Total pages in book: 147
Estimated words: 142801 (not accurate)
Estimated Reading Time in minutes: 714(@200wpm)___ 571(@250wpm)___ 476(@300wpm)
Estimated words: 142801 (not accurate)
Estimated Reading Time in minutes: 714(@200wpm)___ 571(@250wpm)___ 476(@300wpm)
Yara eyes the blue-haired octogenarian over my shoulder, taking in her twinset and leather pants.
“She looks like she can handle it. Not his dick, obviously. That’s a UTI in the making.” She glances at the screen again. “But I think you’re right. She can probably see it from over there.” She sets down her phone, folding her arms against the table. “All night long,” she says almost wistfully. “A few years ago, I wouldn’t leave a rave until six in the morning. These days, the only thing I want to do all night is sleep. The prospect really excites me.”
Unable to resist the lure for long, she picks up her phone and taps the screen back to life. “That thing must be nearly a foot long. I mean, what does he expect me to do with the other six inches? It’s not a Subway sandwich you can halve and wrap up for later.”
I drop my head between my hands. “Online dating is a cesspit.”
“It’s all right for you, sitting in your ivory shagging tower.”
“My what?” My head jerks up.
“Not that I’m not jealous or anything,” she says, narrowing her eyes for effect. “I’m totally jealous,” she adds, leaning closer. “I reckon this one only has holes in his pocket. And you know what the holes are for.”
“It’s his. He can play with it as often as he or his Tinder date likes.” I pick up my cup and take a sip.
“This isn’t Tinder. He’s a man my parents want to meet. They found him on one of the matrimonial sites.”
“You’re considering an arranged marriage?” My eyebrows ride high with surprise.
“Blame my recent reading choices.” She leans back in her chair, running her finger through a dusting of spilled cocoa powder. “Though I don’t think there are many billionaire-mafia bad boys on the apps the parentals are viewing.”
“Apps plural. Wow.”
“It keeps them occupied,” she says with a shrug. “It was, apparently, the least I could let them do when my biological clock ticks so loud my mother isn’t getting any sleep.”
“But you don’t even live in the same city.”
“Which is exactly my mother’s point.” She blows out a long breath. “There’s no harm in looking, right?”
“I guess not.”
“If you ever meet my mum,” she says, flicking a lazy finger my way, “never mention you picked Oliver up wearing your wedding dress. She believes in manifesting.”
“It’s not like we’re in love,” I say with a laugh.
When I look up, Yara’s lips are pursed. “Methinks the lady’s prickly protest is too much. You two are so cute. He makes you happy, and he punched that twat out, saving me the trouble of setting up a GoFundMe to pay for the aunties’ flights.”
I wonder if she’d think him so great if I told her what he said to Mitchell. Not that I would. It’s kind of weird that I wasn’t offended. Weirder still that I was a little turned on. But I’ve since decided I like the idea of Mitch’s erection shriveling when he thinks of me. Second best to his dick falling off, of course. Speaking of dicks . . .
“Do your parents know this guy is sending you dick pics?”
“I’m not sure it would make a lot of difference, given my vagina is about to close up for good. Plus, he is the cream of the crop. He’s a real doctor.”
“Oh, a doctor.” My answer is the verbal equivalent of an eye roll.
“Yep, that top-tier individual.” She grins. This is a conversation most vets are familiar with. “Because it’s not like we have to learn the pharmacology, physiology, and anatomy of literally a million species.”
“Well, not literally. More like a hundred or so, but our education covers animal behavior, internal medicine, surgery, dentistry, and ophthalmology. I mean, just who are the true general practitioners?”
“Preach!” she says holding up evangelical hands. “Good thing other people’s opinions don’t stop me loving my job.”
“Me either.” But it doesn’t stop my blood from boiling sometimes.
“So, how is tall, dark, and drop-your-knickers hot?” Yara asks, reaching for a tiny sachet of sugar.
“Oliver?”
“Unless there’s someone else you’re currently dropping your knickers for?”
I wouldn’t have the time. Or the energy. The man keeps me very satisfied. “Oliver is good.”
“And . . .” She draws the word out, her eyes dancing.
“And I’m good, thanks for asking.”
“And . . .” She gives an excited little wiggle in her seat.
“Together we’re really, really good.” And that is the truth, the whole truth, and nothing but the truth. It’s also ignoring all the icky stuff like Where is this going? and How much do you really like me? along with Can you see yourself falling for me? and Do you want to have kids, and, if so, how many?
“That’s so exciting! I told you this was going beyond rebound status,” she says, skimming a sugar packet my way.