Total pages in book: 103
Estimated words: 96970 (not accurate)
Estimated Reading Time in minutes: 485(@200wpm)___ 388(@250wpm)___ 323(@300wpm)
Estimated words: 96970 (not accurate)
Estimated Reading Time in minutes: 485(@200wpm)___ 388(@250wpm)___ 323(@300wpm)
After our “spotlight moment,” when the cold started seeping in, the cinnamon stick warmer began to beep, and a few people lined up for more refreshments, Judd let me go so I could get back to work. But after a minute, I felt his eyes on me.
“Firebug, tell me you have a fire extinguisher in this thing.”
I glanced to the spot where the fire extinguisher lived…
Or was supposed to.
But tonight, in its place was a note in Juni’s handwriting.
I borrowed this one to replace the one I yeeted. Replacement hasn’t come yet.
In the time I spent composing shrieking, ranting text messages to Juni that ranged from WTF to you’re fired to bring me a fire extinguisher asap, the warming oven began to let out a distinct burning smell.
I looked up at the Chief in horror as his eyes narrowed at me.
“You know I have to write you up for this, right?”
Instead of being angry, though, he looked downright thrilled.
I realized that the infraction meant another several months of random fire inspections from my very own Smokey the Overbear.
And I decided I was very okay with that.
EPILOGUE
KINCAID
Jett: We don’t really have to go to this thing, do we?
Benji: Tell Aunt Tilly you’re not coming. I dare you.
Wolfe: We’re all supposed to be there.
Caspian: Wait, can we skip it?
Lennon: If skipping is an option, I’m totally skipping.
Gabe: #TeamSkip
JJ: I’m married and straight. Why the fuck do I have to go to Dick Town with all the rest of you?
Jett: Wait. Dick Town? NVM. I’m in.
Tilly: You think I can’t see your mf-ing group chat? You show up tonight or we’re doing this again next month.
_____________________
In the six months I’d been with Alex Marian, I’d been to plenty of Marian events, but I had to admit none of them were quite like this.
The dining room of the Fairmont Hotel in San Francisco gleamed like something out of a flashy lifestyle blog. Crystal sconces bathed the long table in golden light, catching the gleam of polished silver and the delicate shimmer of cut-glass goblets. Tilly had insisted on fresh roses in scandalous shades of crimson and violet, their fragrance mingling with the buttery aroma of homemade rolls drifting in from the kitchen. A string quartet played discreetly from the corner, the music just loud enough to soften awkward silences and cover any whispered asides.
And there were many whispered asides.
It hadn’t taken long for Ella to spill the beans about what Alex’s great-great-aunt Tilly was really up to with this dinner party. It was some kind of massive setup affair for all of the cousins in Alex’s generation who didn’t already have a partner. It was hard to express just how giddy Alex had been when he’d realized the bullet he’d dodged.
“I knew there was a reason I was dating you!” he’d declared one night while shimmying over to me with two glasses of wine from the kitchen. We’d been preparing to catch up on our favorite home renovation show when he was interrupted by a call from his sister.
“Ah, yes. The reason that’s less about who I am as a human and more about how I can protect you from the meddlingest family on Earth.”
“Precisely. So, get this.” And then he’d proceeded to give me all the hot goss from his family, including this strange dinner party in San Francisco. I tried not to let on how much I enjoyed his overly large family and all their quirks, but he always saw through me. “We’re invited, of course, but we’re supposed to stay militantly monogamous. Tilly’s words, not Ella’s.”
“Damn. No gang bangs at the fancy dinner party?” I’d asked dryly. “However will we cope?”
But now that I saw the collection of beautiful and successful men Tilly and her cronies had somehow managed to rope into this thing, I could understand the need for the warning.
“Shit,” Alex said, moving closer to me. “I should’ve forced you into a sham marriage or something. At least gotten you a cheap wedding band.”
His hand tightened subconsciously in mine, which made me love the sweet man even more. I leaned over and pressed a kiss to his cheek, inhaling his sexy cologne. “You have a wedding band on my heart, Firebug. Even if I don’t have one on my finger yet.”
Guests mingled with a blend of curiosity and suspicion while Alex’s great-granny greeted each arrival from her perch near the large but cold fireplace like a benevolent monarch, wineglass in hand, and her wife, Irene, busied herself with introductions that somehow felt more like chess moves than polite conversation. The undercurrent of purpose was palpable, though cloaked in charm and candlelight.
“Yet,” Alex said softly, as if he were tasting the word for possibility.
“Hm?” I murmured as we reached the open bar. “What do you want, baby? Wine or beer? Ginger ale?”