The Bitch

Joey couldn't stop staring at his phone.

His text thread with his dad was still open, the last messages sitting there like a question mark:

How about the coffee shop near your new place? 10:30?

Sounds good. Looking forward to it.

He wasn't sure if he was looking forward to it. What would he say? How could he even approach fixing what he had broken? His dad's life was completely different thanks to Joey's clumsy use of a power he hardly understood, and all Joey wanted to do was hide away from his responsibility. Hide away from the shame.

But he knew he had to go.

Serena had barely been gone five minutes before he texted his dad. It had felt like the right thing to do. After everything, after what Donna had told him, Joey couldn't just ignore it. His dad might've been clueless sometimes, distant a lot of the time—but he was trying. He always had tried. And now Joey had pushed him out of his own house, his own family, and into the arms of some woman who seemed wrong, dangerous.

He needed to make sure that his dad was okay.

Getting out of the house, though, was easier said than done.

Bianca was first.

She appeared in front of him like a cat stretching into his space, eyes half-lidded, her dark hair cascading over one shoulder. She brushed invisible lint from his chest with slow, sweeping fingers before slipping her arms around his neck and pulling him close.

"Drive safe, mister," she murmured.

Her lips met his—soft and slow and deliberate. Her kiss wasn't urgent. It was tender, adoring, full of warmth that melted into him like honey. Her mouth moved over his with quiet purpose, like she was memorizing the shape of him. Her fingers slid into his hair, nails lightly grazing his scalp. When she finally pulled away, her breath lingered against his lips.

"That's for the road," she whispered, voice low and smoky.

Then Madison stepped forward.

She didn't speak at all. Her eyes did everything. They were glossy and wide and shining with heat, framed by thick lashes that fluttered as she leaned in. She didn't ask permission—she just tilted his chin with two fingers and kissed him with practiced, decadent pressure.

Her lip gloss smeared faintly onto his, tasting like strawberries, reminding him of their time together the night before. She pressed closer than Bianca had, hips brushing his. Her kiss pulsed with a subtle challenge—less about comfort, more about possession. When she broke the kiss, she smiled against his mouth like she'd won something. Like she knew what she was doing to him.

Aynsley wasn't far behind.

She let out a giggle as she slipped between Madison and Bianca, eyes twinkling with amusement and something bolder. She tossed her hair back dramatically, placed one hand on his chest, and licked her lips.

"You'll miss me most," she teased.

Then she kissed him, and her lips were warm, playful, teasing. But halfway through, she bit his lower lip—just a gentle tug—and it sent a bolt of heat right down to his spine. He gasped before he could stop himself, and she grinned against his mouth.

"There," she said, stepping back, her voice all silk and spice. "Now you'll think about your best girl the whole drive."

Then Eliza stepped forward, quiet as a shadow.

She had waited, standing apart, letting the others go first—because she didn't need to compete. Not anymore. She had already given him everything.

She moved with purpose, her skirt swaying softly around her legs, her red hair still pinned in its loose morning bun. There was something schoolgirl and something sacred in the way she approached. Her hands trembled slightly as she reached for him, fingertips brushing the sides of his neck.

"Sir," she whispered, like it was a title and a prayer all at once.

And then she kissed him.

It was reverent—delicate at first, but deepening quickly. Her mouth parted for him like she had waited her whole life for this moment. Her kiss was quiet, trembling, needy. Not with desperation, but with worship. As if she were thanking him, every brush of her lips an act of devotion.

When she finally broke the kiss, her cheeks were flushed and her breath was shaky.

"Thank you for letting me serve you," she whispered, her eyes searching his. "Drive safe. And know that I love you."

She stepped back with her hands clasped in front of her.

By the time Donna approached, Joey was already breathing hard, his pulse thudding in his ears.

She took her time crossing the room. She didn't rush, didn't compete—because she didn't have to. Her robe shifted with each step, silk whispering against her stockings. She was radiant in the morning light, all glimmer and curve and intent. Her heels clicked once, twice, and then she was in front of him, gently brushing the others aside.

Her hands came up to cup his face, palms warm and steady. Her fingers were soft at his jaw, thumbs tracing his cheeks.

