The Boyfriend Effect Read online

For the first time all week, I can’t wait to get out of bed.

  After Hayes took off last night, I set my alarm early, for six a.m., so I could spend a little more time on the fundraiser before hightailing it up to Riverside. But sleeping isn’t easy when all you want to do is get started on a new day. I’m already wide awake by the time my alarm clock goes off.

  As soon as my feet touch the floor, my mind is brimming with event details. The timeline is limited, and we can’t afford to use an event-planning service, so we’ll have to be creative. Good thing I’m always up for a challenge.

  Once I’m showered, I wrap myself in my favorite fluffy towel and head from the bathroom to the kitchen, leaving a speckled trail of water in my wake. The nook adjacent to my kitchen houses my laundry machines, tucked away behind unfinished bifold doors.

  Popping open the lid to the dryer, I mentally pat myself on the back for having the foresight to do a load of laundry last night before I crashed. My polo is fresh and fragrant with the smell of vanilla fabric softener. Back in the bathroom, I pull my hair up into a ponytail and apply my go-to natural makeup look. I’m feeling so reenergized that I even apply a little rosy lip color to accentuate my smile.

  The Wi-Fi in my apartment is uncharacteristically fussy this morning, so I pack my personal laptop into a canvas bag and move my operation two blocks east to my favorite coffee shop, Early Bird. The café is nestled between a bank and an Italian restaurant, all sharing the same building complex. Trendy little coffee joints (that aren’t Starbucks) are hard to find in this neighborhood, but Early Bird beats the odds by transforming into a chic little cocktail bar called Night Owl after seven o’clock each night. I admire the versatility of small businesses, a trait I hope will rub off on me while I plan.

  After I’ve situated myself at the window, seated with my laptop and a piping-hot latte, I get to work. By far, the process of securing auction items will be the most time-consuming, so I’m getting a head start.

  When it’s time for me to hop on a train up north, I’ve drafted over a dozen donation requests to local businesses that have supported Riverside in the past—plus a few new spots I think we’d have a shot at winning over. Restaurants, theaters, breweries, and even a bowling alley made the list.

  I consider adding Hayes’s company, Frisky Business, but I have a feeling a gift basket full of dildos might not go over well with this crowd. To my brother and his friends, their company is totally normal, and to me, it’s no longer as shocking as it once was. But I have to remember that not everyone is as open-minded.

  My ponytail swings back and forth as I confidently walk up the stairs to the train platform. The biggest challenge in all of this will be convincing Peggy, who has already resigned herself to defeat, that this will work.

  “I have a contact at a liquor supplier that would definitely be interested in providing the wine for the tasting, and I have all the donation requests for the auction ready to send. My friend even drafted a design concept . . .”

  I flip my laptop around on my desk and slide it toward Peggy, whose eyebrows have been deeply furrowed in confusion since I began sharing with her the plans for the fundraiser to save Riverside. She pulls her reading glasses from their home in her shirt’s lapel and squints at the design.

  Sometime between compiling a list of potential caterers and gorging himself on pizza, Hayes whipped together a beautiful logo for the event, using Riverside’s navy-blue and gray colors with accents of silver. “Riverside Gala” practically glows from my screen, shining in the reflection of Peggy’s glasses.

  “What do you think?” I ask, waiting for her to say something for the first time since she sat down for this impromptu morning meeting. “Do you think the ticket price is too high? Have you had breakfast yet? We can go to the cafeteria to grab some coffee and talk it over? Peggy?”

  Her eyes are brimming with tears. Crap. I’ve overwhelmed her with information. How can I backpedal?

  I inhale, an apology perched on my tongue, but clamp my mouth shut when Peggy lifts one finger. I wait as she reads over the proposal once more.

  “I think this is a wonderful idea,” she finally says, lifting her gaze from the computer screen.

  Hope blossoms in my chest as all my tension dissipates with a big, relieved sigh. “I’m so glad you think so.”

  I’m so glad, in fact, I could lean over this desk and give her a big, wet kiss on the cheek. Instead, I just give her a wide, goofy smile, practically buzzing with excitement.

