“Go home?” I see the outline of his head lift in the dim light of the moon peeking in from around the curtains. “You go home today?”
“Yep.”Finally. Something that’s the truth.
“To Jawbone?”
“Yes.” Oops. Lies again. “Jawbone.”
So original, Sabrina. Why didn’t I tell him I was fromSpringfield? There are Springfields in practically every state. But there’s only one Snaggletooth Creek, or one Tooth, as we locals tend to call it, and the Tooth isn’t big.
Jawbonewas the first thing that popped into my brain.
“Where you’ve completely forgotten that your Aunt Applebee and your Uncle Five Guys are secretly having an open marriage because they can’t stand each other or their dear child Little McDonald?”
I wince.
Regretful Sabrinaistalkative Sabrina.
I don’t live with regrets often, which is my only excuse for not realizing once I starteddownloading all of my gossipon him, I wouldn’t stop.
He knows about stolen mail. He knows about awkward blind dates. He knows about secret babies. He knows about family feuds.
He might not have the right names and a few details may have been changed here and there, but he knows.
The man laughed so hard when I told him about the long-standing disagreement between the Dodgers and the Seahawks over oil rights—actually a feud between the Harpers and the Bryants about a creek on a property line—that I told him more.
And more.
And more.
All to hear him laugh and assure me that he’d store my gossip safely so I didn’t have to.
I wish telling him truly had left me without the memories too.
“Where’s the ice bucket?” I ask him. Have to make this believable.
“Tea stand, maybe?”
Tea stand. I’d call it the coffee stand. And why does calling it the tea stand make him even more adorable?
“Right. Got it.”
“I can’t believe I’m saying this, but I wish I could be ice enough for you so you’d come right back to bed.”
See?
He’sso funny. Who says stuff like that? “I’ll just be a minute.”
“I could give you an orgasm in a minute if you want to come back to bed before you get that ice.”
My overworked vagina clenches.
She believes him.
“I’m high-maintenance. I demand a bathtub orgasm next. After ice.”
And now my vagina has declared me the enemy.
Rightfully so.
