Total pages in book: 199
Estimated words: 192134 (not accurate)
Estimated Reading Time in minutes: 961(@200wpm)___ 769(@250wpm)___ 640(@300wpm)
Estimated words: 192134 (not accurate)
Estimated Reading Time in minutes: 961(@200wpm)___ 769(@250wpm)___ 640(@300wpm)
She scoffs. “Am I online? When is anyone in our modern world not online or able to get online in, say, ten seconds?”
“When my hand is in your panties. That’s when you can’t get online.”
Silence greets me, and for a brief second, I fear I’ve overstepped the mark.
I’m finally rewarded with her laughter, and I can picture her perfectly—her smile, her twinkling brown eyes, her pretty lips curving up as she chuckles.
“Well, yes, that would indeed be an obstacle, Graham.” She clears her throat. “And to answer your question, yes, I have my laptop open. I was Facetiming with my cousin earlier. Dylan was attempting to teach me poker so I won’t come in last at the family reunion tournament this year.”
“How’d that go?”
“Badly,” she says with a laugh. “I’m the opposite of a card shark. A card guppy, I guess?”
“Card tadpole,” I joke, finding it oddly cute that she’s terrible at cards. “I’ll give you a poker refresher course before the reunion. In the meantime, let me show you what we’re working on. Check out slides ten to twelve.”
I send her my file, and when she clicks it open, I hear her appreciative gasp.
“These are so pretty.” Her admiring tone sets off pride fireworks in my chest. It’s nice to know someone with taste as exquisite as CJ’s likes my work. “I love the light-blue one, and the beadwork on the pink is stunning.”
“Would you ever wear one?”
She pauses. “Hmm.” She seems to be considering my question. “Well, yes, but probably not for the reasons you think.”
Her response intrigues me. I sit up straighter. “What are the reasons I think?”
“Your tagline. Have your cake and wear it too . . . That makes it seem like this piece is all about the function of holding in my cake belly, or maybe making me look like a piece of cake to someone else. But personally, I’m thinking more about how wearing one would make me feel. The pink one, for example, you could totally wear that for a night out with jeans and a shawl. I can imagine how sexy and feminine that would make me feel. How confident, you know?”
I nod, the cogs in my brain turning. “Brian and I were brainstorming how to make the marketing work better. I’ll have to talk that over with him. It’s an angle we missed.”
She laughs gently. “Probably because you’ve never worn one. Or is there something you want to share with me, Graham? Don’t be embarrassed. I’m an accepting person, and it takes all kinds to make the world turn.”
I crack up, as I scrub a hand over my jaw. “I assure you that my fascination with women’s underthings comes from my desire to see a beautiful woman in them, and then out of them. Not from any secret cross-dressing tendencies.”
“Good.” She sighs softly. “I’m looking forward to tomorrow.”
“Me too.”
“And tonight I have this scary clown to keep me company until bedtime. Thank you so much for the thoughtful gift.”
I groan. “That’s what the book I bought you is about? If I’d known, I would never have gifted it,” I tease. “I am morally opposed to the perpetuation of scary clown stories. How can horror fans seriously enjoy them? They’re a messed-up kind of terrifying.”
“They are. And that’s exactly why we like them,” she says with a laugh.
“Twisted,” I breathe. “Tell me more. What other messed-up things do you enjoy being scared by, Miss Murphy?”
I settle into my couch and listen to her tell me why she loves horror novels—they make her feel wildly, electrically alive.
“And is Mr. King one of your favorites, like he was for Sean?” I ask.
“He is indeed. Though, when Sean adopted Stevie from the shelter, I suggested Tiger Lily as a name, for my favorite flower. And because Steve has freckles on his nose like the flower petals. But, being all macho man, Sean stuck with Stephen King.”
I smile at the image she paints of my best friend. “I can picture that conversation clearly.”
“He made the right choice, though. I swear this cat is addicted to books too. He runs over to sit on me as soon as I crack one open.”
“It’s good of you to take care of him.” I remember driving CJ to pick up Stephen King at Sean’s place the day he was killed. He’d want me to take care of Steve, to make sure he doesn’t go back to a shelter, she’d said amid tears that seemed to flow endlessly.
She sighs, a little wistful, a little sad. “It’s easy, really. And Sean loved this cat. The least I can do is look out for him like he would have,” she says, before adding in a lighter tone, “but my next pet is going to be a hedgehog. I’m obsessed with their cuteness.”
“Then you’re going to have to move out of the boroughs, baby. Hedgehogs are illegal in the city.”