“Terry? What does Terry have to do with this resort?”
“He’s part owner, right?”
“You know Terry doesn’t work for Anterdec.”
“Right. But he owns stock—”
“No. They wouldn’t know Terry from a regular hotel guest. Not unless we notified them he was on the property.”
“Has he ever been here?”
“No.” I can tell by the way he answers me that Declan’s not happy about that fact, either. I drop the topic.
Cordoned-off sections of hallway mark the point where the adult exhibition begins.
“Badge?” the security guard asks. “Or ticket?”
Declan gives him a smile. A muted sound of someone speaking in the guard’s ear makes his demeanor change entirely.
“Mr. and Mrs. McCormick!” he says in a low, friendly voice, pulling the velvet-wrapped cord off the metal stand and gesturing for us to go in. “Please. Enjoy yourselves at the trade show.” His expression falters as I snicker at his words.
Declan suppresses an eye roll.
Booming music à la Magic Mike XXL pounds through the doors to the enormous convention hall. Bright lights, a computer-generated laser show from a DJ, flicker in the distance. The closer we get to the ballroom, the louder it gets.
Greeters at the door hand us a goody bag.
“What’s this?” Declan asks, holding up a purple shopping tote, the kind you get at grocery stores so you can cut down on plastic bag use.
I look inside the bag and blush-laugh. “It’s a collection of marketing promotions swag from some of the companies here. Oh, my.”
It’s a cornucopia of self-pleasure.
Declan peeks in his and his eyebrows shoot up. “Wow.”
Dec isn’t a “wow” kind of guy, so....
“That is some swag. I didn’t know they put logos on pussy pockets,” he marvels.
I frown. “How do you know what one of those looks like?”
His turn to blush-laugh.
My turn for eyebrows to raise.
“Look! There’s Marie!” The relief in his voice is palpable, as if my mother’s presence is welcomed.
There’s a first.
“We’ll table this conversation for later,” I declare, marching off to talk to my mom.
Except I can’t really march in high heels with points made of finely-sharpened pencils. I nearly tip over, but Dec’s strong hands catch me at the elbow, guiding me over to Mom.
We stroll past booths devoted to pornography, but with a twist: this isn’t just about the visual. It’s about devices and products that enhance sexual pleasure. Bacon-flavored lube at the first booth. An iPad attachment that lets you, well...who knew they could attach a vibrator like that?
Sex chairs shaped like gymnastics mats. Drugs for female ejaculation “approved in Europe but currently under FDA consideration.” A tantric yoga video series.
And...there is Mom, right in the middle of it all, pink-faced and glowing.
She is among her people.
All she needs is a crown and she’ll be set.
As I approach her, she looks up and gives us a grin that makes my stomach flip-flop. Too late to back out now.
“You don’t have to actually hash it all out here, Shannon,” Declan whispers.
“What?”
“Here,” he says again, nodding toward the convention floor. “Just talk to her long enough to schedule a real talk. Get it over with, but don’t try to do anything complex while you’re in here.” He sniffs the air. “I think they’re pumping pheromones in through a scenso-rama system.”
“A what?”
“It’s a trade show convention product. Use aromatherapy to influence buyer behavior.”
“That’s a thing?”
His mouth twists with a smile, his eyes going dark with lust. “Apparently.”
Come to think of it, I am feeling really, well...
“Shannon!” Mom calls out. “Come over here and see all these wonderful toys!”
Libido killer. This time, I manage to march right on over, ignoring my ankles.
“Mom,” I hiss, my eyes raking over the unending buffet of sexual devices that are on display like ham-wrapped scallops at a Costco sampler station. “Aren’t you mortified to be here?” She’s at a table called Edible Incredibles.
They have Maple Bacon lube.
“Says the woman who named her vibrator after a vampire.” Mom snorts.
The salesperson, who is a plump, grey-haired woman wearing round spectacles and a saucy grin, looks me up and down. It’s like being sexually inventoried by Mrs. Claus. Her name tag reads, “Martha.” No kidding.
“Edward Cullen?” she asks.
I nod, my face on fire.
“That trend is so 2012,” Martha says, grabbing a purple jelly vibrator with what looks like a long string of anal beads and...is that a USB port in it? “As long as you don’t name it after your favorite pet, you’re fine.”
I shudder. “Chuckles the vibrator?” Even Mom has the decency to cringe.
“People are perverted as hell,” Martha says, calmly pouring warming gel into a contraption that looks like a Star Wars character’s mouth, the opening where a man would slide in his—
“Shannon! There you are!” Daddy appears behind me, hands on my shoulders. “How’s the chocolate show going....” His voice trails off as he looks at the item in the salesperson’s hand. “Huh. Some merchandising deal. Do people have to pay George Lucas a small fee every time they orgasm while using that thing?”