Total pages in book: 116
Estimated words: 108905 (not accurate)
Estimated Reading Time in minutes: 545(@200wpm)___ 436(@250wpm)___ 363(@300wpm)
Estimated words: 108905 (not accurate)
Estimated Reading Time in minutes: 545(@200wpm)___ 436(@250wpm)___ 363(@300wpm)
“Sophie!”
Damn it.
“Hi, Gena,” I said, and I hated the way my voice sounded.
“I haven’t heard from you for a while. I was just thinking of you.” She quickly added, “I’m not saying that to make you feel guilty.”
“I didn’t think you were. Actually, I feel kind of guilty for calling.” I hesitated. “Okay, this is a booty call. I realize how shitty that is of me, since I haven’t talked to you in, like, months, but just a lot of stuff has been going on, and I’m lonely and horny and I thought, ‘Hey, Gena said to call her any time.’ And I know that’s not what you meant by it—”
“It wasn’t not what I meant by it,” she said, then rephrased. “I mean, it’s okay. It was never off the table.”
“Oh.”
Silence fell between us, and I wanted to shrink down and hide in the carpet.
“So…you want to hook up?” she asked with a cute little laugh.
“Um, yeah. I thought maybe you might want to come over some time…soonish. Olivia is with her grandmother on a trip to London, so I’m on my own for a couple of weeks.” Oh, shit, I hadn’t told her about Neil, yet. This was going to be awkward as fuck. “And Neil is… He’s out of town, too.”
“Oh. Sophie…” Her voice trailed off, and I got weirdly defensive. Was the only reason she wanted to get together because she wanted to fuck Neil, again? “Is Neil okay with this? I mean, you’re not…”
“No! No, no, no,” I babbled. Of course she wasn’t trying to get to my husband through me. That was absurd, especially since I was the one who’d called her. “I don’t want to make it weird, but Neil is in some…let’s just call it sleep-away therapy. And, since he’s going through his own shit, he’s totally fine with me going outside our usual arrangement.”
“I’m so sorry. I wasn’t trying to imply—”
“I get it. And I really appreciate that you were concerned about that. I’m not sure I’d want to fuck somebody who didn’t care about cheating.” One thing I’d noticed in my relationship with Neil was that fucking other people meant trust had to be that much more solid. Being able to trust an outside partner made it even better.
Still, I felt the need to add, “But I totally get it if you’re not comfortable with us not coming as a package deal.”
“No, I would…” Her voice lowered, as though she were trying to keep our discussion confidential.
Crap, what if I’d called her for a hookup at work?
“I would absolutely love to see you,” she whispered. “But I can’t plan things right now, my boss just arrived. Text me later?”
“Yes. Absolutely,” I told her. We hung up quickly, my heart beating so hard I got dizzy from my excitement. I braced myself with a hand against the wall before I went back to the theater.
“So?” Holli demanded, bouncing excitedly as I entered.
I held up my hands. “I’m getting laid!”
“Yes!” She bolted her feet and charged me, nearly tackling me with her hug. “Oh, my gosh, a casual hookup that will actually stay casual this time!”
“Hey, I’ve had casual hookups,” I reminded her, giving her a push back.
“Yeah, and you married this one, so…”
She had a point. But I wasn’t going to marry Gena.
I was going to do dirty, naughty, unspeakably graphic sexual things with her. And my body was one-hundred percent on board with that.
CHAPTER TWELVE
A week later, I was getting ready to have sex with Gena. On our own, for the first time. Not in front of our partners, although that encounter hadn’t really been for their benefit, since we’d completely forgotten they were in the room. Still, I wanted this time to outdo that time by a thousand.
I was going to have to show her the Pavillon Français.
I dressed in a tight blue dress with off-the-shoulder straps and sculpted my hair in Agent Carter waves. I put on some gorgeous earrings, dahlia blossoms styled in gold and slivers of pearls. I’d gone light on my eyes to offset the bright red lipstick I’d carefully slicked on. I looked so good I grabbed my phone and did a mirror selfie.
I didn’t want to seem eager, but I was waiting in the formal living room when the bell rang, and I high-tailed it for the foyer before she could press it, again.
“Couldn’t wait to see me, huh?” she teased when I answered the door out of breath and teetering in my royal blue pumps.
She looked gorgeous, but I felt overdressed. She’d come in a long black maxi skirt and a dark tank top, her hair loose, the curls straightened. She looked like an art student.
Which I suppose made sense, since she was on this whole new, artistic life.
“You look fantastic,” she said, her cheeks reddening. “I’m really sorry, I should have made more of an effort.”