Chapter 15
Against her better judgment, Molly spent her Sunday evening discussing the validity of Satan as a fictional love interest.
Up until that very morning, she’d had zero intention of attending the Nasty Wenches book club meeting. As she’d told Karl
two days ago, there was no point in putting down roots that she’d only have to rip up again, sooner rather than later. And
she wasn’t a fool. If she went to the meeting, even her best efforts might not be able to stop the tendrils, however doomed
they might be, from unfurling underground.
Athena. Matthew. Janel. All Nasty Wenches, apparently. All people she already liked. Hell, even Lise had overcome her shyness—not
to mention the occasional awkwardness of discussing her own books as if she were simply a reader—and joined the group last
month.
If Molly went, she’d probably enjoy herself too much. Which was a real problem.
Then there was the issue of Karl. Also a Nasty Wench, and the entire reason she’d changed her mind about attending.
When he’d called her that morning to reiterate his invitation, she’d worried about residual awkwardness from the way they’d
parted yesterday. Wondered whether he’d employ all the sound and fury he typically employed to disguise his hurt feelings.
Instead, his tone had been casual, as if nothing notable had happened between them recently.
And in typical Karl fashion—i.e., without much preamble—he’d told her he needed her at the meeting.
Not because he wouldn’t finish his chosen book and hoped she could act as a human CliffsNotes—by the time they talked, he was already halfway through his audiobook of Bedded by Beelzebub—but because he required a bodyguard.
“Wouldn’t let the Wenches visit when I was sick. Frustrated their caretaking urges,” he explained. “First time they see me
again? Those smut-loving busybodies are gonna fucking swarm me, Dearborn. Bury me in soggy tuna casseroles and weird-ass home remedies. Few of the damn harpies might even hug me.”
He sounded utterly appalled, that big faker. They both knew he secretly loved hugs, however reluctantly he accepted them.
Probably adored tuna casseroles too, soggy or not.
“You coming?” His voice had suddenly gone tight with tension. “Need you to help fend them off, Molly. Please.” A lengthy pause.
“Besides, you’ll like everyone there. Your type of people. Could be a ready-made community for you. If you, uh, wanted that.
At some point.”
In typical Karl fashion once more, he’d finally said the quiet part loud. He didn’t need a freaking bodyguard. He wasn’t inviting her to the Nasty Wenches meeting to protect him from casseroles and hugs. Not at all. Despite what she’d
told him, he wanted her to put down some of her ill-fated roots, in hopes she’d decide not to rip them up after all.
Responding to him had taken a few moments of thought.
She really shouldn’t encourage his dream of getting her to stay in Harlot’s Bay long-term.
But she was flattered that he wanted her at the meeting so darn much.
Enough that he’d even employed his best manners—an actual please!
—for the repeat invitation. And heaven knew she couldn’t resist watching a dozen people fuss over the crankiest man alive.
Also, yes, maybe she was embarrassingly eager to see him again. Not to mention more tempted than she cared to admit by the thought of a ready-made
community full of people who might make her feel valued and understood.
“Fine,” she’d eventually told him. “I’ll go. But I’ll drive myself, in case I want to duck out early.”
He’d hung up before she could change her mind. Then turned off his damn phone for the rest of the day so she couldn’t cancel
on him.
So now here she was, at the modest, cozy home of a fiftysomething white librarian named Bethany. Seated, improbably enough,
on a floral-upholstered couch with Lise on one side and Janel on the other, listening to sweet, whispery Bethany talk about
gargoyle junk.
“—and once she mounts Lucifer’s stone dick and rides him to climax, he breaks free from his marble prison for the first time
in countless centuries and becomes flesh and blood once more.” Bethany carefully buttered one of the muffins Karl had brought
especially for her. “Although his penis remains stone. Well, all three penises, to be exact.”
Molly blinked. Oh, wow.
From his seat nearby, Matthew leaned over to his wife and spoke quietly. “Again, my apologies on behalf of human men, sweetheart.”
“Bethany hasn’t even told you what his tail can do yet.” Athena sounded jazzed. “It has a suction-y tip. And it’s ridged!”
Matthew groaned and bowed his head. “Of course it is.”
Say what you would about the Nasty Wenches—those easily shocked should stay far, far away—but they were damned entertaining.
Not to mention welcoming. From the moment Bethany had greeted her at the front door, Molly had been adopted into the group warmly and without fuss.
Included in conversations. Asked for her opinions.
