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Belltown Books was hosting the launch of local romance author Truly St. James’s recent release later that evening.
“Be serious.” “I am serious as the heart attack that killed my father.”
“Mom, hi.” Brooks sat up so fast he nearly fell off the couch. “Lena?”
What did pastries say? Probably that she should pony the fuck up and go inside if she was asking herself that question.
“I tried to get them to write, Sorry I’m an emotionally stunted bitch in gel frosting, but apparently that’s not something they do.”
“You told me you weren’t looking for romance.” “You’re right.” She nodded. “I wasn’t looking. But lo and behold, lucky for me, I found you anyway.”
“Correct me if I’m wrong, but I think this is where you’re supposed to promise me that if I say yes now, you’ll spend as much time on your knees as I want later.”
“I shouldn’t.” “Shouldn’t as in no, thanks, or shouldn’t as in I want another glass but wine makes me slutty so I’d better pass?”
“I don’t want you to thank me.” Gemma nuzzled the space beneath Tansy’s ear where the violet scent of her shampoo was strongest, where it mingled with the bergamot of Gemma’s bodywash. “I want you to watch.”
“You are going to keep watching yourself in that mirror and I am going to make you come.”
“Are you going to come for me, sweetheart?”
