But maybe I was just being nostalgic after having the world’s best orgasm.
I have a new theory that dry humping is an underestimated form of foreplay.
“It beats Sir Limps a Lot.”
“I feel a little bad that I ruined your date, and now I just humped you like a rabid horndog, and you are still, er, in a state of discomfort.” I glanced down at his tented pants.
“I wasn’t going to come in my pants like a prepubescent teenager and allow you to taunt me for the rest of my life,” he said, feigning irritation, but he looked like he was quite proud of himself.
“You’re a wise man, Charles.” I bit down on my bottom lip because I was still completely turned on, but I didn’t want to appear desperate. “I guess it’s better to suffer than to let me gloat.”
Should I offer to help him out?
No. This was a one-kiss deal. I just got greedy and tossed in a little happy ending for myself.
“Damn straight. And don’t you worry,” he said, smirking the slightest bit as he reached for the door handle. “I’ll go take care of myself in the shower, thinking about you grinding that sweet pussy of yours all over my cock, all desperate and needy.”
Oh. No. He. Didn’t.
I squeezed my thighs together and did my best to act unaffected. “Impressive dirty talk for a man who doesn’t like to speak all that much.”
He tossed me a wink and walked right out the door. I watched as he crossed the yard and stepped inside, and then I closed the door and leaned my back against it.
Was I sweating?
And why was I panting?
Damn you, Charlie Huxley.
“So, after giving all those hashtags to Jules and Carter, I hate to tell you, but they settled on hashtag ‘we said yes,’” Montana said.
I closed my eyes and feigned sleep, even adding a few fake snores for dramatic effect. “Damn. I hate when they go with the boring option,” I groaned. “Why not spice it up? Live on the edge. You only get married once, right? I mean, that’s the goal, but I can’t say that failed marriages are bad for business. That just means we get to plan the next one.”
I tossed a Skittle in the air and caught it in my mouth before doing it a few more times with the handful of candy I had in my palm.
Montana paused, hands on her hips, as she studied me. “What is going on with you today? You’re all hopped up.”
“I agree. I mean, you’re normally sort of hopped up, but today you seem, I don’t know, like you ate an energy bar—or six,” Blakely deadpanned. “Did Velveteen change her hashtag?”
“Of course not. She’s sticking with hashtag ‘we said I Doobie.’” I rolled my eyes, because it wasn’t my favorite, but God forbid my sister take my advice. She was the one who’d be stuck with the name Velveeta Doobie, so who was I to judge.
Actually, I am a wedding planner, that’s who.
It’s what I did for a living.
“Nope. It’s not about that,” Montana pressed. “She’s hiding something. I can tell. She’s got that look on her face.”
I leaned back in my chair, propping my stilettos on the conference room table like a boss lady. “I had a hot make-out session with Charles last night.”
Montana’s mouth fell open, and Blakely pushed back in her chair abruptly. The wheels slid a little too fast before it slammed into the wall behind her.
“You made out with Charlie Huxley?” Blakely shouted.
“Way to be discreet,” I hissed. “And this is why I hesitated to tell you.”
“I think you hesitated to tell us because you don’t want to admit that you like him, when you are so determined to hate the man.” Montana was laughing hysterically now.
“I do hate the man,” I said dryly. “But that doesn’t mean I hate kissing him.”