Yes, sometimes said opinions concerned the potential sexual sensitivity of devil horns and whether cloven hooves could ever
be considered hot in a nonliteral sense, but Molly did in fact have thoughts on those matters. Thoughts the book club members
had listened to, with seeming appreciation.
Upon Karl’s own arrival, the poor man had dodged a swarm of concerned book club members and tried to sit next to her. Only
to be shooed away by Janel, Lise, and Athena, who’d claimed Molly’s proximity like a prize.
Early in the evening, he’d kept an eagle eye on her anyway, shoulders bunched in clear worry. Then, once he’d apparently satisfied
himself as to her comfort in the situation, his tension had eased. He still glanced over at her often, though. Brought her
cookies. Even kissed the top of her head once, which had prompted a number of whispered, excited-sounding conversations around
the room.
To Molly’s surprise, that kiss wasn’t her only affectionate physical contact of the evening. Lise’s shoulder bumped against
hers every time something funny happened, in companionable nudges of mutual amusement. At regular intervals, Janel doled out
Goldfish crackers and megawatt smiles to her couchmates, as well as approving pats on the arm every time Molly participated
in the discussion.
It was all . . . lovely. Disconcerting and a bit overwhelming, but delightful.
A wise woman would leave the meeting now, before enjoyment turned to longing. Molly couldn’t seem to make herself go, though. If wisdom meant missing the rest of the meeting and truncating this unexpected joy, long live foolishness.
“Hey, everyone!” Janel half rose from the couch and waved her hand to catch the group’s attention. “If I remember correctly,
Slatterns ‘R’ Us actually carries a limited-edition dildo inspired by Satan’s prehensile tail-dick!”
“They do,” Bethany confirmed through a mouthful of muffin.
Janel grinned, pleased. “And they’re having a ten-percent-off sale this week!”
To Molly’s left, Lise produced her phone from her purse and tapped out a quick note to herself. Molly chose not to read it,
for plausible deniability’s sake.
Across the room, in a big winged armchair with a half-dozen casserole dishes stacked near his feet, Karl mutter-shouted to
the bespectacled Black woman next to him, “I get why someone might want two. But what the fuck would the third dick even do?”
“Vibrate,” the woman—Jackie?—told him succinctly.
Molly hesitated to ask, but . . . “Wouldn’t having three stone penises attached to a flesh-and-blood body be painfully heavy?
If they got caught somewhere, couldn’t they just . . . rip off?”
“Excellent question, Molly.” Bethany swallowed her bite, then smiled at her. “They regenerate. And the third one isn’t located
where you might expect.”
That . . . brought up new questions. Ones that would have to wait, because apparently it was time for a real snack break before
the discussion resumed.
“Ten minutes!” Athena called. “Then we talk about Bedded by Beelzebub!”
Lise grimaced faintly. When Molly patted her leg consolingly, though, she mustered a genuine-looking smile and bumped their shoulders together again.
As soon as Janel rose from the couch and beelined for the bathroom, Karl started Molly’s way—but was immediately swarmed once
more by concerned Nasty Wenches bearing resealable containers and offering hugs. All of which he accepted with gruff thank-yous
amidst his grumbling, his cheeks flushed pink in pleased embarrassment.
He’d tidied up for the occasion. His beard was newly trimmed, his hair still gleamed with fresh-showered dampness, his logoless
tee was clean and a flattering shade of forest green, and his usual Crocs had been replaced by pristine-looking sneakers.
His dark jeans also molded to his ass in a very flattering fashion, which Molly had noted with appreciation multiple times.
Sadly, the crowd surrounding him had blocked that very pleasant view at the moment. Just like when she’d seen him with Charlotte’s
family, though, Molly couldn’t help being charmed by the sight of Karl with people who clearly cared about him—and whom he
clearly cared about in return. Because yes, various Nasty Wenches had presented him with casseroles, but he’d somehow found
time to bake and bring along those Wenches’ favorite treats in return. And yes, they were all asking him about his flu recovery.
But in between their questions, he was posing his own. Prodding them for news on their parents’ health. Checking on kids’
grades. Demanding updates about how things were going at various jobs.
Even with his overloaded schedule, he’d listened to a book fitting this month’s theme. He’d participated in the discussion.
He’d—
“Hey, Molly!” Athena appeared in front of the couch, wreathed in smiles. “You doing okay?”
“I’m great.” Did Molly not look like she was having fun? Because she really, really was. “Um . . . thank you for asking?”