into one of those clingy obsessive ‘single white female’ types if it wasn’t for the fact that Cade seems to be just as keen as I am to be together, too.
Last night at my place he was watchful, almost cautious around me. We had dinner, we cuddled on the couch—who knew I would like domesticity so much?—and when he tried to ask me about Friday night, I did what any woman would do when they needed some head space—I distracted him with sex.
It’s quite ironic. It’s usually the woman who wants to know what the man is thinking.
You ask ‘Does my ass look good in these jeans?’ and he says yes and checks out your ass, but that yes is never enough. We want to know whether that’s a confident ‘Hell yes’ or a ‘Yes, now stop asking me if I like your ass because I sleep with you, so I obviously like the whole package. Otherwise I wouldn’t be tapping said ass.’
In this situation, it’s Cade who is the girl.
My inner mini-breakdown is interrupted by Mia’s best friend, Nat, who’s sits opposite me. All the guys except Jase—Nat’s boyfriend—are inside with the kids watching the football game.
“Can we all talk about anal for a minute?” Nat asks, and I stop my spoon mid-flight, my mouth dropping open.
“Babe, I’m trying to eat chocolate mousse,” Jase replies.
“Um, how about we not talk about it and say we did,” Mia pipes up, choking back her laughter at her best friend.
I take a sip of my wine and look at Mia. “What’s wrong with anal?”
“Um . . . err . . .” she stutters, and I wink and Nat who is smirking. She’s totally my type of girl.
“I for one am not a fan,” Mac explains. It’s not that its gross—it’s just . . .” She shrugs and scrunches up her face. “It’s weird.”
“It’s only weird if he’s not doing it right.” That was Zoe.
Both Mia and Dani’s eyes bug out as they stare in astonished wonder at their big sister. “What? Like neither of you have ever tried anything back-door related?”
Their silence speaks volumes, and I’m suddenly proud of my little Dani for being so open-minded, and even happier for Zach.
“Can we please stop this conversation before my chocolate pudding decides to make a reappearance?” Jase pleads on a groan.
“Can I ask why you’re sitting at the table with the women instead of watching the game inside with the dudes?” Nat asks her man.
“Because, hello? Chocolate pudding,” he replies in a ‘duh’ tone.
Then out of nowhere, Sam, the most prim and proper of the group, blows our mind. “You should not discount anal play if you want to broaden your horizons. There are things that Sean can do that I would never have contemplated but by God, do I see them in a different light now.”
The entire group is silent—except for the sound of Jase’s mouth demolishing the dessert, of course. Sam Miller is now my idol.
“I think I might love you,” I blurt out to her.
She giggles, a slight blush coloring her cheeks. “Blame the wine,” she replies, holding up her glass.
“If that’s what wine does to you, fill me up.” I hold out my empty glass to her and she pours the rest of the bottle into my cup.
“To taking the brown highway,” I toast.
“Oh God. Can’t a man eat his dessert in peace without all this poop-shoot talk? Next you’ll be talking about rimming . . .” Jase grumbles. Mac, Kate, Mia, Zoe, Dani, Sam, Nat, and I all look at each other and start giggling, Jase’s groans setting us off all over again.
“Everything okay, Abs?” Dani asks, cornering me when we decide to move inside to join the guys.
I look sideways at her. “Of course. Why wouldn’t it be?”
Her head almost does a full Exorcist turn, snapping so fast I almost get whiplash. She grips my arm and holds me back, waiting until we’re the last ones left in the backyard.
“What gives, Cook?” she asks, spinning my shoulders so my body faces hers.
“I’m fine. You’re fine. Everything’s fine.” My voice gets a teeny, tiny bit loud by the end, totally giving me away. My body tenses as if preparing for a fight.
She tilts her head and quirks a brow, seeing right through me.
Looks like little Dani got some sass. Maybe it has to do with all the kinky back-door sex she’s having.
“You forget that I lived with you for almost two years. You can’t honestly think I don’t