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Sonya took a drink of her own concoction, a smirk dangling off her lips. Hope glared.
“I do not have a hairy chest.”
Wendy moved closer to them so she could see them both easier. “Enough of my fantasies. I don’t think Mitchell would mind. The man can’t keep his eyes off you, so if you do, he’d be okay with it.”
“I don’t have enough alcohol in my drink for this conversation,” Hope muttered. Truth be told, she wasn’t sure there was an amount of alcohol she could consume which would make this conversation okay.
“You know, if you had a lot, you could shave it into a design, like people do on their head or their vages.” Wendy pursed her lips. “Vagagas? Vajayjays? I haven’t the faintest idea what the plural for vagina slang is.”
Hope rubbed a knuckle against her temple. “Because it’s not something to be talked about. And, again, I don’t have chest hair so there will be no designs shaved into it. I’m fairly certain the two of you have been drinking a lot more than me.”
They grinned at her and nodded shamelessly.
Figured.
Sonya wrapped an arm around her and placed a loud smacking kiss to her cheek. “I have no judgment about your hairy chest. We’re still besties.”
“I don’t have a hairy chest.” Why, oh why, am I entertaining this insanity?
The two women she was seriously debating never speaking to again shared a look followed by a solemn nod.
She gulped down her own spiked tea, relishing the burn as it warmed her all the way. Spiced rum was one of her favorites. And whatever this one was, she approved.
“Why are we standing here?” Wendy plopped down on the edge of the seat Hope was utilizing. “We should be in the other room with people, drinking and having fun.”
Sonya leaned closer and perched on the other side of Hope. Their legs all pressed into hers. The seat wasn’t designed for three people. Especially when one of them wasn’t that petite.
“We’re waiting for the menfolk to get home.”
Hope pushed up from the seat and plucked their drinks from their hands with a tsk. “Waiting for them to get home? How much have you had? They’re not out pillaging a village or hunting dinner to be cooked over the open flame.” She put the mugs on the front counter, where they couldn’t be broken by her friends who had no filters and overzealous motions.
“Ohh, Vikings.” Sonya’s voice kicked up a few notches. “Mitchell could play a Viking. He’s got that hot, sexy, I’m-dirty-in-all-the-right-ways vibe going on. I can see him storming in to pillage our friend here.” She gestured with a thumb to Hope.
How the hell did this woman get to Vikings? Her fault for mentioning pillaging.
A loud thump could be heard and Hope looked up as fear shot through her. She wished again that all the guys were back inside.
“Oh yes,” Wendy continued, apparently not the slightest bit concerned with the outside goings-on. “I can see him, pushing into the village, burning huts, until he sees her. Slow motion, the wind whipping through his hair, braids at his temples hanging down, adding to the hotness sexy factor. All of that while his gaze still burns her. He’ll stride over to her—no one will even attempt to stop his progress. Once there, he’ll pick her up and throw her over his shoulder before carrying her off to his longboat. Boathouse. Wait, what are those things called? Whatever, either way, he is going to pierce her with his sword.”
Both women roared with laughter and Hope rolled her eyes.
Melodramatic saps. This was what she had to deal with.
Sonya bounded up and thrust her hips forward as she danced around.
Coughing from laughing so hard, Hope guided her to sit where she couldn’t poke anyone’s eye out with her violent hip gyrations and roving hands.
“I need both of you to do something for me.”
They nodded, watching her with wide eyes.
“Sit here. Quietly. No talk of chest hair, Vikings, vaginas in any term…and wait.”
She looked at her watch. They’d been out for close to an hour. They needed to come in and warm up—the temperatures were plummeting as the seconds ticked by.
“We can do that, right, Wendy?”
“Do what?”
Hope got yanked to the chair, her wider hips pushing their way between the two women. Neither appeared to care, each placing a hand on one thigh and patting it like she needed to be consoled.
“Sit here with our friend and not talk about her vagina or how much she wants to touch the hairy Viking’s chest.”
Wendy nodded. “Right. Of course we can.” She mimed zipping her lips and shoving the key down her top. Seconds later, though, she had her left hand pulling the top away from her chest and her right digging around in her cleavage. “Ohh,” she whisper-shouted seconds after unlocking her lips with the invisible key she’d retrieved from her tits. “What if she’s on edge because she wants the Viking to play with her vagina?”
