Total pages in book: 110
Estimated words: 103530 (not accurate)
Estimated Reading Time in minutes: 518(@200wpm)___ 414(@250wpm)___ 345(@300wpm)
Estimated words: 103530 (not accurate)
Estimated Reading Time in minutes: 518(@200wpm)___ 414(@250wpm)___ 345(@300wpm)
Yanking the panties from her mouth, breathing hard, she said, “That’s enough. I’ll pass the fuck out if you keep going.”
“Glad to hear it.” I helped her steady herself before I rose; I wished I could pull her against me and claim her mouth, so she could taste me on it. But that seemed too intimate, as absurd as it sounded.
She gestured at my fly. “Should I…”
“No.” I shook my head. “We’ve been missing together for long enough.”
“So what, you’re going to stay in here until your erection goes away, then slink back out?” she teased, stepping into her panties with a grimace. “They’re wet.”
“They were wet when you got here.” I was more than a little proud of that. She’d known exactly what I’d summoned her for.
She gave me a push and an outraged gasp.
“What I’m going to do,” I continued, to answer her question, “is adjust this so it’s less obvious, then walk out there and ask the nearest member of the kitchen staff for a cigarette with my chin still wet from your pussy.”
Her tongue darted across her bottom lip.
“Now you get out there and play perfect daughter. I’ll see you tonight.”
“For game night,” she reminded me.
Damn it. I’d forgotten that Scott had invited the wedding party to play games.
As she walked away, I mentally added, “invent time machine” to my to-do list. Because I wanted to fast-forward to what I had planned.
* * * *
(Charlotte)
“Permafrost!” I shouted.
Scott threw his stack of trivia cards in the air in frustration, as everyone clustered around the coffee table laughed uproariously.
“I don’t think your sister can be beaten.”
I looked over at Matt and felt oddly exposed; it was one thing for the guy to eat me out in a supply closet. It was another entirely for him to see what a huge nerd I was.
“She’s like this all the time,” Scott said with a chuckle.
The bungalow my brother was staying in was way nicer than the one my parents and I had. There were upstairs bedrooms, downstairs bedrooms, a pool in a private backyard, and a full-time kitchen staff.
I had a feeling this was where Matt usually stayed when he visited.
In the enormous living room, complete with a perfect ocean view, a handful of Scott’s friends and a handful of Lauren’s friends all crowded ono the couches and armchairs. Matthew and I had made the decision to not sit with each other via wordless communication as we all settled in with our plates of snacks.
The bear was not present.
“There’s gotta be something that will stump her,” Lauren said, flipping through the box of cards on the table.
“Since when did this go from a trivia drinking game to ‘attack the groom’s sister’?” I demanded, adding a laugh so I wouldn’t sound like I meant it, when I did. Maybe not the attack part. But being made the center of attention did feel like an attack.
“Here’s one.” Lauren cleared her throat dramatically before reading, and everyone fell silent. “This tenth-century ruler and Catholic saint is rumored to be the inspiration for the ‘Red Wedding’ in HBO’s Game of Thrones.”
I sighed, which got everyone’s hopes up. Then, I said, “Olga of Kiev.”
“She’s right.” Lauren tossed her card down. “She’s right.”
Everyone groaned.
“Look, don’t be jealous of me,” I joked. “You all have college degrees. Knowing which saints were cold-blooded killers isn’t exactly a professional field.”
One of the bridesmaids, a Black woman with long braids shot through with the wedding colors, raised her hand. “False. Russian history is a major.”
“Olga is Ukrainian,” another of the bridesmaids, this one a woman with long blonde hair in two braids, wearing the type of jewelry one bought at a street art fair, corrected her.
“Okay, okay,” the first bridesmaid said, holding up her hands in defeat. “I could get into the history of the Rurik dynasty and the destruction of the Kievan Rus’—”
“How the hell am I winning at trivia?” My mind boggled. “I didn’t even finished college.”
“Be glad you didn’t,” one of my brother’s friends chimed in. He was a generic-looking white frat-dude-turned-khaki-wearing-dad-type. If someone had told me he owned an RV dealership, I would have believed them. He went on, “The debt I’m carrying? Phew, they’re gonna repossess my casket when I’m in the ground.”
“You’re not even old enough for college yet, are you?” Lauren’s sister asked.
I wanted to sink through the floor.
“She’s twenty-five,” Scott said. “Do you think I’d be letting my underage sister drink a beer with all my buddies?”
I tipped the neck of my bottle toward him in thanks for the save.
“Twenty-five,” Lauren mused. “I remember twenty-five.”
“When sneezing didn’t cause back pain,” Scott’s nerdy friend with the phone clipped to his belt put in. He groaned when he stood up, as if to illustrate his point.
“When I could stay up for twenty-four hours straight and not even feel tired,” the woman with the braids added.