Total pages in book: 69
Estimated words: 65913 (not accurate)
Estimated Reading Time in minutes: 330(@200wpm)___ 264(@250wpm)___ 220(@300wpm)
Estimated words: 65913 (not accurate)
Estimated Reading Time in minutes: 330(@200wpm)___ 264(@250wpm)___ 220(@300wpm)
I take the cold beer and tip the neck to his. “Today was National I Was a Good Boy Day.”
He gives me a curious look, then makes a rolling gesture with his hand. I give him the deets on Veronica’s National Day plan.
Laughing, he shakes his head. “Good luck, buddy. She sounds sharp, and I already know you like her yoga pants.”
I hang my head. “Too fucking much.”
“I guess every day at work now will be Good Boy Day,” he says.
“Every. Single. Day.”
On that note, I take a pull of my beer and buckle in. It’s going to be a long, hot summer.
After we grab some grub, and chat about Bryan’s new business plans, we say goodnight and go our separate ways.
When I reach my block, I’m determined to keep my eyes on the sidewalk the entire way to my building, my focus on my dog, not my neighbor’s building. I do not look up just in case Veronica’s standing on her balcony again.
Jesus, man. This isn’t Romeo and Juliet.
I don’t even like Shakespeare. I mean, I get that he’s a wordsmith and all, but in high school, I could not for the life of me figure out all those thou, thines, and thys. Science and fixing things were more my speed and still are.
But now that I’m near her building, I find myself glancing up in spite of myself. One look won’t hurt, will it? Nope.
This isn’t my high school Shakespeare at all.
It’s more like Naughty Juliet, since Veronica’s standing by the balcony, eyes closed, a low-cut tank top hugging her breasts. She’s talking into her phone, leaning against the railing and . . . hold on. Are those sleep shorts?
Is it National Pajama Night and no one told me?
Licking my lips, I try to look away, but her mouth is moving, and I swear for a few seconds, I can make out the shape of words.
Words like tell me what you want.
No idea what she’s saying, but she goes through some kind of list. One, two, three, four, five.
Then, Trudy jerks her gaze to a nearby tree and barks at a scampering squirrel.
Veronica’s eyes fly open and meet mine.
Busted.
11
Survival Tips
Veronica
* * *
I’m on my balcony, lounging in sleep shorts and a tank, cooling myself off with a handheld pink fan since it’s boob hot. The kind of hot where I already yanked off that titty prison of a bra, twirled it around on my finger and tossed it on the bed an hour ago.
It’s Monday night, I taught a Little Artists class after work, and now I’ve got a panting dog curled up by my thigh, my laptop on my lap, and a mojito in my hand. I’m as prepared as I’ll ever be to answer questions online at The Dating Pool.
Mild-mannered florist by day . . . sexpert by night.
Though maybe I should amend that to mild-mannered florist by day who pretends to hate sandwiches so her boss won’t figure out she’s the fuck-me-and-feed-me-paninis anonymous sex columnist.
What a smooth save that was.
Not.
Milo seems cool and all, but you never know when someone will flip out. Agnes is a case in point. The last thing I need is to lose a solid temporary job. I suspect it’s an unwritten rule that writing about banging your boss is grounds for firing.
On that note, I need a drink. Twirling my metal straw in the glass, I take a fueling gulp of the cocktail, then set it beside my chair on the balcony. I stroke StudMuffin’s head. “I’ve got this. I’m going to earn some coffee change and talk about sex without thinking about anyone in particular,” I tell my Chihuahua boy.
He lifts his chin, asking for a scratch.
I comply, focusing on the dog. Not the man who stood so close to me when I was posting the chalkboard picture on Instagram.
I click over to The Dating Pool and get cracking, starting with this question from SingleInTheCity21.
* * *
How do you know if you’re going to like a fantasy? I have all these wild ones that I’m afraid to try since—what if reality just doesn’t live up? And then, what if I spend all my time in my fantasies and I never try the real thing?
* * *
Whew. That’s a lot, but I dive in to unpack her concerns one by one.
* * *
Dear SingleInTheCity21,
* * *
I hear ya! I worry about the same things. What if the real thing doesn’t compare? What if I can’t get out of my head when I finally get down to business?
But even if you’re having a party of one, why not make that the best it can be? If that’s a quickie, and all you need is a zero-to-sixty toy, then go for that. If you want to indulge in a long, slow, delicious fantasy involving role-play, and dirty talk, and blindfolds (ahem, sounds fun to me!), then go for that. As for whether reality lives up—your party of one is reality too. Enjoy it fully. If fantasy is better than reality, I say make the most of your fantasies!