Total pages in book: 99
Estimated words: 94883 (not accurate)
Estimated Reading Time in minutes: 474(@200wpm)___ 380(@250wpm)___ 316(@300wpm)
Estimated words: 94883 (not accurate)
Estimated Reading Time in minutes: 474(@200wpm)___ 380(@250wpm)___ 316(@300wpm)
Parker: Oh for fuck’s sake, fine. I’ll ask Makena.
Nix: THANK YOU!
Parker: On one condition: You pull every tainted squash out of that garden before we get home.
Nix: Dude, what do you take me for? I did that last night. It was just ONE squash, and I took it home as a souvenir. I’m staring at it right now…
Parker: I’m blocking your number.
Nix: No, you’re not. You love me. And you love love. Tell Makena thank you in advance. I owe her one.
Parker: Goodbye, Nix. Don’t text me again. And stay away from my zucchini.
Chapter
Nineteen
PARKER
Islide my phone back into my pocket, suddenly uneasy. The way Makena’s watching me after my dramatic reading makes my chest tight.
Maybe I should have kept the part about the vegetable sex to myself…
“But seriously,” I assure her, “you don’t have to ask her. Nix is a pain in the ass who goes home with a different woman every weekend. Sometimes two. At the same time.”
“Yeah, but this sounds different,” she says, clearly fighting a smile as she adds, “there was zucchini involved. What is zucchini if not the vegetable of love?”
I snort. “I don’t know. I’m not a veggies-in-the-bedroom kind of guy.”
Makena nods seriously. “Not surprising. Considering how fussy you are about your ass.”
I nudge her shoulder with mine as we start toward the downtown tourist center exit, tickets to another crab party in hand. “Hey, stop. Don’t tease me about my butt boundaries. I’m still kinky and sexy.”
She laughs. “You are. And I’m really wishing I’d let Elly give you my number when you first asked, so…let me text Charlotte later. I’ll see if she’s okay with me sharing her details.” She casts a warning glance my way. “But no promises.”
“Fair enough. Nix will survive if she says no.” I take her hand, lacing our fingers together like I’ve been doing it forever—natural as breathing.
“Obviously,” she says, “but Charlotte’s been avoiding second dates for a while now. It might be good for her to have a two or three-night stand, ease her way back into the relationship pool. She’s too awesome to give up on finding love forever.” She sighs as we push through the door, “So, where to next?”
As we step outside, the heat hits like a wall. Makena’s sundress, the yellow one with the fluffy skirt that makes her look like walking sunshine, immediately starts to cling. I try not to stare at the way it outlines her breasts, but considering I watched her get dressed this morning, and know for a fact that she isn’t wearing a bra…
Well, I’ll probably be thinking about her breasts all day.
And I’m fine with that.
I’m over the moon about it, actually—because at the end of the day, I’m going to get to rip that dress off her hot little body and show her boobs just how much I missed them.
“I don’t know. I’m up for whatever.” I smile to myself as I pull her into the shade on the other side of the cute pedestrian area downtown.
I watched Makena get dressed this morning.
It still feels too good to be true. I would pinch myself, but I’m too busy holding her hand.
“That antique shop looks terrifying,” I add, nodding toward a window display of dolls that definitely eat children.
She hums appreciatively. “Sure does. Want to go get cursed?”
“Obviously.”
Inside, Granny Jezebel’s Attic smells like mothballs and dust with a side of moldering literature, courtesy of the used book section along the back wall. Makena abandons me immediately for a corner full of ancient kitchen stuff, running her fingers over a cast-iron pan with seven round indentations like it’s made of gold.
“Oh my god, a Griswold aebleskiver pan,” she breathes. “This is old. Like, really old.”
The price tag says three hundred dollars. For something that looks like a torture device for golf balls. “We should get it.”
She snorts. “With what money?”
“My money. Our money. Whatever.”
“No, Parker.” She traces one of the round wells with her finger. “We’re not having the money talk when we’re actively being hunted by cursed dolls.”
I know she’s kidding, but I can’t help glancing over my shoulder, reassuring myself that the dolls are still in the window where we left them.
When I turn back, she’s grinning, clearly pleased with herself.
“You’re such a brat,” I whisper, pinching her hip through her dress.
She giggles.
“So, when are we having the money talk, then?” I press, not ready to let the subject go. I know she won’t let me buy her a food truck or anything extravagant, but I’m in the position to drop money on supplies without thinking twice.
“I don’t know. When I have an actual income again?” But she’s still fondling the pan with enough lust to make me a little jealous. “This would actually be a great idea for a food truck menu, though. I could have the batters pre-made and do small batches of sweet and savory things. Beignet balls without the deep fryer. Shrimp and grit balls on a bed of lettuce with remoulade.”