Total pages in book: 84
Estimated words: 78340 (not accurate)
Estimated Reading Time in minutes: 392(@200wpm)___ 313(@250wpm)___ 261(@300wpm)
Estimated words: 78340 (not accurate)
Estimated Reading Time in minutes: 392(@200wpm)___ 313(@250wpm)___ 261(@300wpm)
He obviously wasn’t looking to start a relationship two months before he left town, but maybe building a friendship was another story. It was the only thing that made sense. He might not tell sex partners his real name or give them his number, but he’d tell a friend. Maybe that was what we were to each other, despite the very obvious attraction…and that blow job…and the fact that I had every intention of sleeping with him sometime soon.
Some friends did that, right? That was what friends with benefits meant, and it was probably all Lucky intended this to be.
Bottom line, though? I just needed to relax, enjoy whatever the hell Lucky and I were doing, and stop overthinking everything for once in my life.
I got up and packed our things, and then I managed to transfer Owen to the stroller without waking him, which was a small miracle. When I got home, I found Lark and Dylan with JoJo and Yolanda in the backyard. I parked the stroller just inside the open kitchen door, so the baby would be out of the sun but nearby when he woke up. Then I went out to see what everyone was up to.
My brother had discovered a love of gardening recently. It didn’t seem like something he’d be into, but he’d surprised himself when he and Dylan decided to fix up the yard on a whim. Apparently it had been really overgrown when they started, and now it was a beautiful oasis with lots of flowers in a rainbow of colors.
In fact, the makeover was so good that JoJo and Yolanda had decided to hold their wedding ceremony out here. It was just about six weeks away, in mid-June. At the moment, Dylan was constructing a wooden arch to serve as the backdrop for the ceremony while Lark and JoJo attempted to artfully cluster their latest haul from the nursery into two huge ceramic pots.
It seemed Yolanda had reached her fill of gardening, because she was sitting in the shade of the patio umbrella, drinking iced coffee. I sat down beside her, and then the two of us offered unhelpful suggestions on how the new plants should be arranged. JoJo finally put an end to that by turning to us and saying, “We’re all set with the back seat gardening, thank you very much. If you want to help, grab a trowel.”
Yolanda smiled at her. “No, thank you. I’ve had all the yardwork I can take for one weekend. But as soon as you decide you’re done ruining your manicure, I’ll help by giving you a massage.”
JoJo got up and quickly brushed some potting soil from her red shorts as she asked, “You can finish this, right Lark? I’m going to go inside for a bit and cool down.”
“Sounds like you’re actually going to go heat things up,” he said with a grin, “but I’ve totally got this.”
The fiancées hurried inside while I tried to make myself useful by sweeping the patio. About a minute later, my phone beeped. It was surprising to see a text from Lucky.
It said: Do you have a minute? I need your opinion on something.
I replied: Sure. I just got home and am being minimally helpful with some yardwork. I snapped a quick photo of the yard and sent it.
His next message asked: Who’s the hot Black guy?
I glanced at the photo and wrote back: I hadn’t even realized I’d sent you a beefcake photo of Lark’s boyfriend. Oops. Both Lark and Dylan were in the shot, and both were wearing tank tops. But Dylan was in the process of hoisting a big piece of lumber over his head, and with his muscular build he looked like Mr. July in a sexy construction worker calendar. I’d actually been trying to take a photo of the flower beds.
I sent another text to keep the conversation from bogging down in awkwardness: So, what did you need an opinion on?
He wrote: I’m shopping for new frames. It’s one of those online things where you take a photo and virtually try on different glasses. I have a feeling you’re the only person I know who’ll answer this question honestly.
His next text included a photo of him raising a brow while wearing a pair of round tortoiseshell frames. The caption said: Do these make me look like a douche?
I chuckled at that and replied: Yes.
Lucky answered: I knew it! I knew you’d tell me, too. Are these any better?
He sent another photo with black, clunky frames, and I wrote: They’re perfect.
Really?
Yes, if you’re a door-to-door Bible salesman and it’s 1956.
I grinned at his next text, which said: I’m never making a decision without you ever again.
Then I asked: What’s wrong with your current glasses?
This time, he sent me a selfie wearing the thin, black frames I’d seen before, and I was struck all over again by how stunningly handsome he was. He told me: I thought some different frames might lend an air of authority.