A Groom of One's Own (Appies, #3)

by Emma St. Clair

Aside from a lucky lotto win, saving up enough to minimize student loans will take years. Especially if I consider the letter still jammed in my bra. The one I keep forgetting about until a corner pokes me in a very sensitive area. Again. I really need to pull this envelope out when Beth isn’t looking. She claps her hands. “Stop drooling and go.” I take another step away from the door. “I’m not drooling.” Still. When Beth looks through the window, I wipe my chin. Just in case. “Hm,” she says in a faux-thoughtful voice. “Looks like Katrina is trying to demonstrate yoga poses and⁠—” “On second thought, I’ll head out there.” Beth's smile widens into a smug grin, and she tucks a white curl behind her ear. It immediately springs right back out. “That's what I thought,” she says. “Maybe this time you could actually, I don't know, talk to him about more than dogs.” Doubtful. Not because I am incapable of carrying on conversations that don't revolve around animals. But more because every time I'm around new or unfamiliar people—and I don’t consider people familiar unless we’ve been close friends for at least a year—my shy tendencies kick in hardcore. Forget tongue-tied; I become tongue-tangled. My normally neat and organized thoughts get jumbled, like someone dumped an alphabetized file cabinet out on the floor then took a leaf blower to it. “I make no promises.” I hesitate by the door, and Beth gives me a hearty shove. “Get out there before Katrina takes her top off in a desperat...