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Trina lifts a glass of wine, knocks some back then sets it down with panache. “So, you’re going to enter, right?”
I scoff. Shake my head. “One, I know nothing about what makes a great boyfriend. Two, I don’t want to be associated with him.”
Ivy grabs my phone and peers at the email, studying it intensely. Then grinning wickedly. She spins the phone around and points to some text on the screen. “Does this change your mind?”
I read the fine print. Holy shit. That absolutely does.
20
I AM A SPONGE
Hollis
It’s official. I’m a dog with a bone, and I can’t let it go. I can’t stop googling how to help a woman orgasm, what to do for a woman who doesn’t climax easily, and techniques for the non-comer.
Those are names of articles I’ve read—or really, had the text-to-speech app read back to me—on my run. I found a quiet back road to get my miles in and managed to slip out of the cottage while Rhys and Gavin were checking out the first day of the festival.
I am a goddamn sponge, soaking up all the intel on how to improve a woman’s pleasure. Everything from better communication, to mixing things up, to taking more breaks for kissing, to music, porn, and kink.
As I run up a hill, passing lush, rolling vineyards, my mind is swimming with bedroom ideas. My running playlist reverberates in my earbuds, and the pump-me-up tunes take on a new meaning. It’s not to inspire me to run faster or harder.
But to inspire me to please Briar better.
I don’t even feel like I’m keeping a secret from Rhys. Briar’s request that I say nothing trumps everything. So I’ve been exonerated from telling him the truth.
I am not, however, exonerated from failure to launch.
Thanks to my research, I have an idea about how to help her, and it just might be borderline brilliant.
When I reach the top of the hill, my heart is slamming hard against my rib cage. I pace along the quiet road so I can ask Google for the nearest location of a certain store. Then I turn around and head back. It’s fun to run downhill, but you have to pace yourself. That’s a metaphor that will serve me well, or so I hope, in bed.
When I reach the rental, I’m sweat-soaked and energized. Since I don’t have anywhere to be for a while, I unlock my car with the app, peel away from the cottage, and head off on my errand.
Forty-five minutes later, I’ve returned with a gift wrapped in pretty pink paper and a card to go with it. When I trot up the porch, my heart is pounding hard again, this time with hope that no one else is here. Quietly, I open the door. I check for signs of Briar in the living room, then the kitchen. She’s not in either room, and Donut doesn’t greet me.
Good.
But Gavin’s standing in front of the cupboards in the kitchen, staring intently at a video on his phone—looks like someone’s cooking on it—as he taps in notes at the same time.
The shower’s running, so Rhys must be in it.
Perfect. I just need to slip past Gavin. Maybe he won’t notice me tiptoeing down the hall. His focus is legendary, after all, so hopefully it works in my favor. Without making a sound, I break right, beelining to Briar’s room.
I’m a cat. I’m a spy. I’m a silent superhero.
“Aww. You got me a gift. It looks so pretty.”
Damn. I straighten at her door, calling back to him. “Yup. It’s the perfume you like, Worthy.”
If I’m lucky, the convo will end there. I rap lightly on Briar’s door. No one answers. I twist the handle and cross the room to the nightstand, then I leave the gift there with the card and the note inside.
There. Pulled it off. But when I spin around, Gavin stands in the doorway, arms crossed.
“Dude.” It’s a stern correction.
That one word says everything, so with a sigh, I answer his unasked question. “Yes, I’m gonna fucking tell Rhys I’m into her.”
“Good. You’d better.” He looks at his watch. “Maybe soon?”
