“Whole street’s on board with that rule now,” I add.
Lulu’s head snaps toward me, eyes blazing. Under the table, her foot connects with my shin. I don’t flinch, just take another sip.
Worth it.
“Okay, but seriously,” Chase says, still chuckling. “What’s the average number of…you know.” He waggles his eyebrows. “For optimal moaning output.”
“I hate you, Walton,” Eli mutters, scrubbing a hand over his face.
“Depends on the effort,” Zoe says smoothly, sipping her coffee. “Half the guys out there think an orgasm’s one-and-done.”
Charlie nods, gently placing a hand on Lulu’s arm. “Bare minimum isn’t sexy. Stamina is.”
Tamara leans in, eyes sparkling. “Arealman knows it’s a marathon.”
Jake clinks his fork down and gestures to baby Theo perched on his knee. “Children! There arechildrennearby.”
“Fine,” Zoe says, completely unfazed. “We’ll code it. From now on, it’s… fireworks.”
“That works,” Tamara says, nodding. “Explosive, bright, everyone knows when it happens.”
Lulu hums as she sets her green juice down, tilting her head. “Personally, I’m not sure fireworks exist. Mine have been more likesparklers. Three minutes of blah.”
The table erupts, and Eli’s loud protests tangle with the women groaning in outrage. Tamara clutches her chest, clearly about to organize an intervention, while Charlie shakes her head sadly.
“Oh, honey, no,” Zoe groans. “Absolutely not. No woman deserves sparklers.”
My jaw locks. Three minutes, she said. Three. Fucking. Minutes.
Lulu’s sitting there in sunlight, laughing like it’s nothing, casually tossing out the fact no guy’s ever made her come. No effort, no build. No wonder she thinks fireworks don’t exist. Where the hell does she find these undeserving losers?
“Sparklers can be festive,” Chase offers, waving his fork.
Zoe shoots him a look. “Oh, you gonna start serving sparklers?”
“Hell no, Zo Face—I got the Fourth of July on lock all year round.”
Tamara shakes her head, ignoring him. “Sparklers are messy, disappointing, and burn out in thirty seconds.”
“Thatdoessound familiar,” Lulu muses, eyes glittering.
“LU-LU.” Eli’s voice cracks.
Charlie leans in, desperate to redirect. “Okay, let’s just—can we not?”
But it’s too late. The hijinks of the last few minutes have drawn the kids’ attention from their little table off to the side.
Noah looks up from his pancakes, syrup on his chin. “What’s a sparkler?”
“And why does Lulu sound sad about them?” asks Meadow.
Every adult starts talking at once.
“It’s a tiny firework, honey bee,” says Charlie.
“Safe! They’re totally safe!” babbles Jake.
Chase scoffs. “Doesn’t even go boom.”
