Total pages in book: 69
Estimated words: 65913 (not accurate)
Estimated Reading Time in minutes: 330(@200wpm)___ 264(@250wpm)___ 220(@300wpm)
Estimated words: 65913 (not accurate)
Estimated Reading Time in minutes: 330(@200wpm)___ 264(@250wpm)___ 220(@300wpm)
“Mmm. I do like cake,” she says, then takes another bite of the sandwich.
“Buying you . . . gifties,” I say, in my dirtiest tone.
“Yep. You’re a keeper,” she says, finishing her sandwich, then wiping her hands. “But I’m working on a list too.”
I curl my fingers, beckoning for her to share. She grabs her laptop from the edge of the table, flips it open, then clicks on her mouse. She gives me a soft, almost shy look. “I started it right before you showed up at my balcony. I didn’t get far, but it’s a top-five list of what makes a great partner,” she says, then shows me a file.
She’s only written a few lines, but they restore my faith in romance. As I read her words, Find the person who will encourage your dreams. The one who’ll believe in you, even when you don’t believe in yourself, I don’t think dating leads to disasters anymore.
It led me to her.
“C’mere,” I whisper.
She stands, moves around the table, and joins me, sitting on my lap once again. I nuzzle her neck. “I’m so glad you tossed glitter on me,” I murmur.
She laughs. “I did not toss it on you. The glitter threw up on your beard.”
I rub my whiskers against her jawline. “Whatever you say.”
She swats my shoulder. “And to think I was going to tell you the rest of my list.”
I lift my face and adopt a sweet smile. “Tell me.”
Her vulnerable eyes meet mine. “I wrote this in my head the other morning. It’s what I wanted to say to you then. Find the person who fixes your broken cabinet, kisses your tears, and lifts your spirits. Also, ideally, the one who fucks you just the way you want.”
Yup. My radar is working again. Everything beeps for her. I kiss her deeply, feeling calm and settled. She’s where I’m meant to be.
But I also have a dog to walk. When we separate, I suggest we meet on the street with the four-legged beasts.
After I grab my pup from my home and meet her outside, we walk through the neighborhood under a starry sky. “So, what did you do while I was off banging my head against the brick wall of my . . . head?”
She laughs, then nudges me. “Started a business.”
“Oh, just that?” I tease, then realize there was a touch of pride in her tone. When I read her face—vulnerable and serious—I drop the teasing. “Wow. I can’t wait to hear everything.”
“It’s called Date Night for One . . .”
Twenty minutes later I’m toasting with champagne at the bar where we had our first date. “Congratulations. It’s so you, Veronica. It’s perfect,” I say.
She clinks back. “Thank you. And I’ll stick around Bikes and Blooms until you find another manager. I’ll miss it. I truly enjoyed working with you, but I think this new business is my heart.”
“I think so too. And I followed mine with the shop. You should follow yours. I’ll find someone to replace you,” I say earnestly.
No one can replace her, but I don’t say that. She should be free to pursue her dreams with no worries.
Her business is a genius idea.
Just like she had brilliant suggestions at the shop.
Which makes me think . . .
“What if you offered the subscription box at the store too? Let’s be honest. Sex and flowers do go together.”
Her eyes sparkle. “I would love that. And when you start, it can be National Battery Day.”
I laugh, then toast to her once more. When we’re done, I take her home, and we cross off another item on her list as we get under the covers.
Well, she didn’t include two dogs watching us sixty-nine, but a dog’s gotta do what a dog’s gotta do.
33
The Virgin Club Alumni
Veronica
Things We Assume About the Deflowered
* * *
I’ve heard them all.
Just get it over with.
Find someone to bang and move on.
Who cares who he is? He’ll never stick around anyway.
But I’ve never followed conventional wisdom. Do what works for you, I say.
I waited twenty-six years to have intercourse. I don’t regret taking my time. Here’s why.
First, I excel at having sex with myself.
Second, the guy was worth waiting for. And I know because I didn’t just fall into bed with him. We fell into love. Big, wild, messy, happy, glittery love.
Remember the guy I almost smashed into on the street? The one I flashed my panties to?
He’s mine now.
And sometimes reality exceeds expectations. Like when Mister Sexy Pants became Mister Right.
Epilogue
Big Paws, My Ass
Hot Stuff
* * *
Ahem.
Time to set the record straight. It had come to Hot Stuff’s attention that there were some, should we say, misrepresentations of him?
He’d put up with these erroneous perceptions for long enough. He’d allowed certain parties to believe he was simply, well, like a dog.
Dogs didn’t plan things. Dogs didn’t devise strategies.