Payback Overload

Tyler Cruise stands on the doorstep with flowers in his fist. The door creaks, and there’s Lauren Phillips, glaring down at him like the bouquet just insulted her dog. "Special delivery for Mrs. Phillips," Tyler chirps. Lauren sniffs the petals, frowns like they’re plastic, and demands names. The second she hears her husband’s, the whole porch shrinks. "Inside. Now." She’s already got Tyler by the collar. Four extra women watch from the living room: Katie, Dee, Syren, Caitlin. Glasses sweating, voices rising. Lauren jabs a thumb at the delivery boy and sneers, "Would you believe the bastard tried to buy me off with weeds after he stuck his dick where it didn’t belong?" Gasps all around. Tyler laughs once—an awkward hiccup—and then realizes no one else is joking. His grin dries like toast. "If he thinks flowers patch up a cheating load, he’s dumber than this petal-plucker looks," Syren mutters. Katie fans herself with a napkin. Dee mutters something about ball sizes matching flower sizes. Every woman shoots the bouquet the evil eye. Tyler shuffles weight to weight, gripping the stems like a lifeline. "I… I just bring ‘em. No cheating. Swear." His voice cracks on the last word. Lauren’s look shifts—anger melting into heat, slow and sticky. She studies the way his polo stretches over his shoulders, then eyes her friends like they’re browsing the same menu. "Payback, girls? Simple. One round with a guy who actually delivers." She wiggles the stems free and tosses the bouquet behind the couch; it lands like roadkill. The circle closes. Fingers brush Tyler’s arms, his belt, his collar. Lauren’s breath is all sugar and spite. "Drop the saint act, sweetheart. Show us what a real man’s worth when your paycheck doesn’t bounce."