  Peggy, on the other hand, has wiped away her tears and is all business. “How can I help?” she asks, closing the computer to look at me.

  I purse my lips for a moment, thinking. “Well, you have such a wonderful connection with our donors . . . how about this? Today, you can call the donors and tell them about the event and ticket prices. Then you can offer an additional two tickets for only two hundred dollars more. This way, we get more people in the door, more eyes on our auction items, and a little extra money in the bank. How does that sound?”

  “I can do that.” Peggy nods, already scrolling through the contacts in her phone. She suddenly looks up, concern marking her features again. “Will we have enough time to prepare?”

  “We’ll do whatever we can with the time we have. After this, I’m going to call a friend about a venue for the evening.” Reaching across the desk, I gently squeeze one of Peggy’s hands to reassure her. “I promise I’ll do everything in my power to save Riverside from collapse.”

  “If anyone can do it, I think you can, Maren.” Her tone is resolute, and I pray she’s right about this.

  After Peggy marches out the door, a woman on a mission, I pull out my cell phone and call the one person who may be able to take all my big ideas and make something out of them.

  “Hey, baby girl, what’s up?” Scarlett’s voice rings out over the phone. She’s chewing on something, most likely the yogurt-and-granola breakfast I know she loves.

  “Hey, I was wondering if you could help me with a project,” I say, tucking my phone against my shoulder as I turn on my desktop computer.

  “Anything you need. I’m your magic lady genie in a bottle.”

  I chuckle, enjoying that mental image for a moment before diving in. “Okay. What’s the likelihood that the Loft will donate space to a well-loved retirement home for a fancy late-summer gala?” Now that I’ve said it out loud, I can hear how absurd my request is. But Scarlett doesn’t skip a beat.

  “Depends on the ol’ schedge. Give me a sec.”

  My eyebrows jump in surprise. I was expecting at least a single question or concern. Then I remind myself that as an event coordinator, Scarlett deals with these kinds of inquiries on a daily basis. Lucky for me, and for Riverside, this is her specialty.

  “How about early summer instead? We had a wedding cancellation for June twentieth. Sad for them, but fortunate for you.”

  “June twentieth?” I choke, frantically searching for the date on my calendar. Less than a month away. Yikes.

  “Yep. Sexy summer solstice. At this point, I doubt we’ll find any other renters, and we’re definitely keeping their deposit because—I’ll say it—screw them and their crappy engagement. So, what do you think?”

  I almost want to ask, Is there anything later? But I bite my tongue. “June twentieth would be perfect. Pencil us in, and let me know what you need from me.”

  “Sure thing, Mare. I’ll send you a contract around lunchtime. I have to rewrite a few things if we aren’t going to charge you. Wow, how cool. I’m excited to work with you!” Scarlett giggles between mouthfuls of breakfast, and I happily join in.

  “Me too. You’re the absolute best.”

  “Nah, girl. Just make me some cookies, and we’ll call it even.”

  Now it’s my turn to cry. “Sure thing.”

  We say our good-byes, and I spend the next ten minutes browsing through photos of the Loft on their website. It’s intimate, it’s gorgeous, and it just might do the trick.

  I
don’t want to jinx it . . . but I think this is going to work out, after all. I can’t wait to tell Hayes.

  7

  * * *

  HAYES

  “We’re looking for something . . . discreet.”

  “Can’t have the kids stumbling across a ten-inch hot pink dildo, now can we?”

  Ten inches? Someone’s ambitious.

  Wolfie and I are at the back of our storefront, balancing spreadsheets. But for the past ten minutes, we’ve had a front-row seat to Connor attempting to help a middle-aged couple find the perfect toy to spice up their struggling marriage.

  He’s got his work cut out for him, because judging by the look on the wife’s face, visiting us wasn’t her idea. Lucky for her, this might be the best thing her husband’s ever talked her into. Customer satisfaction is a baseline requirement in this business. And ours is guaranteed.

