Fuck It (Yama Yama)

“Or some really taboo yoga,” Lydia quips, still grinning at the door.

A guttural groan from the other side of that door gives me a chill up my spine, and I bite down on my lip. I’ve never heard a guy make a sound like that. I’ve heard them get themselves to a satisfied grunt, but not a low groan that sounds like euphoric release.

How terrible would it look for me to fan myself when my eyes collide with Anderson’s? The mischief practically glows from his eyes, and a smirk ghosts his lips.

A sexy, shiver-worthy moan follows that, the sound almost reverent and melodious. Then I remember that’s freaking Bobby Jo. The Bobby Jo who dropped a turtle in the toilet attached to that room not long ago, and it’s like splashing ice-cold water right up my vagina.

Lovely.

As if I don’t already have enough issues with sex.

“Wow,” Kasha loudly whispers, fanning herself with her robotic hand that stops, then weirdly flips everyone off, before fanning her again. “Just wow.”

“This is so wrong,” I groan, shaking my head to try to scrub the image out of my mind.

I can’t believe we’re this freaking perverted. Then I remember it’s Bobby Jo. She’s probably ready to walk out and bow to her audience. The woman knows my menstrual cycle better than I do, for fuck’s sake.

When the door opens, Kasha starts slow clapping, mouth slack in awe. Bobby Jo struts out, rolling her eyes while she ties her robe. Her short robe. Why does this fifty-ish-year-old woman have better legs than I do?

Anderson’s eyes bounce from her legs to my eyes, and he bites back a laugh as his eyelids lower. Since she’s almost shoving her ass in his face, it takes effort for him not to look at her.

“Best vacation ever,” Bobby Jo says wistfully.

The door opens wider, and…oh no. Oh no, no, no, no.

I get a little queasy as Roger stumbles to a halt, his eyes wide and horrified when they land on his daughter.

Kasha’s eyes bug so wide at the sight of him I’m worried they’ll dislodge, and her metal hand starts to whine from the fist it’s making.

Roger’s jaw falls open, and it’s like watching a slow-motion train wreck. This is the part where the trains collide and things go flying.

“No!” Kasha yelps, at the same time her father shouts, “Oh, Jupiter and Saturn!”

I have no idea what that last one means.

“I’m going to need so much therapy to ever sleep again,” Kasha says as she springs to her feet and rushes away.

“Was it something I said?” Bobby Jo asks innocently. “Oh, by the way, this is—”

“We know,” we all say at the same time. Pretty sure there’s a simultaneous shudder that follows.

It’s not that Roger is disgusting with barnacles on his teeth or something; he’s actually very attractive. And he’s attractive in that tidy geek way with enough brains to also have money. It’s the fact that it’s Kasha’s father. Roman talks about this man constantly, so it feels like I know him even better than my own father.

I can only imagine how the rest of them, who’ve all known him longer and more personally are feeling. I almost want to throw up for Kasha.

Anderson looks like he’s on the verge of being sick.

“This is terribly awkward,” Roger says, his eyes moving anywhere above our heads before he turns and darts down the hallway.

Bobby Jo frowns. “Anyone want to tell me what I missed?” she asks innocently.

Lydia starts explaining while I walk down the hall. When I finally reach the downstairs bar area, I find Kasha perched there with two shots of tequila in front of her.

I drop to the chair next to hers and lift a tequila into the air. “To our parents fucking up our sex lives,” she says, raising her glass. I clink her glass, and we shoot the tequila together. No lime. No salt. Way more badass than it sounds.

“I’ll toast to that as well,” comes Anderson’s voice as he props up beside me, our shoulders brushing almost innocently, but a little closer than necessary.

I decide to move even closer, and he nudges me, smirking when Kasha slides him a shot. We all down our shots at the same time. Still no lime. Still no salt. Still way more badass than people seem to think.

“To be fair, you shouldn’t have been eavesdropping on Bobby Jo having sex,” I brazenly decide to point out, sounding a little puckish.

Puckish. Heh. There’s that wonderful education working for me. I sound like a snob even in my own head.

“To be fair, you shouldn’t have been sneaking into your parents’ den after bedtime to watch adult movies,” she volleys, deadpan.

I snort a laugh, she snorts a laugh, and Anderson’s sharp breath has us both stilling and stiffening at once.

His eyes lock on mine, fascinated horror etched on his face. “What?” he asks, trying his damnedest to mask all his features.