Total pages in book: 143
Estimated words: 138881 (not accurate)
Estimated Reading Time in minutes: 694(@200wpm)___ 556(@250wpm)___ 463(@300wpm)
Estimated words: 138881 (not accurate)
Estimated Reading Time in minutes: 694(@200wpm)___ 556(@250wpm)___ 463(@300wpm)
“No, girl, no. You serve underhand,” Trevyn calls out from next to me on the pickleball court the next day.
I roll my eyes at my doubles partner and friend. “I know. I was just seeing if you were paying attention.”
That’s a lie.
I’m daydreaming. Totally daydreaming about the mural Corbin and I finished, the garage door that’s now installed, the windows inviting in streaming sunshine throughout the day as we get the little bakery ready. I’m thinking about the sign that now hangs above the garage door, pretty in pink, with a cheeky little winking dot above the i in Delight. I’m picturing the display cases fully installed and ready, right next to the shining fire pole, and the appliances, checked, polished, and tested.
And I’m daydreaming, too, of the way Corbin held my face when he kissed me, the tension in his jaw as he fought to resist, the desperate rasp in his voice as he gave in, and the words that play on repeat in my head.
I think about you all the time.
Trevyn clears his throat, pulling me from my wandering thoughts once more.
He steps closer to me on the court. He’s every bit as committed to pickleball fashion as I am in his tight white shorts and equally tight white shirt, which contrasts elegantly with his rich brown skin. He points at me, drawing a circle in the air at my outfit, a patterned little white-and-pink number. “We all know you look good, friend. But some of us like to look hot and win. Now, either focus on the game or tell us all in delicious detail why you’re zoning out.”
“Because we’ve been betting that you got some D,” Skylar chimes in from the other side of the net, flicking her auburn hair for emphasis.
Remy—her pickleball partner—just nods sagely in agreement.
My jaw drops. “You all bet on that?”
“Of course we did,” Skylar says with a nonchalant shrug. “You just have that look about you.”
“My money’s on you wanting more,” Remy adds, giving me a thoughtful once-over as she heads toward center court with Skylar.
So much for the game. It’s gossip-over-the-net time.
We’re playing in Cozy Valley today. That will endear me to the town, right? People will see me embracing all the activities this town offers.
But for now, I focus on the immediate issue—their dick radar. “So, why do you think I got some D?” I ask, hungry for every detail of their assessments.
“Because you aren’t denying it,” Skylar says, tapping her racquet against the net.
“Spill,” Remy demands, adjusting her visor. Her bouncy chestnut hair is cinched tight in a ponytail above the strap.
I blow out a breath like I’m so annoyed they’ve wheedled it out of me, even though I’ve been dying to tell them. But this is the first time the four of us have been able to get together since that fateful afternoon. Fateful in more ways than one.
I stretch my arms above my head as if limbering up my muscles after the incident, even though it was days ago. “Well, let’s see. If memory serves, I’m pretty sure I spent the other day climbing my business partner’s leg until I came.”
I don’t mention that we found a stack of love letters afterward. Something about that still feels a little bit private. Well, the leg humping ought to feel private too, but the letters feel more private somehow.
Remy’s eyes pop. “Wait, did you do a full-on leg rub, a bump and grind, or a straddle and ride him into the sunset?”
Skylar whips her gaze to Remy. “That’s very specific. Do you cover styles of grinds on How We Met?”
That’s her podcast, which she started for fun, inviting viewers to share stories of how they met their love.
“No,” she says, faux offended. “But I’m still an expert in all these things.”
“Of course you are, hun,” Trevyn says.
“And there are many varieties of dry humping. It’s important to know which one it was.” Remy counts on her fingers. “First, there’s the straddle and grind down. I like to call it The High School Lap Dance. Number two is when he lifts you up against the wall and you simulate wall sex. That’s The Wallbanger. The third is when you rub up against him like a dog, AKA The Dirty Dog. And number four, he sticks his leg out and offers it to you like a fucking filthy gentleman and you ride it.” With a pop of her lipsticked mouth, she adds, “I like to call that The Filthy Gentleman.”
We all bow down to the expert among us.
“All hail the queen,” Skylar says.
Remy waves off the adulation. “Thank you, thank you. But your supplication is unnecessary. The truth is necessary.” She turns to me and, with a pointed look, asks, “Which one was it, our little horndog?”
A tingle rushes down my spine as I recall every stomach-swooping detail. Primly, I lift my chin. “He was a very filthy gentleman.”