Rosaline Palmer Takes the Cake (Winner Bakes All #1) - Alexis Hall Page 0,43
from comparative pussiology. “He wants to show me his garden.”
“As a professional playwright I’m far too sophisticated to fall back on ‘Is that what they’re calling it these days,’ so I’ll say, ‘No, he doesn’t; he wants you to touch his penis.’”
Shrugging, Rosaline refilled her glass. “Well, maybe I want to touch his penis.”
“Oh, Roz”—Lauren gave a deep shudder—“heterosexual sex sounds excruciatingly dull.”
“I’m just pointing out that I’m not a debutante in a Victorian novel. It’s quite possible we’re two mature adults who want to get laid.”
“You know you’re not the fuckgirl sort. You never have been.”
“I could be,” Rosaline protested. “I’ve had casual sex.”
“Name three times.”
She did actually have to think about it. “Um. Tom?”
“You dated Tom for eight months and literally had his baby.”
“Yes, but my original plan was for it to be casual.”
“Original plans don’t count.” Lauren finished her wine with gusto. “Hitler’s original plan was to be a painter. It’s not what he’s most famous for.”
“Ignoring the fact that you just Godwin’s Lawed my love life, what about Carolyn? I hooked up with her at your wedding, and you can’t get more casual than that.”
“Didn’t you also nearly buy a dog together?”
“Very casually.”
“All I’m saying,” Lauren went on, “is that you should be honest with yourselves and each other. There’s nothing wrong with being fuckbuddies, and there’s nothing wrong with holding out for the love of your life, but you need to be clear about which one you’re offering and which one you’re looking for.”
Rosaline sighed. “It doesn’t really work that way in straight people land. At least, not very often.”
“That seems like a significant flaw in the system.”
“It’s not . . . it’s . . . it’s complicated. Even if we’re both only in it for the sex, he has to pretend otherwise so he doesn’t come across as a predator. And I have to pretend otherwise so I don’t come across as a slut.”
Lauren’s eyes narrowed. “Did you just slut-shame yourself?”
“No. We’ve had a long discussion about how not-a-slut I am despite my best efforts to be one. But I still have to navigate a world where that’s a thing.”
“And you can’t both decide to . . . make it not a thing?”
“How?” asked Rosaline. “Do I text him back and say Sure, but can we also step outside the social paradigm into which we’ve both been inculcated from birth? ”
“Well, I’d certainly find that hot.”
“This may surprise you, Loz”—Rosaline gave her a wry look—“but I suspect you and Alain are quite different people.”
“His loss. And, indeed, yours.”
“Anyway.” Deep breath. Gulp of wine. “I’ve already kissed him. Twice.”
“Is this a course of action you want me to encourage you in or discourage you from?”
Alain was a tall, good-looking man with an impressive career, a caustic sense of humour, and a garden he wanted to show her. He was, by any objective standard, perfect. “Encourage me, I think?”
“You think? Couldn’t have been much of a kiss, then.”
“What? No. It was fine.”
Lauren gave her a flat stare.
“I mean, it was nice. Good. B-plus. Solid seven out of ten.”
“Darling,” said Lauren, “you’ve never been satisfied with a B-plus in your life.”
“It was a first kiss. Some things take a while to build.”
“It’s sex. Not Lego.”
“Look.” She hadn’t quite meant to slam her wineglass down with that much force. “I’m staring down the barrel of thirty. I’ve got a kid. I think I’m a little bit past the idea that true romance is a horny snog behind a bike shed.”
“You know I just want you to be happy. And”—Lauren drained yet another glass—“if this mysterious baking man greases your cake tin, then I’m all for him. Now, if you’ll excuse me, I have to pass out. Your daughter made me take her swimming this morning and it made me use muscles I’ve been happily ignoring for years.”
They hugged, Rosaline inadequately trying to thank Lauren for adding another weekend to eight years of unfailing support. And then Lauren vanished into Rosaline’s bedroom, leaving Rosaline to make up the sofa for herself. She could really have done with a night in her own bed, but when somebody offered you three months of free childcare, five-hundred-pound gorilla rules applied and they got to sleep where they liked.
Once she was snuggled under the spare duvet, Rosaline fished out her phone and thought about replying to Alain’s text. In many ways, the conversation she’d had with Lauren was academic because it would be impossible for her to get away this week—either for garden-visiting