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“Why are you embarrassed?” Garrett tugs at my wrist.
“This conversation has been a lot,” I admit.
“We’ve barely scratched the surface.”
“Which is even more concerning.”
“Don’t fret, Gracie.”
“Easier said than done,” I chide.
“Give me your phone.” He holds out his palm.
“Why?” But I’m already reaching into my purse.
“We need to exchange numbers. Then I can text you.”
“About what?”
“Dick pics.”
The hand clutching my iPhone pauses in midair. “Umm…”
Garrett laughs and snatches the cell from my grip. “Just fucking with you. The guys will be fully clothed. You can tell me if they pass the vibe check. Consider me an initial screening process.”
“Okay?” I find myself wondering, yet again, what he’s getting out of this.
He types on the screen and a muffled alert dings from his pocket. Then he’s holding up my phone with the lens pointed at me. “Now, say splooge-a-palooza and smile wide.”
Before I can question him, he snaps a photo. A panty-melting smirk approves the shot. Another tap to the screen sends the picture to himself.
I quirk a brow. “What’s that for?”
“Your future admirers. They don’t know what’s about to hit ‘em.” He yanks on a stray lock of my hair. “You’ll be off the market in a few months. Maybe. Just be patient. This is my first time.”
Silence follows as our eyes lock. Even my lofty standards can’t compete with the idea of him. Especially when sexual tension smolders from his expression. Mine is eager to reciprocate. An electric charge thrums and crackles to fill the lull. That magnetic attraction suggests this arrangement will fail. Probability aside, I don’t have it in me to discourage his efforts.
I park my chin on a bent fist. “True love is worth waiting for.”
Garrett winks, letting his dimples dazzle me for good measure. “I’ll take your word for it.”
Call me pathetic, but I wish he wouldn’t.
Joy glances at me from across the dinner table. There are only a few things that can distract me from my mother’s homemade apple pie. The gleam in my sister’s gaze is at the top of that short list. It might as well be a warning flare. I brace myself for whatever nonsense she’s about to spew.
“Garrett has a girlfriend,” she croons.
Mom’s fork clatters to the wooden surface. “Thank the heavens. I never thought this day would—”
“It hasn’t,” I cut in. “She’s a friend who happens to be a girl.”
Disappointment wrinkles her weathered features. “Oh, darn.”
Dad snickers from his devoted spot beside her. “Just let the boy be, love.”
“He isn’t a boy,” she argues. “Our son is almost thirty.”
“The reminder really isn’t necessary,” I mumble.
