It’s then that my mother notices me and starts waving. She struts—she’s actually incredibly adept at the whole strut deal—over to us. “Char-char! Are you and the girls having fun?”

I slip my hand into my pocket, feeling around for my candies. I’m a little worried about introducing Skye to my mom. Individually they’re embarrassing enough, but together, the humiliation could be epic.

“Oh my God!” Skye shrieks like a teeny bopper at a boy band concert. “You two know each other?” Skye’s hand shoots out, and my mom takes it. “I’m Skye, Violet’s mother.”

“I’m Whensday, Charlene’s mother!” my mom replies with exactly the same level of enthusiasm. “But my stage name is Climaxica.”

Maybe I can sneak away while this happens. My mom threads her arm through mine and hugs me to her, killing that idea.

“I was mentioning to Daisy how amazing you look in this ensemble!” Skye motions beside her. Daisy’s still in charge of the stroller.

My mom runs her hands over her leather corset. “I have half an hour between performances. I’d be happy to show you around and take you to a few of the BDSM-wear booths.”

Daisy pats her hair. It used to be more helmet-like, but since Violet’s wedding, it’s moved into the twenty-first century. Her clothes are a slower transition out of the eighties, but at least she’s not wearing shoulder pads anymore. “I’m not sure leather would work with my complexion.”

“Are you kidding me? Blond hair and black leather are a lethal combination.” My mom threads her arm through Skye’s as well, and the girls follow her as she woman-swaggers through the crowd, waving hello to the other vendors and performers. She air kisses about twenty people and stops at one booth to paddle some random guy’s ass.

As I observe my mother in her element, I recognize how she and I are very much polar opposites. Where she’s spent the years since leaving The Ranch flitting from town to town, putting men in their place, I’ve put down roots, found stability, and tried to build a somewhat normal relationship. I’m not so sure I’m ever destined to be successful at the last part, but I’m certainly trying. I created a non-traditional family of my own so I wouldn’t have to be alone.

We stop at a boutique called Leather & Laces and browse for a while. Lily takes an armful of outfits and disappears into a changing room. They have all sorts of sexy leather corsets and fun stuff. Darren prefers pretty and lacy. It’s not that he doesn’t like the leather, he clearly does—the peen doesn’t lie—but his eyes light up in a different way when I’m in lace or satin. I always end up the recipient of an insane number of orgasms on those occasions.

The curtain beside us sweeps open a bit, and Lily’s head pops out. “I need an opinion.”

“What’s going on in there?” I try to peek around her, but she’s holding it like she’s in The Shining, wearing the same creepy smile.

“You have to come in.”

We’ve all been in various stages of nakedness on multiple occasions with each other, so it’s not a big deal. I slip through the curtain, and Violet follows. The changing room is cramped with three bodies.

Vi’s eyes go wide. “Holy shit.”

“Is that good holy shit or a bad holy shit?” Lily tugs at the collar around her neck. “Is this overkill?”

I actually have almost the exact same corset ensemble. I’ve worn it a couple of times for Darren. I’m a big fan of the collar with the metal ring at the throat. There’s something empowering about letting someone you care about deeply take control of your body and cater to your needs. And this outfit screams submission and trust.

“There’s only one way to find out, isn’t there?” I cock a brow.

“Uhh . . .” Lily glances from me to Violet and back again.

“Send a picture to Balls and see what he has to say?” Violet asks.

Lily chews on her lip and then hands me her phone. “Okay.”

She strikes sexy poses while I snap a bunch of pictures. We scroll through them and comment on how it makes her cleavage look great before she picks one to send to Randy.

It takes all of thirty seconds before he responds.

Lily grins as she types her reply, and Violet and I leave her to change back into normal clothes. Skye is already at the register with her own purchase.

“I gotta say, I’m super glad I don’t live in my parents’ pool house anymore,” Violet says.

“Right?”

