I stared at the message, amused.
Me:
So friendly. No wonder Real is soft on you.
Three dots popped up immediately.
Everly:
Don’t be cute with me, Targen.
Me:
I can't help it.
Everly:
Theory’s favorite erotic romance author will be at a private reading Friday night in Houston. Her name is Rielle Bright. It’s an invite-only thing. Theory has loved her forever. She’s a fan girl, real heavy.
I stopped walking.
Rielle Bright.
The name was familiar because I had made it my business to know the shit my wife loved, even when she didn't know I was paying attention. I knew the designer perfumes she wore. I knew the expensive pens she liked. I knew she watched true crime to relax, which still seemed crazy as fuck to me.
And I knew Rielle Bright because Theory had had two shelves of her books at her old house. They were alphabetized and clearly well-loved, loose as some of the pages were. It made me wonder what my beautiful bride did while reading the spicy little novels. For a minute, I envisioned her on her back, pretty little hand sliding between her thick thighs, stroking the plump lips of that juicy pussy before finding her engorged, sensitized clit…
Me:
Send the details.
Everly:
You better make this good.
I smirked. Of course, I would. Suddenly, another question popped in my head.
Me:
Why you helping me?
She didn't respond immediately; took so long I wondered if she was going to at all. Then…
Everly:
Because you understood she needed a doula for her mind even before she needed one for her body. There's hope for you, Targen Jones. But I'm still gon’ be the one assisting when the baby comes.
I wasn't gon’ argue with that. Just the fact that she believed there would be babies was enough.
By the time I reached the bottom level, Mikhail was waiting near the security room, his big blond ass standing there like a refrigerator with feelings.
“Mr. Sidorov,” he greeted with a nod.
I returned the gesture.
“I need access to Rielle Bright at a private reading tomorrow night.”
He blinked once. “Need access… in what way?”
