I’d come up in front of him, and now I pressed his legs together; wedged my knees on either side of him. “Sam,” I said, my lace-sheathed breasts in his face. “Are you only here because I remind you of your teenage wet dream?”
He looked almost in pain. “Don’t say wet, please. Not when I can’t touch you.”
“You didn’t answer the question.”
“No.” He licked his lips. Then his eyes rose to mine, his expression almost sheepish. “I’m here because you laughed at my jokes. And you’re incredibly hot. And sexy, and?—”
I unhooked my bra.
“Fuck me,” he breathed as the lace fell away. My nipples, already tight, seized into little rocks at his gaze. They ached almost as much as the spot between my legs. I knew I was wet under my skirt.
“Okay,” I said, bracing my hands on the chair. “You can touch.”
Then, somehow, I was off my feet, laughing as he carried me straight to the bed. “Sam!” I exclaimed, worried about hurting him. But he was stronger than I thought.
I’d never been swept off my feet before. Figuratively or literally. But Sam tossed me onto the bed like I was nothing, and I felt like I was floating. Then he was ripping off his clothes, his eyes never leaving mine. His expression made it look like to him I was a five-course meal. And he was a starving man.
“You really want to do this?” he asked, as if we weren’t already half-naked.
“Yes,” I said. “I really, really do.”
It was the most fun I ever had.
I only wish that’s all it had been.
CHAPTER 2
Warm, Fuzzy, and Excited for the Matriarchy
ELLIE
Iwas feeling warm, fuzzy, and excited for the matriarchy when my seven-month-old let out an absolutely life-altering shit.
OnThe Purple Wok’s exclusive riverfront patio.
Heartbreaker Trades, the women in trades collective I’d just joined, was having an informal board meeting over lunch. The five of us had had an amazing time discussing our new trades school opening in September over delicious—if not a little bougie—farm-to-table Chinese food. I’d ordered this cashew chicken dish that was so good I knew I’d be sneaking back over here tomorrow for takeout, and we’d just opened our fortune cookies. They were hand-baked and organic of course.
Mine said:The love of your life will appear unexpectedly.
I’d let out a bark of a laugh so loud it woke my Henry in the stroller next to me.
Then he shat his pants.
Embarrassment heated my cheeks as Henry’s lower half continued to gurgle. This was only my second meeting withthe collective. I grimaced, both at the table of women and our neighbors, some of whom had turned to stare.
When Henry stopped, I said, “I am so sor?—”
Then my baby let out a loud sound I swear sounded like, “Wait!”
I was surprised his little finger didn’t pop up. A moment later, his pants were gurgling anew, his chubby face turning purple. I groaned. Nothing like a seven-month-old to throw a diaper blowout into an otherwise great afternoon. Which it felt like I hadn’t had too many of lately.
Winona, our bleached-blonde, pin-up-looking leader, a plumber by trade, threw her head back and laughed. She had a sweet, probably non-shitting one-year-old daughter at home. “I’m so sorry, Ellie. That’s just… Well, he should win a prize.”
Cher, Winona’s best friend and also a plumber, snorted too, though she looked at me with empathy. “I remember those days.” Cher had a kindergartener.
Sarah and Kit looked mildly traumatized. Then again, neither of the two sisters had kids.
“Is that normal?” Kit, the younger of the two, asked.