  My friends and I created an ecofriendly line of sex toys. I know you’re probably rolling your eyes—five male friends who started a sex-toy company—but we saw a market and wanted to make a difference. It’s how Wolfie, Connor, Caleb, Ever, and I found ourselves as the co-owners of Frisky Business. Our toys are couple-focused and female friendly, and our shop has zero creepy vibes.

  Connor lets out a good-natured laugh and guides them to our couples corner in the back. We’re not like those seedy sex shops you find at the end of a strip mall, full of feathers and mannequins and tacky displays. We’re all about the intersection of sophistication and sensuality. Sure, sex sells, but we don’t have to be fucking cavemen about it.

  “Twenty bucks says he tries to sell them on the Joie de Vivre, and they settle for a basic cock ring,” I say under my breath, arching a brow at Wolfie.

  He grunts and narrows his eyes at the couple, who are currently doing the what does this thing do dance around a particularly well-disguised fleshlight. “No way. She’s leaving with an LT.”

  The Luxe Tube is our bestselling toy. It’s small and easy to conceal, but what it lacks in size, it makes up for in strength. With eight powerful vibration settings, it’ll leave any woman begging for more. Oh, and the best part? It looks exactly like a luxury tube of lipstick.

  “No way the husband goes for that. You’re on, man.”

  Wolfie and I shake on it and discreetly turn our attention back to the couple.

  Like I guessed, Connor’s pointing them to the Joie de Vivre, a couples toy meant to enhance everyone’s experience. It’s not quite the dainty, discreet toy the wife claimed to be looking for, but it’s not a ten-inch hot-pink dildo either. It also happens to be one of our pricier toys, which is why it’s always Connor’s go-to recommendation.

  Connor has something we all lack. I might wear my heart on my sleeve and get caught up in feelings when I shouldn’t, but Connor was born with a big heart. Maybe that’s why this is the right job for him—the guy genuinely wants to help people, even if that help is to improve their sex life. He cares. He wants to make the world a better place. And he enjoys talking to people.

  Me? I get lost in my head too much, and am too selfish to genuinely care about which toy is right for this couple. Buy both. Or don’t. Seriously, I don’t care. And I’ve never been good at small talk.

  Although, I guess I’m better at it than Wolfie, who’s been known to communicate in grunts and head nods. Connor, on the other hand, puts people at ease. He knows just the right thing to say to break the ice with this couple, probably something witty, because now the three of them are chuckling together.

  “Are they . . .” Wolfie trails off, his mouth hanging open.

  “Holy shit. They’re leaving with the Joie de Vivre.”

  “What’s a Joie de Vivre?” a light, familiar voice asks from behind us, one I wasn’t expecting to hear for a while.

  Especially not now. Especially not here, at work, surrounded by sex toys. With her older brother standing right next to me.

  Fuck.

  It’s Maren, dressed in a pair of yoga pants that hug her curves perfectly and send my mind to all the wrong places. I keep my eyes trained on the couple, who are now at the register with Connor. Fuck me up the ass. How the hell am I supposed to get anything done with her here?

  “What are you doing here?” Wolfie asks gruffly.

  Glad I’m not the only one dying to know the answer to that question.

  “Hello to you too, big brother. It’s so good to see you. I’m doing just fine, thanks,” she says, an irritated smile on her face.

  “It’s weird that you’re here,” I blurt.

  Wolfie grunts in agreement. “Shouldn’t you be at work?”

  Realizing that I might know more about Maren’s work situation than her brother does at the moment, I search her face for answers but come up blank.

  She hardly blinks at Wolfie’s question, instead browsing through our displays. Biting her lip, she wanders a few steps down an aisle filled with anal plugs in varying sizes and colors.

  My cock twitches at the sight of her fingers on one of the toys. This is going to be worse than I thought.

  “I worked from home today,” she says and looks directly at me. “And I’m actually here on business.”

  Wolfie looks between us, confused, and my stomach drops. The last thing I need is for him to be suspicious of something between me and Maren.

  “You’re looking to enter the toy industry?” he asks.

  Maren rolls her eyes. “Hayes is helping me with a fundraiser for Riverside.”

  Wolfie’s eyebrows shoot up, and I don’t even want to think about where his mind might be going. He looks at me and crosses his arms.

