Total pages in book: 80
Estimated words: 83167 (not accurate)
Estimated Reading Time in minutes: 416(@200wpm)___ 333(@250wpm)___ 277(@300wpm)
Estimated words: 83167 (not accurate)
Estimated Reading Time in minutes: 416(@200wpm)___ 333(@250wpm)___ 277(@300wpm)
I still knew I needed to win over the women in that house, not for me.
For Mo.
But I leaned into him and replied, “I’m glad you now know what you deserve, honey. And I hope I always give you that.”
“I don’t hope it, I know you will,” he returned, came to me, kissed me hard but closed-mouthed, and pulled away. “You ready?”
I was not.
I nodded.
He let me go, shifted to open his door but turned back to me.
“I help you out.”
“Right, okay,” I whispered.
It was then Mo nodded.
It felt funny sitting there, waiting for Mo to help me from his truck, but it felt nice when he did.
Like I was what I was by Mo—loved and looked after.
We were halfway up the walk when the front door was opened by a blonde woman who was tall—not as tall as Mo, but really freaking tall, and built—not like Mo, of the feminine, curvy variety.
She took one look at me and shouted, “Holy crap! That dress!” She then turned her head back toward the house and kept shouting. “I’m going on a diet immediately! After crab cakes, of course. And meringue cake, of course again!”
With my dress, I’d gone black. I only had clingy because I only did clingy. It was sleeveless and halter neck with a racer back. It was also mid-thigh with a small slit on the left side.
It was me.
And I thought they should know who I was, no matter how nervous I was about it.
The woman at the door turned back to us as we walked up the three steps to the porch then immediately back to the house she yelled, “She’s teeny! And she’s everything.”
Oh my God.
I wasn’t exactly teeny.
But I was beyond thrilled she’d taken one look at me and described me as everything.
Before I could feel the fullness of this relief, Mo ordered, “Marte, quit shouting.”
“Mo, get her in here,” Marte ordered right back. “Mom wouldn’t let us touch the hors d’oeuvres until Lottie arrived and she made mini-corn muffins and smoked salmon sandwiches. You know Taylor isn’t into fancy food, but he’s into eating, and since he hasn’t since lunch, he’s getting cranky. As for me, if I don’t eat something soon, I’m gonna kill somebody.”
“Right then,” Mo returned, and now we were standing on the welcome mat in front of her. “You wanna get out of the door so we can actually come in?”
“’Course,” she replied, but didn’t do that. She pushed a hand my way and said, “Hey, I’m Marte. And I’m the least annoying one, no matter what Mo says to you.”
“That’s a lie,” Mo muttered.
I took her hand, smiling because this night was starting a whole lot different than I expected.
“Hi, I’m Lottie.”
“Jeez, Marz, what’s with the bar-the-door routine?” another tall, blonde, built woman asked, doing this while physically shoving Marte out of the way only to take her place. “Hey, I’m Lene and I’m just gonna say right now, Rick brought his poster of you. And if you don’t want to sign it, just don’t. I told him it was rude. Not at the first dinner. Not when Mom’s making us dress up and demanded we get babysitters. More like when Paul has his Columbus Day barbeque. And heads up, Paul uses every excuse to barbeque. So that’s not weird, for him. Labor Day, Memorial Day, Veterans Day, totally Fourth of July. Even Halloween. He tried to barbeque a turkey for Thanksgiving once, and Signe lost her mind.”
I couldn’t help but stare at her, but when she stopped talking, I asked, “Your husband has a poster of me?”
“Don’t be nervous,” she advised quickly. “He’s not a stalker or anything. He’s just a huge fan of those Rock Chick books. I swear, I nearly had to take him to the hospital, he was laughing so hard at the part where your sister goes to the poker games with her girls.” She leaned toward me. “He’s gonna ask you to ask them to sign his books. Don’t feel weird about telling him to shove off about that either. I got you, girl.”
I kept staring at her.
They knew who I was.
They knew what I did.
And she was okay with her husband having a poster of me.
I had a variety of posters from back in my Queen of the Corvette calendar heyday.
And in most of them I was clothed.
Albeit scantily.
“Do you mind if I actually take my woman in the house?” Mo requested, sounding beleaguered. “Or does one of you wanna bring a plate of corn muffins out here?”
“Oh, right, sorry,” Lene said, then grabbed my hand, and I could do anything in heels, but I nearly tripped at the strength of her dragging me inside, inviting, “Come in, come in.” She barely got me a foot into the living room when she yelled, “Look everybody! Lottie’s here!”