“Umm, well, I mean, the story was good,” I start lamely, not really wanting to take sides. Although, if I had to, Serena’s right. That scene was hot.
“Focusing only on the intimate scenes discredits the talent of the writer who diligently worked to create intricate characters and plot,” Paige argues, and I see her stabbing her finger down on a piece of paper in front of her. It looks a lot like the sheet of questions she gave me earlier in the week.
“It’s aromancenovel Paige, doesn’t that imply that the romance is the most important part?” Serena executes an impressive eye roll, then pops a chip loaded with salsa into her mouth.
“Yes, the romance is a significant aspect, however, you must agree that the sex scenes were not integral to the plot. Really, the book was about Hazel’s journey to overcome her fears of commitment, and open herself to love,” Paige says primly, steepling her fingers on her paper.
“They’ve been arguing this for almost five minutes. I say we grab some snacks and go into the living room, see how long it takes them to notice we’re gone,” Mila whispers.
When we’re each settled in one of the dark blue chairs that are set in front of the bay window, I take a long sip of wine. It’s the first time I’ve been alone with Mila since Ethan and I started dating, if you can call it that, and I’m not really sure what to say. Even though it was my idea not to tell her about Ethan and I right away, I hate keeping the secret from her. I’m saved when Paige and Serena wander into the room, and I notice Serena is looking triumphant. Paige on the other hand, seems frustrated.
“Let’s start the discussion, shall we?” Paige says, sitting down on the edge of the couch with her hands folded in her lap. “I trust you’ve all had a chance to review the discussion questions for tonight?”
Mila swings her legs over the arm of her chair, and tips her head back, striking the ultimate IDGAF pose. “Paige, honey, I love you, but relax. We read the book, we liked the book, we can talk about the book. But let’s be honest. This is mostly a chance to get together and drink wine and eat lots of junk food once a month.”
I hold back my laugh at the horrified expression on poor Paige’s face. She’s obviously the only one who takes the idea of a book club very seriously. Part of me wants to humor her and look at her questions, the other part agrees wholeheartedly with Mila. I just want to hang out with my friends for an evening.
“Let me see if I understand this correctly. I spent all this time crafting thought-provoking discussion questions, and all you want to do is drink wine and eat food?” Paige tilts her chin down, frowning at us like a schoolteacher scolding her wayward students.
“And talk about the sex scenes,” Serena chimes in.
“Hear, hear,” Mila raises her glass with a nod to Serena.
“Can we at least discuss one or two of my points?” Paige mutters.
“I enjoyed how Hazel was a confident badass,” I offer, and Paige brightens, sitting up straighter.
“Yes! Thank you, Summer. I also found the character arc that Hazel underwent to be a very intriguing aspect. The way she —”
“The way he went to town eating her lady taco on the kitchen counter!” Serena interrupts, leaning over to nudge Paige with her shoulder.
If looks could kill, then the withering gaze Paige turns on Serena would be deadly. I hold back my giggle, sharing a glance with Mila, who rolls her eyes in response.
“Serena, you were just as enthusiastic about book club as I was. I don’t understand why you won’t at least try to consider the fact that the intimate encounters were not the only salient plot points worth discussing!”
“Because I haven’t been laid in months and this book was basically porn with a little bit of plot.”
Even I can’t help but laugh at that.
Paige groans, and crumples up the paper in front of her. “Fine, I give up. Talk about the sex. Just, please, never call a woman’s vagina a ‘lady taco’ again.”
I lean over and pour some more wine into her glass, earning me a grateful smile.
I think I like book club.
An incessant knocking drags me to the surface of my unconscious state the next morning. My head hurts, my throat is fuzzy, and I can’t remember how I got home last night. Not only did we drink both bottles of wine I brought for book club, but we also managed to go through two more bottles that Paige had. Makes me wonder how Mila fared getting up early to open the bakery today.
I drag myself up and out of bed, and stumble to the door, squinting against the light stabbing my eyes. When I open it, I actually think I’m still asleep at first. Why else would Ethan be standing at my door, looking even more impossibly handsome than I remember? This has to be a dream. I close the door, then open it again. Nope, he’s still there, raising his eyebrow at me like he can’t figure out what’s wrong with me.
“You’re not supposed to be here,” I state, rubbing my face to make sure I am, indeed, awake.
“Surprise?” he says, only it comes out as a question. “I decided to get up early and drive home. Partly so I can get a day in at the office catching up on things, but mostly because I missed you.” He drops his gaze to the floor at that last part, and I see his cheeks turn pink.
Right as I’m about to launch myself into his arms, headache be damned, I freeze. If I look half as bad as I feel, then this is not good. Not good at all. He’s still out in the hallway, so I slam the door shut on him for the second time, only this time I yell through the door, “Hang on.”
I hear a soft thud and then his resigned voice, muffled by the door. “Not going anywhere, shorty.”
I walk as quickly as my pounding head will allow into the bathroom, pop a couple of pain killers, splash cold water on my face, and brush my teeth. My hair is magically not that offensive, so I finger comb it and leave it. The torn T-shirt and pajama shorts with penguins on them have got to go, and I pull on a pair of soft leggings and an oversized sweater that hangs off one shoulder. A swipe of lip balm and that’s as good as I’m going to get at nine am with a hangover. Wait. Nine am? Jeez, I haven’t slept this late in years. No wonder I’m groggy.
