Total pages in book: 102
Estimated words: 100275 (not accurate)
Estimated Reading Time in minutes: 501(@200wpm)___ 401(@250wpm)___ 334(@300wpm)
Estimated words: 100275 (not accurate)
Estimated Reading Time in minutes: 501(@200wpm)___ 401(@250wpm)___ 334(@300wpm)
“I shrugged again. In the next breath, she grabbed my hand and guided it up her arm and then down the inside for some serious sideboob action, holding it there. And she said, ‘How does that feel, Calvin?’”
I can’t move. Can’t breathe. And Calvin’s frown deepens with each word as his eyes narrow at the floor between us.
“I’m sorry.”
He shrugs one shoulder and sighs. “So I named my sex doll Mrs. Wilke. And when I fuck her, I say, ‘How does that feel, Mrs. Wilke?’”
What the hell?
Calvin finally glances up at me and scratches his chin beneath his barely restrained grin. And that says it all—everything is a lie.
“Sucks being homeschooled.” I wink and saunter toward the door for my boots and coat. “Fitz, if you and Mrs. Wilke are ever open to a threesome, let me know. It’s been a fantasy of mine for years.”
Chapter Nine
CALVIN
Maren hums while scrubbing her and Jamie’s toilet, hair corralled like a hay bale on top of her head. She’s still in her nightshirt, boxer shorts, and brown teddy bear slippers. It’s our biweekly cleaning day—the easiest biweekly cleaning ever because our new roommate is a perfectionist. Jamie’s always organizing, washing laundry, and cleaning shit.
She bakes.
She has a great job.
She’s sexy as fuck.
I’m not marrying her, but some guy should.
“Maren, do you want to be my date to Gary’s birthday party this weekend?” I ask.
“Oh man, I wish, Fitz. Gary has the best parties. But I can’t. I’m going home this weekend.”
When I don’t respond, she eyes me over her shoulder. “Ask Will.”
“He’s working.”
“It’s okay for you to go alone.”
I cross my arms. “I know.”
Maren chuckles, returning her attention to the toilet. “Order a ride if you drink too much, and have a condom in your pocket if you don’t want to be some third-grade teacher’s baby daddy.”
“Are you sure you have to go home this weekend?” I stop short of begging, but I’m sure she can hear my groveling undertone. Crowds make me uneasy. When I get uneasy, I drink. When I drink, my dick wanders.
“Ask Jamie.”
“There’s no way I’m asking Jamie.”
“Ask me what?”
I suppress a sigh at Jamie’s stealthy way of sneaking up on me. She needs more weight to her steps or a few creaks in her joints.
Maren flushes the toilet just as Jamie makes it to the top of the stairs. “Fitz needs a chaperone to Gary’s birthday party this weekend.”
“I don’t need a chaperone because I’m not attending the party.” I brush past Jamie to the stairs just as she flips a dusting rag over her shoulder.
“I think we have a mouse in the house,” Will declares with the refrigerator pulled out of its spot, inspecting the area behind it. “Are those traps still in the garage?”
I mumble a “yeah” on my way to the laundry room.
After I knock down a few cobwebs in the corners and empty the lint filter, Jamie appears in the doorway. “I’ll be your date.”
“I don’t need one.” I dump the clean sheets into a laundry basket.
“Then why did you ask Maren?”
“Because she knows Gary.”
“I know Gary.” She steps closer, plucks a sheet from the basket, and folds it.
“No. You’ve met Gary. You don’t know him.” I fold the pillowcases and set them on the dryer.
“Well, what better way to get to know him than at a party?”
“I’m not going.”
“Why don’t you take Mrs. Wilke?”
I don’t acknowledge her, but I know she’s grinning.
“Stop!” She takes the sheet from me. “Didn’t your mom teach you how to fold a fitted sheet?”
Her question knocks the wind out of me, but I disguise it with a shrug and a murmured “apparently not.” However, I do remember how easy my mom made it look, despite the fact that memories are not my friends.
Jamie makes it look easy too.
“Tuck the corners into each other. Then fold the flap like this.” She glances up at me with a quick grin. “Voilà. Now, it’s a rectangle; you can fold it like a flat sheet. How does a professional parachute packer not know this?” She hands me the folded sheet laced with a floral fabric softener. “Now, when is the party? Do you want me to drive so you can drink? Maren said it would also be my responsibility to keep you from impregnating anyone. Clearly, she doesn’t know about your scrapbook of carefully counted sperm.”
“Christ!” I drop the folded sheets into the laundry basket, then rake my fingers through my hair. “I’m not a child. I don’t need a chaperone.”
“Then why did you ask Maren to go to the party with you?” Jamie lifts onto her toes, invading my space to fix my hair. I’ve never felt this on edge. “Because she likes Gary’s parties,” I murmur, losing some of my fight because I’ve decided her hands in my hair and breasts pressed to my chest beat watching her bake, but just barely.