and provide feedback.
I bite my lip, trying not to burst out laughing. This app is going to give me years of dinner conversation material.
“Now Kellie is going to demonstrate how to program the simulation,” Hendrix says.
The sex therapist steps forward, her dreadlocks pulled back in an elegant updo.
A dark green scarf—the same shade as the app’s branding—covers part of her hair.
She flicks a graceful hand toward the giant screen onstage.
“We have eighteen vulva and twelve penis options to choose from, though you can upload a picture of your own if you prefer.”
My mother lets out a distressed whimper, her fingers tightening on my arm. I try to shake her off, but she’s latched on like a vise.
Kellie swipes through the options on the screen, casually narrating.
“The fundamental principles of OH are inclusivity and diversity. As you can see, we’ve included as many skin tones, shapes, ages, and physical differences as possible.
We’re working with professionals in the sex industry to expand our options.
We do this by exclusively using individuals who participate in ethical pornography practices.
We expect to have forty additional options by the end of the year. ”
I glance around the room. No one is moving. The entire venue is silent—even the waiters are frozen, eyes glued to the screen as Kellie scrolls through the vulvas.
I bite the inside of my cheek, fighting desperately to swallow the laughter bubbling up inside me.
“Now, I’m going to choose this vulva because it most closely resembles my own,” Kellie says, clicking on one. A new screen opens, and she gestures toward a button.
“This little button down here starts recording. All you need to do is stimulate the area as if you were masturbating. Watch.”
And that’s how fifteen hundred people watch a woman jack off a phone.
“Maleficent,” my mother whispers, raising a trembling hand to her throat. “I think I need to…” She trails off as her knees buckle.
“Mum!” I grab her, staggering under her weight. A man steps in, catching her before she collapses completely.
“Josh?” I gasp, recognizing him instantly.
“Hey.” He adjusts my mother in his arms like it’s no big deal. “Let’s get her outside.”
We hurry through the crowd, weaving around slack-jawed guests, all of whom are glued to the giant screen where Kellie continues her demonstration.
“And you can include audio recordings, if you like, by pressing…”
In the lobby, we find a long bench and lay my mother down.
“Stay here, I’ll go find help.”
I nod, fanning her with a program.
A few minutes later, she stirs, fluttering her eyes open as her hands flail weakly.
“Oh,” she murmurs, her voice faint. “I’m so embarrassed!”
“Don’t be,” I say, still fanning her. “You probably just got overheated.”
“Not that!” she snaps, swatting away the makeshift fan. “That!” She jerks a hand toward the doors, her face pale with outrage. “Your brother. What on earth is he thinking?”
I feel my cheeks heat up, but I bite the inside of my cheek to stop myself from laughing. “I guess he’s looking to capitalize on the dating market.”
“Call me a cab, Molly,” she demands, pushing herself onto shaky feet and clutching at her pearls. “I’m going home. I won’t condone that… the… your brother! What will your father think when I tell him? What will the school board? My goodness!”
I press my lips together, trying my absolute hardest not to laugh. Considering how much Hendrix donates to the school each year to make sure Dad and Mum are looked after, I have no doubt they won’t care.
Mother flaps her hands again, clutching at her neck. “I mean, my goodness, Molly. There were penises on the big screen. Did no one think to warn us?”
Don’t laugh, don’t laugh, don’t laugh, don’t—
When the cab arrives, I help her into the backseat, closing the door behind her. I wave as the car merges into traffic, letting out a breath I didn’t realize I was holding.
“Well,” a familiar voice drawls behind me, “tonight has certainly been… interesting.”
I turn to see Josh leaning against the doorway, his grin devilish. He looks ridiculously handsome in his suit, and that wicked smile of his is both familiar and unsettling in a way that makes my stomach flip.
A strange warmth bubbles up inside me, a tingling sensation I haven’t felt in a very long time. I stubbornly push it down.
“Would you say…” I pause, struggling to get the word out without laughing. “Stimulating?”
