Knot My Type (All Access, #1)

by Evie Mitchell

Save for weddings and births, best days weren't planned affairs. They just occurred, falling into your lap like little blessings sent from the gods.

Frankie nodded. "I agree. It's why I became a sexologist." My eyebrows rose. "Because of kink?" She shook her head. "No, because of shame. Back in school we had a sex education class. It was a regular occurrence every year but this time they were talking about reproduction. The teacher asked me to leave. When I asked why, he said I didn't need to know this because I'd never have a sexual relationship." Her cheeks flushed, her blue eyes flashing with fire. "I told him where he could shove his sexist, ableist bullshit."

Somewhere along the way my libido had taken a nosedive, my dick becoming as picky as a Southern Momma trying to find her virtuous daughter a husband.

"Why must men be difficult?" "Because if they were easy, they'd be dogs."

Frankie was the kind of woman who I referred to as a sun. She sucked people into her orbit, bathing them in her glow. If I wasn't careful, one of us could get burned. Badly.

"Adults forget to fuel their inner child. And those who had childhood experiences taken away—the kids who grew up far too fast—they deserve it more than most. Play is, and should always be considered, a birthright. Just as breathing, and living, and existing in happiness should be a birthright."

"Safe spaces are great but brave spaces are where it's at for me. And brave spaces mean inviting people in and building connections that might not otherwise exist. They're all about constructive discomfort."

"Just so we're clear," I murmured gruffly. "This doesn't mean we're on a date." "W-w-what?" I kissed her, and to my fucking horror found she didn't taste like sugar or spice. She tasted like forever.

What a tongue. What a beard. What a fucking delight.

"You're the kind of woman who should come with a warning label." "What? Loves trashy reality TV shows and fails at cooking?" "Makes a man lose his goddamn mind."

"It's not unrealistic to expect a guy to sweep me off my feet. Life imitates art all the time, and don't we all deserve an epic love story?"

"We should all pack up and move to Miami and buy a house where we can grow old together in true Golden Girls style." "FYI, I'm Dorothy," Mai said, rubbing sweat from her forehead. "Frankie's Blanche—of course." "Of course," I said, nodding sagely. "Does that make me Rose?" Flo asked. "Do you even have to ask?" "Wait, I'm Sophia?" Annie cried, pressing a hand to her chest in mock horror. "How dare you. How absolutely dare you."

"Pain and joy aren't mutually exclusive. I can feel one while experiencing the other."

Be still thy ovaries. Thy God of spontaneous impregnation has arrived.

She brightened. "Do you like raptors?" "Absolutely," I confirmed. "What's your favorite thing about them?" She frowned thinking for a long moment then brightening. "Their teamwork. They hunt in packs and would rip you apart as a family."

"Teamwork?" I croaked, giggles breaking free. "She's five and already I'm fearful of her." He shook his head. "She'll either rule the world or destroy it." "Such great power in one so young."

"You think you can swing a hammer?" I grinned. "I can. I'm also able to cart garbage and am occasionally known to moonlight as a cleaner." He grinned. "Want to clean my room?" "Not on your life, buddy. I have a brother. I'm well aware of the biohazard breeding in teenage boys' bedrooms."

"Fuck." I ran a hand through my hair. "Fuck." "Flo, his expression is what I would call stunned-male-suffering-from-idiotic-self-realization," Annie said, watching me.