Total pages in book: 96
Estimated words: 93417 (not accurate)
Estimated Reading Time in minutes: 467(@200wpm)___ 374(@250wpm)___ 311(@300wpm)
Estimated words: 93417 (not accurate)
Estimated Reading Time in minutes: 467(@200wpm)___ 374(@250wpm)___ 311(@300wpm)
Then she goes inside, leaving me with those parting words.
Does she mean in the bedroom? It’s all I can think about as I shower off the run. It’s all I can think about as I engage in round three of my hand’s tribute to Briar.
This is going to be a fucking problem.
Especially since thirty minutes later as I finish getting dressed, there’s a text from her blinking up at me on my phone.
With a very naughty emoticon.
30
BREAKFAST IS SERVED
Hollis
When I open the fridge, my eyes pop.
Is that my favorite breakfast? Pretty sure it is. I take out the bowl of chia seed pudding and find a Post-it note on it.
You guys are seriously the best. From the cat rescue to the boyfriend lessons, I can’t thank you enough.
But consider breakfast a start. After I did some morning yoga, I made something for all of you. It’s chia seed pudding—chia seeds, coconut milk, and mangoes. I left a bag of ground beans from the local coffee shop on the counter, too, and some Earl Grey for Rhys.
Good luck at the obstacle course today. Donut is staying at the house, so if you can let her out to do her business before you go I would be so grateful.
And thanks for being such great temporary boyfriends. There’s a picture in the group text for you.
On a yawn, I grab my phone and open it, clicking on the icon of a cat and a shocked cat face emoticon.
Briar: I call this her boudoir series.
Laughing, I click open the pic of Frances Furbottom. “Holy shit,” I mutter.
Hollis: You didn’t tell us Mrs. Furry Butt had a second career.
Briar: She didn’t tell me.
Rhys: You really need to work on her confidence.
Briar’s silver tabby is lounging on a fluffy white pillow, stretched on her side, looking like a painting.
Hollis: She looks like Odalisque.
Gavin: Do you do that on purpose?
Hollis: Do what?
Gavin: Use those fancy words.
Hollis: Yes. I do it to communicate. Is that hard for you?
Gavin: Odalisque, dude? Really, who says that?
Hollis: It’s the name of a fucking painting. La Grande Odalisque to be precise.
Gavin: My point exactly.
Hollis: By Ingres.
Gavin: Dude. Doily was bad enough. Now a painter?
Hollis: I took art history in college!
Gavin: Oh well, look at you.
Hollis: Yes, mock me for being educated.
Rhys: Briar, it’s like watching a tennis match, isn’t it?
Briar: It sure is. Impressive, too, that you can walk, text, and drink tea.
Rhys: I’m good at multitasking.
Ah, that explains where Rhys is right now. He must be walking her to her yoga workshop. My phone pings again.
Gavin: Yes, thank you, Briar. I can’t wait.
Hollis: And I’m about to dig into the breakfast. Thank you!
A few minutes later, I sit down with my coffee and some chia seed pudding when Gavin strolls into the kitchen, hair wet, fresh out of the shower by the looks of it.
“Hey,” he grunts, setting down his phone at the table. “She did look Rubenesque.”
I shake my head in amusement. “I knew you knew it.”
But he sighs, seeming thrown off.
“You okay?”
“Fine,” he says, but I’m not sure he means it.
Me though? I’m on top of the world thanks to last night. “Did you have a good night?” I ask.
He flips me the middle finger.
“You’re so sweet.”
He flips me his other middle finger.
I smile and eat breakfast. When I’m done, I say, “Well, I’m going to work on how to be a great boyfriend today. I have some excellent ideas.”
He meets my gaze. “Me too.”
He’s in on this now?
31
A FULL-SERVICE BOYFRIEND
Briar
“Just so I’m clear—a full-service boyfriend should be able to provide a screaming orgasm and then walk you to work the next morning?” I ask as Rhys and I pass a cute shop peddling throw pillows with sayings on them like You Had Me at Merlot and Listen to Riesling.
Rhys takes a drink of the tea I made, like he’s giving that some serious thought, then says, “Sounds about right.”
“I’m taking notes for my column,” I say, tapping my temple like I’m recording these tips.
“But honestly, what kind of boyfriend wouldn’t do that?”
“A bad one?” I ask, like I’m offering the answer in class.
“You already know the right answers.”
“Probably because I’ve known the wrong guys,” I say as we near the town square. The faint sounds of folk music in the distance tickle the air. “But why does this—walking—make for a great boyfriend? Or, put another way, how do I convince the men that might read this column that these tips will benefit them? His site is a little…how to get laid.”
“Lovely.”
“Technically it’s dating tips for real men. But same thing.”
After a pause, Rhys says, “So you need to be a little bit subversive with the column. Like when your mum puts butter on peas to get you to eat them.”
“Spoiler alert: nothing would get me to eat peas.”
“Bet you’ve never tried sugar snap peas.” He makes a good point.