We stare at each other for a beat before bursting out into uncontrollable laughter.
I double over, clutching my stomach as tears roll down my cheeks. “Oh God. The look on her face,” I gasp, wiping at my eyes. “What is he thinking?”
“Did you see your aunt?” Josh asks, trying to catch his breath. “She was nodding along like it’s the best idea she’s ever heard.”
I throw my head back, laughing even harder. Aunt Violet probably does think it’s genius—she’s been married and divorced more times than Elizabeth Taylor.
We finally pull ourselves together, but the laughter leaves a warm buzz in my chest, and I can’t help but smile as Josh looks at me, his eyes still sparkling with amusement.
“This night will definitely be one for the books.”
Josh smirks, his voice teasing. “And we’re only halfway through. Should we return?” He holds out his arm and I slide my hand into the crook.
“Yeah, I really want to see what comes next.”
“That’s what she said.”
I groan, rolling my eyes.
Walking back into the room, I realize almost immediately that I’ve made a huge mistake.
“Is that—?” I freeze mid-step.
“Oh yeah,” Josh chokes out between snorts.
“I didn’t… fuck.”
My brother is tickling balls.
“As you can see,” Hendrix says, completely unfazed, “we’ve moved to 3D modelling in all the simulations. Men can…”
I spin on my heel, frantically scanning for the exit. There are only a few moments in my life I’ve wanted to permanently erase from my memory: the day my grandmother died, my entire relationship with Brad, and now, the night my brother tickled fake balls on a screen in front of me.
You know, the usual kind of traumas.
I make a beeline for the bar, catching sight of my other brothers heading in the same direction.
Joe lifts his chin in greeting as I approach.
“Dear God,” Thom mutters, slumping heavily against the makeshift bar and flagging down the bartender. “That was…”
“Horrifying?” I offer, leaning on the counter.
“I think we can all agree that Satan won today,” Joe agrees, pulling out his wallet.
George, or Joe as we all call him, is the younger of the twins by three minutes.
He carries himself with a calm, serious demeanour that makes him seem older than he actually is.
His square jaw and sharp, clean-shaven features mimic those of all my brother’s and my dad, but on him they offer an air of quiet authority, even when he isn’t trying.
Always impeccably dressed, Joe has the kind of presence that draws people in without effort, his piercing blue eyes sharp and calculating.
Ordinarily, he’s the dependable one, the one who keeps calm when the world is falling apart, which is why he’s often mistaken for the more mature of the twins.
But catch him in a moment of dry humor—usually at someone else’s expense—and you’ll see the wicked glint in his eyes that reminds you just how sharp his wit can be.
Which is why it’s amusing—and slightly terrifying—to seem him so discombobulated.
Thomas, Thom, on the other hand, is chaos wrapped in charm.
His hair is always slightly tousled, as though he just rolled out of bed, and his perpetual five o’clock shadow gives him a roguish edge.
Where Joe is polished, Thom is relaxed, often dressed like he’s heading to a backyard barbecue rather than a formal event.
His blue eyes, identical to Joe’s, are full of mischief, and his crooked grin has a knack for getting him out of trouble—or into it, depending on the day.
Thom’s the one who can turn any room into a party, the life of the gathering who always has a joke or a story ready to go.
He also happens to be the more dramatic of my brothers.
“Anyone know a hypnotist?” he asks, scrubbing at his eyes. “I need the last hour purged from my brain.”
Joe orders us hard liquor, as Josh chuckles. We ignore him, united in our sibling outrage.
The bartender slides three neat whiskeys in front of us.
“Here’s to gouging our eyes out later tonight,” Thom says, raising his glass.
I wrinkle my nose at the choice of alcohol, but desperate times call for desperate measures. We clink glasses and drink deep, the burn of the whiskey doing absolutely nothing to erase the mental image of Hendrix’s demonstration.
Josh leans casually against the bar, grinning at our collective misery. “You know this is going to make it into a movie, right?”
