Total pages in book: 111
Estimated words: 107453 (not accurate)
Estimated Reading Time in minutes: 537(@200wpm)___ 430(@250wpm)___ 358(@300wpm)
Estimated words: 107453 (not accurate)
Estimated Reading Time in minutes: 537(@200wpm)___ 430(@250wpm)___ 358(@300wpm)
“No! You seriously think I’d be mad?” She thumps me playfully on the temple. “I think it’s great. Sometimes the universe does you a favor, and your dog barfs up a pair of panties.” That’s how she learned her ex was cheating—the thong in question wasn’t hers. “You’re the best snitch,” she tells the panty-loving pup, stroking his head.
Ivy sets her chin in her hand. “Or your boss posts a photo of herself, your ex-boyfriend, and a fake blow job.”
I laugh, feeling guilt-free at last. “Or your almost groom says he wants to be your fuck buddy.”
We lift our drinks to toast. When Trina sets down her ceramic mug, her green eyes are sparkling. “And you know what you do next?”
I shake my head. I know what she did next—had a VIP experience with two hot hockey stars.
So, correction: I shake my head vehemently. “That is not happening. We are not having a threesome.”
Ivy chuckles. “Bet it happens before Trina and I even go to the Amelia Stone concert,” she adds, gesturing to Trina and asking with her eyes am I right?
Trina nods. “Definitely.”
“You’re placing bets already?” But of course they are. Funny, I’m not jealous that I’ll miss that concert because of my honeymoon. I was a little jealous before.
“Well, it’s not like you’re going to last till Thursday,” Trina says, matter-of-factly. “That’s my bang prediction.”
I double-thump her head now. “I will last the whole trip. I will last forever.”
My friends give exaggerated nods, and Trina adds, “But just in case, I got you a gift.” She reaches into a canvas bag and hands me…a bottle of cherry-flavored lube. “It’s a double honeymoon present.”
I roll my eyes, but I take it since she’s insisting. And I get where she’s coming from. I gave her one when she moved in with her two hockey heroes for a week that turned into forever. “I won’t use it.”
“Want to bet on it?” Trina counters.
Ivy smiles slyly. I’m pretty sure Roxy does, too, as Ivy says, “I’ll double down on that bet.”
“There will be no doubling down,” I insist.
Trina and Ivy just look at each other, with the smugness of two happily married and well-fucked babes. “Famous last words,” they say in unison.
13
I’M CATNIP
Ledger
My cousin gently fingers the sticky flower on my back deck. “Don’t deny it. You totally got this plant for the name,” Hollis says, calling me out.
I cross my arms. “I did not.”
Scoffing, he lets go of the plant that’s hanging on the patio of my San Francisco home. His pointed look says he thinks I’m a big liar. “You did. Just admit it. Sticky monkey flower?” He gestures to the plant’s friend, a Lamium, bursting with pink flowers in its pot in the corner. “Bet you’re going to tell me the next one is a Leopard Racer. And then, I’m sure you’ve got a Banana Cat too.”
I drag a hand down my face, fighting the laughter that always bubbles up when I’m with this guy. I can’t give an inch, though, or he’ll take a mile and, I dunno, test out his new sketch comedy on me when I’m eager as hell to get out of town. “Actually, there is a plant called the Dog Banana,” I say evenly.
Hollis holds his arms out wide, like he owns the world. “It’s official. I can be a plant namer in my next life.”
“Or this life. You’ll need a post-hockey career, after all.” I instantly regret the doom warning. He doesn’t need to hear that from me, and I’m the one who needs a career after hockey. My cousin is in the prime of his career, having recently joined Dev’s team, the Golden State Foxes.
I wave, dismissing the topic, so we can just move on. “But thanks for taking care of the plants. Normally, my neighbor Shanti handles it, but she’s in Houston for the week. One of her matchmaking clients is tying the knot.”
His eyes sparkle. “Oh, I’ve been thinking about using a matchmaker someday.”
Arching a brow, I shoot him a dubious look. “She specializes in Indian marriages in the U.S. Not white guys who play pro hockey for a living.”
“Fine, fine, piss on my romance dreams. Anyway, stop stalling. And tell me more about the…” He waves a hand toward the Lamium. “I’m sure you’re going to tell me it’s a Pussycat Fruit.”
I don’t stifle my laugh this time, but I center myself quickly. I show him the rest of the plants on the patio, then head inside to my friends on the windowsill, giving him the lowdown on the care they need.
When we’re finishing by the Calathea on the plant table, a sleek black cat materializes in the living room, slinking past us, stopping to rub against Hollis’s leg. What the hell? Is there a blue moon?
“Jack. How’s it going, bro?” Hollis says to the cat.