‘Have you been holding out on me? Because if you tell me you’ve been seeing him since the wedding—’
‘Don’t be ridiculous. That was just one night—I told you.’ And since then, I’ve just been thinking about him. And cursing him—him and his magic penis. ‘Do you honestly think I could’ve hidden that sort of secret from you for months? I couldn’t even keep it from you for a day.’
She smiles like the cat that got the cream—no, the cat that bathed in the cream, like some superior Cleopatra of cats! ‘So, am I to understand this happened last Saturday night—after the barbecue?’
‘No,’ I say again. ‘I came home from my walk yesterday morning to find him in my garden.’
‘That sounds a little sinister,’ Ella says. ‘I hope he wasn’t wearing camo and hiding in the long grass with binoculars.’
Paisley snorts. ‘Flynn is more likely to be found dressed as a garden gnome or something equally ridiculous.’
‘You’re both wrong... though he was in costume, I suppose.’ My heart pitter-pats at the recollection. The bulge of his bicep as he’d swept a lock of hair from his face, the bloom of lust deep in my belly as I’d watched his thin T-shirt ride up, flashing me a peek of those washboard abs.
‘Come on, then. Don’t keep us in suspense.’
‘He was in my garden, gardening, I suppose?’
‘Why?’ Paisley asks. ‘Altruism seems a little farfetched. Besides, you’re not a pensioner...’ I feel a little smug as the realisations dawns across her face. ‘He overheard you talking about the potting shed shoot at the barbecue.’
I incline my head. ‘And the rest. What else did we talk about on Saturday, hmm?’ I’ve no idea if Flynn caught only my smutty confessions. It’s not the kind of question I’m likely to ask. It’s not the kind of question any of us are likely to ask.
‘Oh!’ she exclaims, her hands flying to cover her cheeks. ‘No! He was eavesdropping on our conversation?’
‘Now who’s holding out, hmm?’ With a sniggering laugh, I take a sip of my drink.
‘Holding out? More like holding potentially embarrassing material. The total sneak!’
‘So he heard our slightly drunken conversation—our verysmuttyconversation. So what?’ As a description, I’d have gone with “insightful conversation”, especially from a business standpoint. But no matter. And strangely, while Paisley looks shocked, Ella looks rather serene.
‘What are you smiling about?’ Paisley begins. ‘Aren’t you worried?’
‘Why would I be? Mac already knows all my fantasies.’ She inhales deeply, her next words girlish and giggly. ‘And he already calls me his little girl.’
Daddy kink. It should be absurd—the pair are married and have children. Technically, Mac is already a daddy. But I can totally see how it might appeal to the pair. While Ella doesn’t appear the least bit submissive, I can see the appeal in someone taking care of you. Taking care of your needs. But can I see myself calling a man daddy? Probably not. But I can foresee others being into it, so slot away the idea for furtherprofessionalexamination later.
‘Fuckkk . . .’ Paisley’s curse hits the air like an exhaled breath. ‘It’s okay for you,’ she says, ‘but I see Flynn on the regular. How am I going to be able to look him in the eye now?’
‘Please.’ I snort. ‘You and Keir can barely keep your clothes on in public.’ Tactile doesn’t even cover it, as seen in their display earlier today. ‘I’m sure Flynn is already privy to, if not the details of your sex life, then the frequency.’
‘Breadth, if not depth!’ Ella giggles. Maybe someone really ought to stop her drinking.
‘Are you attempting to sexually shame me?’
‘I’m just saying, if the ball gag fits.’
‘No dice, ladies, because Keir likes me loud.’ She cackles, bringing her glass to her mouth.
‘What man doesn’t,’ titters Ella.
‘A common theme, maybe, but men all have theirthing.The thing that tickles their pickle, so to speak, big time. I think it’s only fair we know something of Flynn’s secrets, wouldn’t you say?’ I frown. Is she talking to me? How would I know his thing? He might like being pegged by aubergines for all I know. Our kind of acquaintance doesn’t extend to those kinds of details.
‘Come on, babe, pick a side. You have to restore the balance—tell us a little of Flynn’s peccadilloes.’
‘No, no, no, no,no!’ Ella slaps the surface of the table with her palm before draining her drink. ‘Flynn can’t have a little pecker or a little dildo because life is too short to deal with mean penises and little men. Wait!’ she adds, almost visibly playing her words back. ‘Life is too short to deal with mean men and little penises. Because mean penises aren’t really a thing.’
‘I dunno,’ begins Paisley. ‘I’ve known a few mean dicks in my time. Mean dicks with small dicks. Robin,’ she fake-coughs her ex’s name into her hand.
‘I thought you said you were a virgin pre-Mac?’