“No, it won’t,” I say firmly. “Sam will have our back.”
“You sure about that?” Josh chuckles, his tone dripping with amusement. “He’s going to freak when I tell him about this.”
I shoot him a side-eye glare. “What do we need to do to make this go away?”
Josh shifts closer, his grin fading into something much more deliberate. His gaze drops to my red heels, and then slowly—so slowly—I feel his eyes travel up my legs, lingering, then moving over my dress.
I changed in the work toilets after my last class into an old, but still functional and stylish crimson dress I bought years ago. It’s nothing new or special. But the way his eyes trail up my body makes me feel beautiful. No—more than that.
Sexy.
My breath hitches as Josh crosses his arms, propping one hand on the other, his thumb lazily grazing his bottom lip. His gaze lingers on my mouth, a half-smile tugging at the corner of his lips before his eyes finally meet mine.
Heat pools in my belly, and my nipples prickle under the intensity of his stare. Josh has never looked at me like this before—like I’m a snack he’s been starving for. But with that one hungry, deliberate look, I suddenly understand the devastation he must leave behind with his exes.
Down, Molly.
He leans in, brushing a strand of hair off my shoulder, his voice low and teasing. “What are you prepared to do?”
I lift my glass, taking a slow sip to wet my suddenly dry mouth, frantically trying to find something I might tempt him with.
What about a blow job? Would that work?
“Whatever she has to,” Joe cuts in, adding fuel to my already raging fantasy fire.
I snap my head toward Joe, glaring as he smirks into his drink.
Josh straightens, his lazy grin returning as he steps back, completely unfazed.
I exhale slowly, trying to calm the pounding in my chest and the heat still simmering under my skin. But when I glance back at Josh, the glint in his eye tells me he knows exactly what he just did to me.
“Fine, you can appease me by coming with me on Saturday.”
I tilt my head. “Where?”
“Venue shopping. I’m stuck driving Bess and Pete around.”
My eyes widen. “Wait, you’re going with them?”
He grimaces. “They want a”—he lifts both hands, making quotation marks—“professional opinion.”
“What does that mean?”
“Translation—Ma offered my services. I’m now roped in as the creative director of bridal operations.” His lips press together in an unimpressed line. “I wish that was a fake title.”
Joe, Thom, and I burst out laughing.
“Dear Lord,” I chuckle, handing him my glass. “You need this more than me.”
He takes it, his gaze locking with mine as he rotates the glass until he presses his lips to where mine sipped.
My eyebrows lift, my eyes widening slightly as I watch him sip. Awareness spirals out from my abdomen.
He watches me with his indecently dark and sinful eyes, sending me a message to come and play.
I don’t understand his actions or why awareness coils low in my belly.
If this is what Josh can do with a simple look…
I watch, transfixed, as his tongue darts out to catch a rogue drop of liquor.
“This is your smoky malt.”
Thom nods. “Twenty-twenty edition. I prefer the eighty-eight, but we can’t be picky at a time like this.”
Joe bumps my shoulder. “So, you gonna save us, sis?”
I glance up, catching Joe’s normally serious blue eyes dancing with mirth.
“Oh, go on,” Thom laughs. “It’s a small price to pay for keeping this disaster from the silver screen.” He waggles a finger at Josh. “I see you, Greenfeld. I don’t put anything past you.”
Josh grins. “Better save your family, pahci oeh’ sahoehuke.”
Piece of my soul.
I blink, sure I’ve misunderstood the endearment he’s just offered me in front of my brothers.
Down, girl, he’s just being nice. He doesn’t mean anything by calling you that. It’s your horny hormones going crazy.
But the pleasant frisson of heat he’s ignited sweeps out, warming my blood and sending a flush across my skin. I push the feeling away, unwilling to examine it.
“Well?” Josh prompts.
“Fine.” I blow out a long breath. “But I expect dinner.”
“You got it, Pahe.”