Total pages in book: 176
Estimated words: 167940 (not accurate)
Estimated Reading Time in minutes: 840(@200wpm)___ 672(@250wpm)___ 560(@300wpm)
Estimated words: 167940 (not accurate)
Estimated Reading Time in minutes: 840(@200wpm)___ 672(@250wpm)___ 560(@300wpm)
“I think you should leave me out of this. I also think this bedroom is too dark for you, Lu. All this dark blue. Why don’t you go and check out the other bedrooms?”
Lulu’s eyebrows retract as though to say well, can I? I nod my consent, and she stomps off, muttering under her breath. As I turn to watch her, she pauses at the doorway, her internal battle as clear as the cute button nose on her face. I know she hates getting into trouble, but she just can’t seem to help herself.
“I’m sorry,” she grates out without turning. But she isn’t. At least, not yet. At this point, sorry is just a word for her. “You’re not really a meanie pants.”
“Apology accepted.”
“Nope, you’re more like a meanie knickers,” Rose whispers as Lulu leaves, the thoroughly British word sounding strange on her tongue.
“Let’s leave my knickers out of this.”
“I have no idea what I’m going to do when Rocco reaches this stage.” Rose shakes her head, her eyes following Lu down the hallway. But Rocco, her and her husband Remy’s little boy, has the sweetest disposition of an eighteen-month-old I’ve ever encountered. Not that I know a lot of children of that age, but he’s certainly more placid than Lulu was. Ever.
“I’m not so sure this is a stage,” I answer ponderingly. “It seems more like a personality trait. She’s like the girl with the curl. When she’s good she’s very very good, but when she’s bad . . .”
“She’s never horrid.”
“Just horrid to parent sometimes.”
“But you wouldn’t have her any other way.”
“True. And you’re right, she’s never really horrid though her attitude sucks a-r-s-e plenty.” I was never big on swearing before, which is just as well considering.
“And that’s why, my friend, wine was invented.” Rose moves to the bedroom window, another room with a million-dollar view. “And you know she’ll be curing cancer or running some million-dollar corporation before she’s thirty.”
“She’s certainly single-minded enough.” Hence my tiny fear of her using her powers for ill instead of good.
“And she’s a smart one.” Roses gaze slides my way. “I think she might be on to something with the bed bouncing business.”
“Subtle, Rose. Very subtle. I’m impressed with that almost seamless segue into the topic of my sex life.”
“What sex life?” She grins, and I just shake my head.
“As if I’d be bed bouncing with anyone while my child is at school,” I mutter, adopting the euphemism.
“I think you might’ve forgotten how. You know what Charles’s theory is.” She sends me a meaningful look.
“Oh, please. Not that again. I do not wear glasses because,”—I lower my voice to a whisper—“I masturbate too much.”
Along with my denial, a vivid snapshot of a previous life flickers to being in my head.
Wanna see if the Devil is home again? The ghost of his sultry whisper curling around my ear, and I know if I close my eyes, I’ll imagine the press of his hard body and the way his eyes seemed to see right to the core of me. Sometimes, I think I can still hear his deep chuckle. Feel it echoing deep inside me.
“Everyone masturbates.” Rose’s amused tone yanks me back to the moment.
“Yet it isn’t a documented cause for short-sightedness,” I respond, shaking off the final wisp of him, a moment of madness that seems like a lifetime ago yet still has the power to almost sweep my knees out from under me.
“I didn’t say it was a good theory,” she counters.
“I’m short-sighted because it’s in my genes. And my bum has disappeared because I had a baby. It’s called life.”
“Your ass is still fine—fine with a capital F—though I’m sure a little bed bouncing would only serve to improve it.”
“Is that so?” I reply scornfully.
“Yep. Bed bouncing is good for the mind, body, and soul. You should know that, you being a health guru and all. Orgasms are like chicken soup when you’re ill. Or popping a Xanax pill when you’re blue.”
“Since when have you taken to popping pills?”
“I hear they’re good,” she says with a shrug. “But I’ll stick to wine and sex.”
“How about you also stick to your day job and stop worrying about me and my sex life.”
“Love life,” she corrects.
“When I find someone I’d like to bounce long term, I’m sure it’ll all come flooding back. I can’t help that no one has ignited my interest lately.”
“Lately as in five years,” Rose replies pointedly. “Honestly, you’re so out of practice, I worry you might fall off.”
“What?” My answer is wavery with laughter, the vision of such a mishap popping up in my head. “I don’t even know what to do with that.”
“That’s what she said,” she says, laughing as I move to stand next to her. “And you know what his reply was?”
Ouch?
“No more innuendo,” I warn as she opens her mouth.