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“I remember why I’m single now,” he muttered, looping his finger around mine.
“You’re not single.” I unhooked my finger from his and slapped his chest with the back of my fingers. “Technically.”
He raised his eyebrows. “Ooh. Are you claiming me?”
“Do I look like I’m the type of girl who claims anyone? I was merely pointing out that, technically, we’re…” I trailed off.
What were we doing?
“We’re…” Josh waited, amusement curving his mouth into a smirk. “What are we, Kinsley?”
“You’re about to be dead,” I replied. “I don’t know. What are we?”
“You can make that decision.”
“Wrong answer. I’m going to give you a romance book. Read it.”
“I’m sorry. Was I supposed to put down our drinks, pull you on top of me, and kiss you until you got your answer? Demand that we’re dating and that you’re mine and you will be forever?”
“Don’t be ridiculous. I’ll kill you before forever comes.”
“Or am I supposed to drag you into bed and fuck your brains out to answer the questions?” He quirked one eyebrow. “For what it’s worth, I’d be okay with that, but you’ve made your feelings on period sex abundantly clear.”
“Yeah, well, if you passed tiny, bloody squish balls every time you wiped, you wouldn’t be so excited about period sex,” I said flatly.
He stared at me. Just stared. For what felt like ever, and I knew he was processing my words.
“And there goes any desire to ever have sex with anyone on their period,” he deadpanned.
“Seriously. Have you ever popped a blood clot? They’re like those zits that squirt all over the mirror. One minute you’re living your life, then the next, it’s all, whoosh. Like stepping on a grape. Complete with the pop and everything.”
“Kinsley.”
“It’s gross. So gross. Not to mention the mess.”
“Kinsley, shut up.”
“I buy nice sheets, Josh. Normal sex is messy enough without—”
He interrupted me by taking my wine and setting it down on the coffee table with his beer. Just as I opened my mouth again to say something, he cupped the back of my neck, leaned forward, and kissed the shit out of me.
It was so. Damn. Good.
Hey, maybe he didn’t need the romance novel after all.
He pulled back just enough that the tip of his nose brushed mine. “We’re dating, Kinsley. Secretly, but still dating. And exclusively. I’m not going to see anyone else, and neither are you. Does that narrow it down for you?”
A little shiver cascaded down my spine. Josh brushed his thumb over my jaw, bringing it close to my lower lip where he gently pulled it down before he released it.
“That was a weirdly sexy kiss to follow such a conversation,” I murmured.
“That’s your response?”
“Yes, it narrows it down. And most people would have run away at my very graphic description.”
“I would appreciate not reliving that.”
“It wasn’t enjoyable to describe,” I said dryly. “But I had to get drastic.”
He sat back in the same manner someone would sigh—heavily, with a long-suffering undertone that said they couldn’t believe my shit.
It was fine.
I couldn’t believe my shit, either.
I grabbed our drinks from the coffee table and handed him his with a smile, then selected Schitt’s Creek from the menu.
Maybe him coming wasn’t such a bad thing after all.CHAPTER EIGHTEEN – KINSLEYrule eighteen: never, ever hide your relationship from your best friends.
and you can’t hide it from old people.The duck was wearing a dress and a bonnet.
I really wished that was an opening line to a joke, but it wasn’t.
It was, sadly, reality.
It was a lot sadder for the duck than it was for me. That wasn’t to say I wasn’t alarmed, because I was. So, so alarmed, and wondering if it was time for Mabel to see her doctor.
This wasn’t normal.
“What do you think?” she asked, smacking her over-lined light pink lips together. “Isn’t she cute?”
I blinked at the poor, ugly brown duck who looked like she’d stepped out of a children’s novel set in the English countryside, like a Beatrix Potter one.
I was half expecting a rabbit in a little blue jacket to show up any moment.
I glanced around for said rabbit, but when it didn’t appear, turned my attention back to the fancily dressed duck. The bonnet was a frilly white concoction that was an insult to fashion, and I wasn’t even going to focus on the crochet dress with a little apron that matched the bonnet.
“I don’t know what to say,” I said slowly.
“You don’t like her?” Mabel sounded hurt.
“I just don’t know what purpose the dress serves.” I chose my words very carefully. “Isn’t it uncomfortable?”
“No. I made it especially for her.”
Oh, damn. No wonder she was so hurt. “Is that more?” I pointed to the big wicker basket on the nearest bench that looked like it was full of a bunch of duck clothing.
“Yes!” She hobbled over using her cane and sat next to the basket, then pulled out the top outfit. It was a blue floral dress with a matching bonnet, and there were even little pockets on the dress that were adorned with lace and little blue bows.
