Total pages in book: 145
Estimated words: 141425 (not accurate)
Estimated Reading Time in minutes: 707(@200wpm)___ 566(@250wpm)___ 471(@300wpm)
Estimated words: 141425 (not accurate)
Estimated Reading Time in minutes: 707(@200wpm)___ 566(@250wpm)___ 471(@300wpm)
“And we want that man to make things really, really stick,” Maeve puts in, unable to resist that one.
I laugh, then set the tiny book on the table, accepting the pen, too, that Isla hands me. I ask her, “Okay, what do you think I should add to my list of five pleasures?”
She exhales dramatically. “I wish I knew. It’s been forever for me. Honestly, at this point, if the right man just blows on my ear, I might come.”
I lift a brow. “Ear play?”
Skylar chuckles. “My dog licks my ears. And my face. Every single night.”
I tilt my head. “Ears and face? He sounds very thorough.”
“He is.” She sighs, like she’s resigned herself to this fate. “I mean, I can’t be mad about it. I do cuddle him every night. And he’s a Doxie mix, so how could I not?”
“And is there a sex tip somewhere in that?” Isla asks dryly.
Skylar holds up her hands. “Oh god, no. But since dogs know all our secrets, if you asked him, he’d probably recommend,” she leans in and lowers her voice, whispering the name of a porn site.
I perk up. “Ooh, role-play section. Noted.” I write that down on a page.
Maeve leans forward. “I’d also suggest some toys. I’m a big fan of bringing another party to the bedroom.”
I shift in my seat, already warming to the idea. “What kind of party are we talking? A guest star or more of a supporting role?”
Maeve winks. “Depends on how adventurous you’re feeling.”
I nod, adding that to my growing list. The possibilities are stacking up fast, and I’m very into it. The server swings by with our drinks, and we thank her. Once she’s gone, Isla says, “I feel like I should be taking notes too. You know, for…science.”
Skylar grins. “Right? This is basically a public service.”
Maeve lifts her milkshake. “I’d also suggest you might want to ask him to—”
She mouths the words, giving me a wild idea.
“Oh, that does sound like fun,” I say, raising my glass to meet hers.
And if Tyler had me screaming his name last time, he has no idea what’s coming next.
But first, there’s a bag outside my apartment when I return after lunch before picking up the kids. A little shimmy runs through me as I cross the distance from the garage and pick it up. This man and his surprise gifts.
This bag is the smallest one yet. It’s orange and blue—the team colors for the city’s football team. I dip my hand in, fishing past light blue tissue paper to find…two tickets to a football game.
For this weekend. When Elle has the kids till shortly after the game.
I clutch the tickets to my chest a little too long. I smile a little too wide. And I probably assume a little too much. But his words from a week ago ring in my head.
I was going to ask you to go to a baseball game and debate the umpires. I was going to see if you wanted to play mini golf—and then ask if I could make you scream in pleasure.
When I reach inside the bag once more, I find a card.
Wanna go with me?
—T
My stomach flips. Forget last week’s words on what might have been. I’ll take these brand-new ones now on what will be, thank you very much.
I hold the card tightly and go inside, tucking it into the notebook by my bed, right with all the other ones he’s given me. The one from the morning after my not-wedding, the one from the gift of sheets, the one from the Sea Dogs hoodie. And the bag with yoga gifts.
At this rate, he’ll have a whole notebook to himself to go along with the sex diary. Fitting.
After I text him my yes, his words echo in my head for the rest of the day—Wanna go with me? They’re written, but I can hear them as clearly as if he’d spoken them. I can hear the vulnerability in this subtle way of asking me out.
Now, there’s something else I can’t wait for, and it’s not just because I love football. But as I swing open the car door so I can pick up the kids, my phone buzzes. It’s an email from Elena, confirming our next appointment.
Hot shame washes through me. She encouraged me to turn my list-keeping habit around. To use it for good with my list of good things that have happened. Does that really include keeping track of sweet notes the man who signs my paychecks leaves for me?
I sink down in the front seat, pausing before I start the car so I can mull over what the hell I’m doing.
On the one hand, this whole sex list is ridiculously risky. But then, so is doing a triple loop with blades on my feet, and I still do those. I’ve done them for decades.