I frowned. A year without sex sounded fucking terrible. “A whole year? That is impossible.”
She rolled her eyes and let out an overly dramatic sigh. “No, it’s not, Drea.”
“Then you can do it. Honestly, Kenzie, was this Fallon’s idea? It sounds like a stupid idea she’d have rolling around in her head.”
Fallon was never one to sleep around, so it wouldn’t have surprised me if she came up with this plan.
“She may have suggested it, but I agreed with her?—”
“As you always do.” It didn’t matter that Fallon was always right, and right now I despised her for it. The woman had a freaky ability when it came to knowing someone, but I supposed, as her best friend, I was a little easier to read.
She rolled her eyes. “Drea, I’m trying to be nice and supportive here, and you’re ruining it! You need to stop silicone-dicking around and get your shit together! Fallon hates seeing you like this, and it’s pissing me off, too. This isn’t you!”
I sighed. She was right, Fallon must be rubbing off on her. “I should never have helped your ass get her back. I retract everything I ever said or did to help.”
She nudged my shoulder. “I know you love me. She told me so.”
I groaned. “Goddamn her. Are none of my secrets safe anymore? Ugh, fine, you guys win! I’ll give it a try, but I honestly don’t see how it’s going to do any good.”
Chapter Two
Drea
“This fucking sucks!”My chaste year started fifteen days ago—yes, I was counting the literal days—and I already wanted to quit.
As Mackenzie had suggested, I found some local classes, trying to find something else to fill my time. The first class I tried was yoga, and that was an epic fail. Not only was I terrible at it and had zero flexibility, it was an incredibly erotic class. All those women in their tight-ass leggings bending over? Jesus Christ! Needless to say, I wore out several batteries that week and decided yoga was not for me.
Last week was glass blowing, another erotic class. Blowing a hot rod? Who came up with that idea?!
I should have known taking Mackenzie’s suggestions was going to piss me off. She couldn’t have suggested painting or knitting? I should learn to make birdhouses or something. Birds can’t be erotic, right?
This week, I was going to start finding my own activities to try. When I mentioned Mackenzie’s great plan to Cara at lunch, she almost choked on her drink.
“Let me get this straight. You’re going to go a whole year without sex? You? I give it a week, tops,” she had said in a fit of laughter.
Cara and I had worked together since I opened the store five years ago. Cara was the CEO of Wells Publishing. She also took on a few clients herself.
She published several of the authors I had signings for over the years, and she had become not only a colleague but a close friend.
I scowled at her, but eventually she calmed down and actually started being useful. She suggested trying a more physical approach, like pickleball. Physical activity was a good way to relieve stress, and boy was I full of it.
When she introduced me to the sport, I laughed. The only physical activity I enjoyed required a different set of grunting noises. But Mackenzie’s stupid voice was playing in my head, so there I was trying to better myself or some bullshit.
Twenty-two days later, I was dripping in sweat, and not the good kind.
“Fuck you, you suck!” I grunted out. We were ten minutes into our pickleball game, and I was not having a good time.
She laughed, hitting the ball back over to my side. “I’m winning, so I think it’s you who sucks. Maybe if you were getting laid, you would have the stamina to keep up and I could actually have some competition!” She laughed when I almost tripped trying to hit the ball.
“That was a low blow, Wells!”
“You walked right into that one, or tripped into it!” She was laughing so hard I wanted to throw my paddle at her.
I cursed under my breath when I missed my next shot. “Did you come to talk shit, or play a game?” I yelled through gritted teeth.
“Seeing as how you’re losing by a long shot, I think I’m the only one playing. And shit talking is part of the game. I’m pretty sure it’s the first rule, actually.”
“I thought the first rule was not to talk about the game?”
