She’s lying. That blonde, cute tomboy with a killer smile is one of the liveliest and most life-loving people I’ve met.

And also, way too much for Jacob to handle, a fact I try to reiterate for the umpteenth time with a finger in his face. “You leave her alone, you hear me? Hell, you wouldn’t know what to do with a woman like that anyway, so it’s best that you don’t get that particular reminder of how young and innocent you still are.”

“Innocent?” He huffs. “Says you. Holly’s a total MILF. Mom I’d like to . . .” Jacob accents each word with a hip thrust that’s half-dance move and half-sexual move.

I scowl bloody murder at my insolent brother, wondering if I’ll have to add him to the bodies currently piling up in the morgue. “Why, you . . .”

For once in my life, the gods must be listening to my prayers because none other than my bestie, Holly herself, walks in behind Jacob right as he says that.

Instant karma.

Either that, or Jacob has seriously pissed off someone up there in the clouds.

“Mom you’d like to what?” she asks, her mom voice in full effect. She comes up right behind Jacob, growling in his ear, “I wish a muthafucka would try.”

He whirls in shock, going almost as pale as I am. “Oh! Holly! I didn’t realize . . .”

I laugh, his fear and shock a hell of a lot funnier than mine were earlier when he got me. Holly laughs along with me as she holds up a hand for a high-five.

We smack palms, and Jacob finds his cool guy front, standing up to his full six feet and widening his shoulders. He still looks like the eighteen-year-old kid he is, but he gets points for trying.

“Anything you want, I’m totally down, baby girl.” He throws his voice low, trying to sound like those daddy kink guys on TikTok and failing miserably, mostly because of his baby face. He doesn’t even have to shave more than once a week.

If we were out and some guy approached with that sort of line, Holly would throw her head back and laugh in his face, but because it’s Jacob and she’s kind, she won’t completely destroy him. “Good try, kid, but I heard you right the first time. I just tried to give you a way out by pretending I didn’t. And if I need dick, it’s going to be from someone I don’t have to teach. Ain’t nobody got time for that!” she jokes. “And also, life lesson number 512, when someone says,” she adds a bit of Samuel L Jackson to her tone, “‘wish a muthafucka would,’ it’s never an invitation, no matter how much you’d like it to be.” She punches her palm with her balled-up fist, “I wish. Smack. A muthafucka. Smack. Would. Smack.”

It sounds much more threatening this time, as she intends, and though I know she wouldn’t actually strike Jacob, she does hit him where it hurts.

His pride.

Jacob’s jaw goes tight, but he smiles through it. Same as always, playing it off. “You miss one hundred percent of the shots you don’t take. I’m gonna keep on aiming for this particular basket.” He dribbles an invisible ball, jumps, and shoots for the basket . . . Holly. “Swish.”

She doesn’t encourage him, but it’s hard not to appreciate his perseverance. She shakes her head, but her smile is enough for him to call it in his own favor. He grabs his paper from my hand, not caring that I haven’t even finished reading it, and heads toward the door.

“Take that by Grandpa, Jacob,” I order.

He shrugs on his way out. “Maybe.”

“Ah, alone at last,” Holly says as Jacob leaves. She plops down in my desk chair, spinning circles with her head thrown back to stare at the fluorescent lights. It makes me dizzy just to watch.

“What’re you doing here, Holls?” I ask as I pick my scalpel back up. I can work with her here. She’s used to it. I press the blade to Chad’s abdomen for the third time, hoping it’s the charm. I pause for a split second to make sure nothing else is going to interrupt me, but it’s all good this time, so I make my incision.

The chair continues spinning as she says, “Finished work—every last Gertrude and Harold fixed up with nowhere to go—so I thought I’d see if I could talk you into an after-work drink. My babysitter’s there ’till seven today.”

Holly takes her work seriously, her play even more so. And she likes to drag me along for her escapades. And as much as I’d love to say no, I learned long ago that it’s faster to go for the drink, even if I’d rather skip it. The argument alone where she tries to talk me into it will take longer than drinking a glass of wine.

“Sure. One drink.” I hold up a gloved finger, and Holly stops her spinning long enough to give a victory dance that involves wiggling her hips in the chair and kicking her legs in the air. Ironically, it makes this ‘MILF’ look more like a teenager.

“Where you wanna go?” she asks, all sarcasm. There are only two bars close by and only one of those that we go to.

“Guess,” I fire back with sarcasm of my own. I don’t stop working as I ask, “How’s your week been?”

She spins again, adding a sigh. “Good. It’s been slow, which is both good and bad. Dad’s worried about the business side of things, and no matter how many times I tell him that everyone dies eventually, he still keeps crunching numbers and saying creepy things like, ‘We need two more funerals this month to get out of the red,’ which makes him sound like a serial killer. But on the upside, not too stressful . . . all things considered.”