We find Poppy and Sunny huddled with sleeping baby Logan over by the sweeter sexy things in pinks and greens and florals. I glance around, wondering how soon we can get out of here now that I’ve seen my mom. I note a couple in the porn star area. There are actual stars signing posters and old school DVDs, and even some VHS tapes for the serious diehard fans. Which is kind of sad.

“Hey.” Violet elbows me and points to the right. “Doesn’t that guy look like an older version of Darren?”

I follow her gaze and note the couple, probably in their fifties, posing for pictures. The woman is outfitted in a silver mini-dress and has definitely had her boobs done, and likely a lot of other things, including her face, but she still looks mostly human. The guy is tall, wearing only black leather pants with a zebra stripe down the side. He’s still rocking a pretty decent body for being older, complete with four pack, even if it’s the tiniest bit saggy.

I scan all the way to his face and take in his dark, slicked-back hair. “Huh. That’s weird. He does look a lot like him.”

“You need to take a picture with that guy. Tell Darren you found his future self—and he’s a porn star! The resemblance is uncanny, isn’t it?” Violet turns to Poppy and Sunny, who both nod their agreement.

I give in and let her drag me over. My mom seems to know them personally, so she flits on over and introduces us. “Rod and Cherry, this is my daughter, Charlene. She needs a photo with you!” Rod and Cherry. I guess subtlety isn’t their thing. My mom squeezes me between them and snaps a million pictures.

I send one to Darren with a laughing emoji and the caption: Your next profession could be a porn stunt double for this guy.

“So you’re a Chicago hockey fan, Charlene?” Rod’s smile is blindingly white and eerily like Darren’s.

“I am.”

Rod leans in closer. “Can you keep a secret?”

It’s starting to creep me out how much he looks like Darren. His voice is even deep like Darren’s, and he has the same icy eyes.

“Uh, sure?” I’m hit by an odd sense of foreboding.

“My boy plays hockey in Chicago.” Rod’s grin grows even wider as he looks over my shoulder. “And you’re wearing his name on your back.”

DARREN

I typically sleep on the flight home, but this time all I can do is tap on the armrest and count down the minutes until we land.

My worries revolve around Charlene. After the picture and caption, I fired back a message telling her not to talk to them. I tried to follow it up with a phone call, but it went right to voicemail. In my panic, I made some irrational demands, to which she responded that this certainly wasn’t a phone conversation, let alone one to be had over text messages.

I honestly never thought there would be a reason to tell her about my birth parents since they had almost no hand in raising me.

I go directly to her place from the airport, even though it’s unlikely that she’s home from work so we can have a discussion. The Uber drops me off in front of her house. I have my hockey gear with me, which is somewhat inconvenient, but I didn’t want to stop at home first. Charlene’s car is missing from her driveway, and in its place is a mini red Winnebago hooked up to a small SUV.

The Winnebago is a shock, mostly because Charlene has a thing about RVs, regardless of size. I know this because once on our way to Alex’s cottage we stopped at a gas station and she nearly had a panic attack when one pulled into the bay next to us. She refused to let me get out of the car until it left.

When I tried to pry more information out of her, she mumbled something about where she grew up and how she associated RVs with bad men. At that point I knew little about her upbringing, but I’d never seen her in such a state of panic.

So seeing this Winnebago in her driveway brings up all sorts of questions. Ones I’d like some answers to. I run my sweaty hands down my thighs and gather myself before I finally ring the bell. When it swings open, I’m face to face with a woman dressed in a black leather corset and a pair of heels that could double as murder weapons.

She slides her hand up the doorframe and the other one goes to her hip, which she juts out. Her brow arches and a grin forms on her wine red lips. “Well, hello there. If you’re trying to get me to go to your church, I’m afraid I’m far too sinful for that. Would you like a demonstration?”

I look down at myself. I’m wearing dress pants and a button-down shirt. I suppose I can see how she might mistake me for a church type, but…did she just proposition me? I slip my hands in my pockets and glance over her shoulder, trying to see past her, but she takes up most of the doorway.

“I’ll have to pass on that. I’m here to see Charlene.”