  Doing my best to play it off casually, I shrug. “You told me to check on your sister, and it snowballed from there.”

  He returns my shrug and tucks a pen behind his ear. “Always the knight in shining armor.”

  I don’t miss the tinge of sarcasm in his tone. He knows something’s up, but he’s letting it go. And right now, that’s my only saving grace.

  “Holy shit. Maren Cox? Are you finally ready to let me sell you the vibrator that will change your life?” Connor appears next to Maren and loops his arm around her waist.

  The dude’s pissed me off before, but never like this. The sight of Connor’s bulky forearm around her narrow waist gives me heart palpitations. Not cool. I’m about ready to rip his face off if he doesn’t take his hands off her in the next five seconds.

  From the looks of it, I’m not the only one. Wolfie’s nostrils flare, and he looks about ready to sock Connor into next weekend.

  Maren giggles nervously. “I was actually wondering if you could tell me what the Joie de Vivre is? These two apparently went deaf when I asked about it.”

  Connor gives her a smile that makes me want to rip his balls off and shove them down his throat. “Wait right here.”

  Within moments, he returns with an armful of toys and lays them out on the table in front of her. Her eyes grow wide, and when she starts rifling through them, flicking some on and gasping when they light up or vibrate, my jaw about falls straight to the floor. This is downright unfair.

  Connor places the sleek U-shaped toy in her hands, his smile widening. “The Joie de Vivre can be used in any position, though I recommend couples try missionary to start. It’s also very effective solo,” he adds with a wink.

  Wolfie lets out a long, irritated breath from beside me.

  Welcome to the fucking club, dude.

  I can’t tell which is worse—watching Connor flirt with Maren, or watching Maren fondle a sex toy. My mind keeps flashing with wild fantasies, and my heart is pounding in my throat.

  Her hands move to our collection of vibrators in various shapes—hearts, cylinders, shells. One even looks like a gummy bear. When she finds the Luxe Tube in the pile, she twists it open, a small smile forming on her lips.

  “Now this one I’m familiar with,” she says, giving me a look dripping with sin.

  Not. Fucking. Fair.

  I clench my jaw and take a deep b
reath. She’s playing with me. That much is clear. What a sexy little sadist.

  Without breaking eye contact, she presses the ON button and the motor starts to hum. “Mmm. Very familiar,” she purrs.

  Wolfie snatches the tube out of her hands and turns it off. “It’s not a fucking toy.”

  A laugh falls from her perfect lips. “That’s literally what it is.”

  “You know what I mean. Just. Stop. It,” he says, playing every bit the stern older brother he is.

  “I’m just curious,” she says innocently.

  Wolfie narrows his eyes and goes back to his computer, grumbling under his breath.

  “What about this one?” she asks, holding up a thick black cylinder with a pink latex lining. She runs her fingertip along the edge, and I feel a strain behind my zipper.

  “That one’s for our male customers,” Connor says with a sly grin, raking his fingers through his dark blond hair. “You could make a guy really happy by pulling that out in the bedroom.”

  Her gaze flits to mine, and my pants tighten even more.

  My mind goes completely blank, except for every single thought that I’m not supposed to think. Kissing down her stomach to her bare, shaven pussy. Pushing my length into her. Watching her suck my—

  “Are you having a fucking stroke?” Wolfie asks, his voice snapping me out of my trance.

  I swear I catch Maren smile, her lips twitching at my obvious discomfort, before I turn to Wolfie and try to act like I wasn’t just fucking his kid sister in my mind.

  “Sorry, I spaced out.”

  “Caleb’s on the phone. He wants to make sure we’re still on for the lake house this weekend.” Wolfie’s flustered. His jaw ticks as he waits for my response.

  “Yep. Leaving bright and early Saturday morning.” Thankfully, my voice comes out even.

  “The lake’s going to be fucking sick, man. I can’t wait,” Connor says, placing another toy in Maren’s hands.

  I nod. It’s tradition for all of us to head to my family’s lake house every year, and this one’s no different. We’ve got a whole weekend of drinking, swimming, and bonfires ahead of us.