"My beautiful boy," she said, barely above a whisper.

Then she kissed him.

Not with haste, not with flourish—but with something deeper. Slower. She poured herself into it—her love, her pride, her surrender. Her lips moved like she was praying, like every second mattered. She made a soft, broken sound when he kissed her back, and the world narrowed to her mouth and the heat pooling low in his gut.

Her kiss was dizzying.

She moaned slightly as her tongue entered his mouth, one hand holding the back of his head, the other sliding downward to rest on his rear end, pulling him into her. In all his life he could never have imagined that his mother could kiss like that.

And when she pulled away, she rested her forehead against his and closed her eyes.

"You come back to me, okay?" she said.

"I will," Joey whispered.

Donna then took Joey's right hand and placed the keys to her Audi in it with this dreamy smile, saying, "Take it, sweetheart. Just drive careful, okay?" He couldn't remember her ever letting him drive it before. Not even when she was drunk. The car was her baby.

That was almost less believable than the kiss.

He stepped back, dizzy, barely able to walk straight. As he made it to the front door, he glanced over his shoulder.

Juniper was still asleep on the couch, curled in a blanket. Oblivious. Untouched by the competition that had just unfolded in whispers and breath and lipstick.

Joey swallowed hard and gripped the car keys tighter. Every part of him felt like it was still vibrating from the kiss Donna had left on his soul.

Time to go.

By the time he made it to the Audi and slid into the seat, his pants were unforgivably tight in the worst place. He groaned and shifted forward, adjusting the seat since his mom was a few inches taller than him. Everything smelled like her perfume—vanilla and rose and something thicker underneath.

He drove slow. White-knuckled. Every bump made him wince. The Audi purred, like it was unworried about any obstacles that might appear.

When he pulled into the coffee shop parking lot, it was still twenty minutes early. It was a clean little corner place, big windows, indie music drifting out the door. Inside, it was quiet—only two other people seated, earbuds in, laptops open.

Joey ordered a latte and sat near the back, facing the door.

Ten minutes passed.

He was just taking his second sip when the door chimed.

She walked in.

Dark hair in loose waves. Perfect makeup. Bright green eyes that cut like glass. She wore a tight black turtleneck, jeans that looked painted on, and a coat slung over one arm like it had offended her. Something about her looked… familiar.

Then she saw him.

And beelined for his table.

"Joey, right?" she said, smiling—but not the warm kind, not with her green eyes. The kind that made his skin crawl. "I thought that was you."

She didn't ask to sit down. She just did, dropping into the chair across from him with practiced ease. Like she'd done it a thousand times.

"I'm Sarah," she said. "We met once at your dad's office."

Joey blinked. Sarah. What the fuck was she doing there?

Donna's voice echoed in his memory: "She's young. Smart. A user."

"So I'll be straight with you, kid. I'm with your dad now," Sarah said, folding her arms. "Hank. We're happy. And I'd appreciate it if you didn't try to mess with that."

Joey opened his mouth, then closed it again.

"I saw you two texting," she went on. "Saw his face when your name popped up. Don't think I don't know what you're doing."

She leaned in, eyes sharp. "You're trying to guilt-trip him. Stir things up. Make him feel bad for moving on. But newsflash, kid—your mom doesn't want him. She made that pretty clear."

Joey felt his jaw tense.

"And just so we're crystal clear," she said, brushing a strand of hair back, "I'm not impressed by the whole innocent-boy act. You're just like every other teenage boy on this planet. I saw you staring at my tits when I walked in. You're a horny teenage loser, and Hank will be better off if you just give him space."

His face went hot. His hands curled around his paper cup.

"You know what I do appreciate?" she added, voice low. "Boundaries. So here's one. I want you gone before Hank gets here. You had your little text exchange. Let that be enough."

Joey stared at her.

She was beautiful. Cold. Coiled.

And dangerous.

She smiled again, smug. "That's fair, right?"

Joey swallowed hard. The words in his chest felt molten. His pulse throbbed in his ears.

He opened his mouth.

And this time, he didn't close it.

"Um…" he said, voice rough.

Then he smiled. Just a little.

"Actually..."