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I’m just trying to find the right words to express my heartfelt sympathy because I know you were, like, in love with that sentient jar of mayo,
“Don’t get me wrong, I’m livid. But mostly? I’m . . . God, I’m so over it.” Sick and tired of Justin’s waffling, waiting for him to grow up, being put through the emotional wringer, putting effort into a relationship and being met with the bare minimum. “I’m honestly more concerned with what the hell I’m supposed to post on Instagram.”
Was a no good, terrible, very bad day.
“To be honest, I’m probably not qualified to be giving anyone advice. But my sister seems to think I am. And I’m incapable of saying no to her, so here I am.”
but is that really your name? Truly?”
Emerald City Rep was putting on a rendition of Chitty Chitty Bang Bang, my dad was the show’s orchestral conductor, and my mom was cast as one of the leads, Truly Scrumptious.
“This is better than Pay-Per-View,” Lulu whispered.
Better not to let him finish when her name in his mouth was as good as a weapon.
“He fished it out of the garbage after you left,” Caitlin said, tapping away at her phone. “Like the total freak he is.” “Jesus H. Christ, Caitlin,” he complained. “Is nothing sacred?”
Colin McCrory had the gall to press his finger against her lips, physically shushing her.
He sputtered out a laugh that trailed off into a pained groan. “You’re killing me.” For being killed, he sure sounded like he was enjoying himself.
“What if I’m not so innocent? You ever think about that?”
Lulu rolled her eyes. “That’s the thing, you don’t want your parents to be happy; you want them to be together.” “It’s the same thing.” “Is it?”
Truly (10:20 p.m.): I thought you liked me rude. Or was that just sweet talk?
“Damn. Please, for me, tell him he’s been a very good boy and put him out of his misery?”
If anything, I think you’re the perfect person to talk about bi-erasure in media because you spent the last six years in a straight-presenting relationship that was queer because you’re queer. And the gender of your partner? Doesn’t change that.”
“It was Dad energy,” Caitlin said. It was, and Truly would be lying if she said it wasn’t kind of hot in a weird, let’s unpack that later during sex-positive therapy kind of way.
Colin had a perfectly good plate of wings sitting beside him and yet he chose to steal the wing off her plate. That would’ve gotten under her skin a month ago, but now she just felt weirdly fond that he wanted her wing.
“Bowling,” he said, leaning across the table. She held still, heart pounding and stomach dipping as Colin thumbed away a streak of sauce at the corner of her lip. Telltale heat gathered between her thighs as he popped his finger in his mouth and sucked the sauce off.
oh God, he still had his fingers inside her.
Colin leaned in and without breaking eye contact, licked her clit and it was a miracle she didn’t perish on the spot. Here lies Truly. She died with Colin McCrory’s fingers buried up her cunt.
“One more, baby. Please? Just give me one more and I swear to God I can die happy.”
Colin’s eyes lowered pointedly to his lap, where a patch of denim had grown dark. Wet.
and he’d have definitely hung out from her pair of Soffe shorts,
He’d taken a seat in the middle of her couch and dragged her down onto his lap and now his chin was hooked over her shoulder.
His hands drifted from the counter to her hips. He leaned in, nose brushing hers for one breath, two, and her socked toes curled against the tile floor.
“Huh.” She shrugged affably. “I guess it must not have been very funny.”
“I’ll be so fucking good for you, Truly,” he promised, thumb sweeping against the front of her throat. “You want me on my knees? Say the word and I’ll eat you out until my jaw fucking locks. Tell me what you want, and I’ll do it.”
“The next time I come? It’s going to be inside you.” She gasped and he tilted his head to the side, heavy-lidded eyes considering. “On you, maybe, if you’re into that.”
“Can you—can you—” Colin hummed in question and her back arched off the hood. “Can I what?” He licked her clit and she whimpered. Her cheeks warmed. Why was it so much harder to ask for what she wanted than to tell him what to give her? “Can you put your fingers inside me?” “You feeling empty, baby?”
“You might want to be careful swimming in that water. I heard some freak’s running around tossing cigarettes in the lake.”
Colin stood on the dock holding a bright bouquet of flowers.
“I missed you,” he whispered, hands finding her waist, dragging her against him.
Colin laughed and took the cards he’d only just discarded back. His inability to lie was almost as endearing as his willingness to lose graciously.
“Ask me nicely,” she teased, locking her ankles behind his back. “It’s gonna be like that, huh?”
“Is that what you like?” The tips of his ears turned that endearing shade of pink she adored. “Truly, baby, you could spit on me, and I’d say thank you.”
“It’s not weird if we both like it.” She swallowed hard, heart hammering. “Yeah?” He leaned in, nose brushing hers sweetly. “Yeah, baby.”
“You want me to boss you around? Tell you what to do?” Colin laughed, bold, bright, and infectious. “You do it outside of bed. I don’t see why our sex life should be any different.”
“You’ll listen to me because I told you to.” She knee-walked higher up the bed and threw a leg over his, settling in and sitting atop his thighs. “And because you want to be good for me, don’t you?”
a dopey little grin stretching his lips wide
She laughed, come dribbling free. Colin reached out and with his thumb, pushed it back inside her mouth, stroking over her tongue as she swallowed, crawling toward him on her hands and knees. He cupped her face in his hands and grinned. “You’re so fucking pretty.”
Colin grabbed a fork from the counter and cut off a wedge of thick, fluffy pancake swimming in syrup. “Open.”
She studied the distance between her hand and her cell and did the complicated mental math on the effort it would take to reach across the space and grab it,
“Truly, baby, the only thing I care about right now is making sure you’re okay.
Claritin on the off chance it’s allergies, which”—he shot her a look that was all fond exasperation—“clearly, it’s not.”
“She thought it was sweet that you actually believed she made it from scratch.”
