“What?” Isabella asks, shocked. “Have you?”
“Yeah,” Marit replies with a playful smirk. “I heard the sensation of having them played with is unlike anything.”
“It’s true,” I add. “Feels amazing.”
“We need to make this happen,” Marit says. “Who can we call?”
“Uh . . . good luck getting anyone to come to the palace without Mum and Dad knowing about it. They check everyone. What are you going to say? Your friend Lance from the tattoo shop is visiting for a spot of tea?”
“Lance might like tea,” Marit says.
“Is Lance a real person?” I ask.
“Fictional,” Isabella says. “Just an example.”
“Just because Lance has a bald head, countless tattoos, and wears leather chaps doesn’t mean he isn’t a man of the steeped beverage.” Marit gulps a big drink of wine.
“Do you borrow his leather chaps?” I ask, enjoying the repartee.
“I wish,” Marit says on an eye roll. “The crotch is too big, obviously.”
“Obviously,” I say on a laugh.
“What if Lance was my boyfriend?” Marit asks dreamily.
“Mum and Dad would murder you,” Isabella says. “You wouldn’t have a chance to share chaps because you’d be dead.”
“They’re not into tattoos and assless chaps?” I ask.
“Who said they’re assless?” Marit asks.
“Honey, all chaps are assless, at least the good ones,” I answer.
“The girl with the pierced nipples would know.” Marit winks.
“Damn right.” I lift my glass and take a sip. “Seriously, though, would they be mad?”
“Madder if Isabella was dating a Lance. They’d be disappointed in me,” Marit says. “I have a touch more leeway than she does. Our parents aren’t super strict, but tattoo man with chaps . . . yeah, that won’t fly. He’d have to cover his whole body and wear a toupee if he wanted to join this family.”
“Maybe Lance would want to,” I say. “There are men out there who are willing to accommodate women like us, women in power. I mean, I might not have dated one, but there have to be men out there ready to slip on a toupee for the one they love.”
“There has to be.” Isabella lifts up. “Where are all of the Lances?”
“Yeah, where’s my toupee-wearing, magnificent crotch of a man?” Marit asks.
“We deserve more.” I lift my glass.
“We do.” Isabella lifts her glass as well.
“And we’re going to join a dating app and find them,” Marit says as we clink our glasses together and take a long sip.
Finally, Isabella lowers her wineglass. “I don’t think we’re allowed to join a dating app.”
“Dammit all to hell.” Marit tosses her body backward.
ChapterTwenty-Two
LILLY
