Total pages in book: 115
Estimated words: 111980 (not accurate)
Estimated Reading Time in minutes: 560(@200wpm)___ 448(@250wpm)___ 373(@300wpm)
Estimated words: 111980 (not accurate)
Estimated Reading Time in minutes: 560(@200wpm)___ 448(@250wpm)___ 373(@300wpm)
* * *
“So then, I practically asked for him to rearrange my DNA with his big dick,” I say to my friends at a table in the back of Pick Me Up. We’re at our usual spot around a corner table beneath the whimsical fox painting.
Bridget blinks.
Ripley stares.
They’re dead silent for several seconds, clutching their ceramic mugs. Bridget moves first, lifting a manicured finger—a sleek shade of silver. “You used those words?” It comes out slow, careful.
“Along those lines,” I say, then take a sip, thinking back to last night. “Wait. It was more like my tonsils are issuing an invitation to get to know your big dick.”
“That’s impressive too,” Ripley says.
“But the dick line is good. Save it. Use it again,” Bridget says encouragingly.
I sigh. “That’s my point. I shouldn’t do this again with him. Don’t you get it?”
Bridget nods like she’s reminding herself. “Right, right, that’s why we’re here. To help you make sure you don’t say something like rearrange my DNA with your dick?”
“Yes, exactly. Thank you. You understand now,” I say, then take another sip of the vanilla latte. Yep, I definitely needed to meet with my friends.
“So what exactly are you asking us for—other lines you could use on him, or how to shut your mouth so you don’t say things like that?” Ripley asks, cutting to the chase after she plucks off a corner of a scone.
“What do I do? We have to work together. But we lunged at each other like feral animals last night.”
“I guess really…don’t lunge again?” Ripley offers.
“I know, but I feel like such a jerk. I mean, I kind of kicked him out. But in my defense, it was necessary. I mean, if he stayed there any longer, he definitely would have been getting to know all my genomes.”
“I don’t remember you being this good at science back in high school,” Bridget points out.
“I paid a lot of attention in sex ed,” I say, then demurely lift my cup once more.
“Actually, I’m not so sure you did if you think genomes can be moved like furniture,” Ripley says pointedly.
“Fine, fine. But now I have to work on this show with him, and he’s kind of a hard-ass. I just need to find a way to say I’m sorry without actually saying I’m sorry. Because I kind of said I was sorry last night, and he acted like I didn’t need to say I was sorry and that the whole sorry was no big deal.”
“Oh, so he acted super chill when you kicked him out while he was still half hard?” Bridget says in the driest tone possible.
I swivel to face her. “You were looking in my window last night?”
She laughs. “Yes, I was. Or I’m a good guesser. Take your pick.”
“Fine, fine. I was a big jerk. I guess we know the answer to the question. I tried to explain myself…”
“And how does that usually work out for a guy when he does the same thing?” Ripley adds, tilting her head in question.
I slump down in my chair. “I’m sure he felt the same way. I am. But…I need to get him a makeup gift, don’t I?”
“I mean, it’s not totally necessary. You’ve already said you’re sorry,” Bridget offers. “You guys aren’t dating. It’s totally reasonable. But if you’re trying to smooth things over, there’s one surefire way to do it, and you, missy, are a practitioner of treat culture.”
That’s it. That’s totally it.
I’ll turn up the sunshine to ten and serve it with a side of donuts. I thank them and say goodbye. With renewed determination to smooth over any remnants of awkward, I head to The Sweet Spot.
Donuts fix everything. Especially when you already have a breakfast competition going with someone.
Seriously, this is just brilliant. This shows I’m committed to professionalism. And yeah, Sawyer might be Mister Fuck Me to Pieces, but he is also Mister Serious Boss. Picking up donuts, especially after I teased him about it the other day, shows that I respect and honor our working relationship.
A man like Sawyer, who clearly has a huge by-the-book side—even if he loves to flirt with me more than he probably should—is definitely a stickler. The way he dresses is evidence alone. He wants to maintain a certain image—the professional, respectful, slightly distant boss. I hustle over to the bakery, determined to do my part to help with that image.
There’s already a line outside. I’m not surprised. Katrina’s banana bread is the best, and so are her chocolate-chip cookies. But I wait my turn, and today I order a baker’s dozen of donuts, including a coconut-cream-filled one just for Sawyer.
How will he be able to resist?
News flash: he won’t.
And when I head into Dog Tails, I’m sure this is the beginning of the next phase of our relationship. Donuts and a kick-ass business partnership. He’s already at the front counter, checking in Dandelion the Great Dane mix.