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“Big mad about someone human trafficking me? Yeah. I got that rant already.”

I fought a guffaw and knew how hard she was rolling her eyes.

“I just survived a god damn tornado, okay? A train is nothing, Dad.”

“I know.”

“What about when I go to college?”

“I try not to think about it. Look, I love you. Just read your book. I’ll be home before you are.”

She let out a long sigh. “Fine.”

12. THE NIP SLIP

CHLOE

“I cannot look you in the eyes,” Lanie Delphine crowed at my topless existence.

“Lanie, I cannot have tan lines in this dress,” I said. “It’s my backyard. No one else will be home for at minimum another two hours. Plus, it feels good.”

Lanie was an actress-turned-baroness ever since marrying Baz, an aristocrat. I’d known her since I could last remember, back when we were forced into awful dance lessons where she excelled and I flopped. She was as talented as I was inelegant. But, it stuck.

“There is a park over there,” she said. “What if you flash someone?”

We sat poolside, soaking up the rays while men packed children off to museums. With my best friend in town, I was grateful for female company. After Meg left, I worried Piper might be my only girlfriend. She was a sweet kid, but I couldn’t exactly topless sunbathe around her or discuss the fact that I was mercilessly horny and needed to get laid.

“There is a hedgerow. It’s fine. Besides, your tits are constantly out, babe.”

“I’m nursing a child!” Lanie laughed. “Your excuse is you don’t want tan lines. Mine is if I don’t flop a boob out, the baby doesn’t eat.”

I never thought I’d describe Lanie as a prolific breeder, but she was now on baby number four. She loved being a mother as much as she enjoyed her acting career. Thankfully, her husband Baz lived for his kids and globetrotting wife.

“Thankfully, I am spared that one,” I said. “They are merely ornamental.”

“You do have great tits, though,” Lanie said. “I miss perky nipples and people not touching me.”

“I wish someone would touch my nipples,” I snickered. “Lowkey, it’s nothing but cobwebs. I go on and write all this spicy shit and nothing fun happens for me. Maybe I am going to hell?”

“I liked your book,” Lanie said. “The ending made me cry. I cannot wait for the next one.”

At least one person read my book!

“Please tell me Baz didn’t read it,” I cringed.

“Nah. He said he wished you the best but didn’t want to know. But it was good. I enjoyed the spice in the tack room—even if no one would fuck in a tack room.”

I snickered. “Yeah, but people expected it. I was told repeatedly by my editor, I needed to add that scene.”

“Well, it was good. We love a man who can go down on a girl even in a filthy barn because he cannot wait even a minute longer to have her. You should do it again for this next one.”

I cringed.

“What? I’m not lying, babes! I loved it!”

“I'm glad. But having anyone read my sex scenes—someone who knows me—is mortifying. Of course, if you want to drop it into a famous director’s hands, be my guest.”

“Maybe I could play your leading lady?”