Total pages in book: 75
Estimated words: 77120 (not accurate)
Estimated Reading Time in minutes: 386(@200wpm)___ 308(@250wpm)___ 257(@300wpm)
Estimated words: 77120 (not accurate)
Estimated Reading Time in minutes: 386(@200wpm)___ 308(@250wpm)___ 257(@300wpm)
I figured it was easier to sit next to her, though my body is already reacting to her presence.
God, it’s like I can feel the heat pulsating off her. It’s coming in gentle waves.
My nerves are skittering, and my flesh is warming.
And my dick?
Yeah, it has a mind of its fucking own.
“Hey,” I say.
“Hey yourself,” Tabitha says.
“Good to see you, Henry,” Maddie says.
Weird thing for her to say. Dave and Maddie see me all the time now that I’m living at the house.
“You too,” I say.
“Dave says the peach trees are looking great this year. Should be a bumper crop.”
I nod. “We all love those Palisade peaches.”
Palisade is a town just outside of Grand Junction on the Western Slope, and they produce some of the best peaches I’ve ever had. They’re huge and juicy as all hell. Georgia be damned.
But as sweet as they are, they’re nothing compared to the sweet tits and ass I experienced last night in the barn.
“I love your mom’s spiced peach jam,” Maddie says, rubbing her tummy and dashing me out of my dirty thoughts.
Tabitha raises her eyebrows. “Oh? That sounds good.”
“You haven’t lived until you’ve tasted it,” Maddie says. “Toast up a few slices of Ava’s sweet Hawaiian bread, and then slather them with Marjorie’s spiced peach jam… You’ll swear you died and went to heaven.”
“That sounds amazing.”
“Come home with me after we’re done in town,” Maddie says. “I’ve got some of Ava’s bread and Marjorie’s jam. I’ll fix you a slice.”
Nora returns with the coffees, and Lisa herself brings out a tray of cannolis.
“This is my family recipe that’s been passed down for generations,” she says.
“And they are to die for,” Sage gushes.
I take the first bite, and the shell gives with a clean, sharp crunch. It shatters a little, the pieces catching on my lower lip as the filling hits my tongue.
Sweet, but not cloying. The ricotta’s smooth, thick, and cold in the center. There’s a hint of vanilla, maybe orange zest, something bright that cuts through the cream. It melts slow, rich and velvety, with those tiny chocolate chips adding just enough bite to keep it interesting.
Powdered sugar dusts my fingertips. I lick it off without thinking.
It’s messy. Decadent. Indulgent. Impossible to eat gracefully.
Kind of a metaphor for how I’ve been feeling lately.
Last night, I was indulgent, and Tabitha paid the price.
She seems okay, though, thank God.
I’ll have to let her know that whatever it was can’t happen again. I can’t let the chaos in my head consume my body.
And I wasn’t graceful with her. Not that I’m ever graceful with a woman. But I’m normally not so animal-like.
At least she came twice. I wasn’t completely selfish.
I look over at Tabitha.
She has a tiny bit of ricotta on her lower lip.
God, how I’d love to lick it off…
I wipe the crumbs from my mouth and take a sip of coffee.
Fuck.
This weekend can’t be over soon enough.
Seventeen
Tabitha
Once everyone has finished those delicious cannolis, Gina rises. “I’m going to be late for my massage,” she says. “See all of you tonight at the rehearsal.”
Brianna rises as well. “Highlight time.”
“Tabitha, you and I should go along,” Maddie says, “and see if we can get an appointment for massages later this afternoon.”
I’m thrilled at the prospect of getting away from Henry. Not that I want to be away from him, but I’m just so rigid and tense and uncomfortable right now.
At the same time I’m aroused and needy.
Frankly, it’s annoying.
“Is that okay with you, Angie?” I ask.
She waves us off. “Of course, go ahead. I hope you guys can get in for massages. Just catch an Uber home sometime before five.”
“Uber?” Maddie says. “I’ll drive you home.”
“That would be great,” I say. “Thanks.”
Maddie and I follow Gina and Brianna out of the restaurant and walk a few buildings down to the salon.
We enter, and the bell over the door jingles as we walk in. The place smells like lavender oil and citrus shampoo.
Two chairs face a mirror framed in distressed wood and fairy lights. A rolling cart sits beside it, cluttered with combs, brushes, scissors, and a blow dryer with its cord looped haphazardly around the base. The floor is swept but not spotless.
Music plays—something old and twangy—and a handwritten sign near the register says Cash or check only. No drama.
“Gina,” the stylist says with a smile. “Stephen is expecting you. And Bree, I’ll be with you in two shakes!”
“Hi, Willow.” Gina nods to the woman in the chair. “Hi, Lori.”
“Gina, Bree, Maddie,” Lori, apparently, says. “And you are…?”
“I’m Tabitha Haynes. Angie’s friend from medical school.”
She smiles wide. “Wonderful to have you here. You must be part of the wedding party.”
I nod. “I am.”
“I’m Lori Murphy.” She extends a hand. “My son, Brendan, is married to Ava.”
“It’s nice to meet you.” I let out a nervous laugh as I shake her hand. “It’s hard to keep track of everyone in your family.”