Page 63 of Sister of the Bride

I nod, the tension in my body unspooling a little. “Thank you.”

We pad back into the living room, where he helps me pack up the box of programs, then walks me to the door. I’m out on the stoop when he calls to me. I turn and see him leaning through the doorframe, his hands pushed deep into the pockets of his sweats, his curls falling over his eye. A part of me really wants to drop the box and leap into his arms, kissing him back into that apartment until we find his bed. Part of me want to know what Toby would feel like inside me. Part of me wants to be consumed by him. To consume him. To melt into him until all my insecurities disappear.

But my orgasm haze is lifting, my heart is pounding, and my mind is noisy with fears and insecurities and persistent thought spirals that keep me rooted to the bricks.

I hate that I’m leaving right now, but I love that he’s letting me.

Only Toby would.

He gives me a rueful smile, his dimple deepening. “Just don’t take too long, okay, Pip?”

Chapter26

Toby

What’s the best way to make a small fortune in the stock market?

Start with a big fortune.

Pippin

That one was kind of bleak?

Toby

Sorry, I don’t know any business jokes, and the google results weren’t great.

Pippin

You mean those jokes don’t all live in your head RENT FREE?

Toby

Pay no attention to the man behind the curtain. Good luck at your meeting, Pip!

Toby is true to his word. Our twin orgasms have a pin in them, waiting for future discussion. In the meantime, he’s been sucked back into the hospital, leaving me with only a steady stream of groan-worthy jokes.

Not that my brain will let me forget what happened for a single solitary second. I just keep replaying the scene over and over again like a mental porn video. I walk around in a constant state of arousal, blushes constantly climbing my chest and neck and settling high on my cheeks.

On Thursday afternoon while I’m layering lasagnas, I have a flash of Toby sucking my nipple into his mouth that’s so intense I drop a spatula loaded with béchamel onto my foot. On Friday night while bussing a table of half-empty wineglasses, I swear I can feel the way his tongue circled my clit, feather-light and steady. I wind up with a red wine stain on the white button-up shirt I’ve worn to work front of house. On Sunday morning as the sun starts to break through the windows, I roll over in bed and let out an embarrassing moan, having just woken from a dream of Toby coming in my mouth.

By Monday, I am so horned up I can barely function.

Which is a problem, because today is the day of our meeting with Charlie Bruce of the Kelleher Group. The fact that I have to welcome in the man who’s going to take over my father’s restaurant, give him a tour and show him all the things I love that he will probably change, all the symbols of my childhood and the love of our family that are soon to be painted over and refinished? Well, that’s enough to keep me from running back over to Toby’s apartment and jumping into his bed.

I cannot deal with anything else while I’m dealing with this.

It’s the first week of September, and the heat of the summer is starting to burn off, leaving behind the cool rustle of leaves. With just six weeks until the wedding, my I-To-Do checklist is nearly complete. This should make me happy. Giddy. Ecstatic.

Except.

The plans for Polly’s wedding are basically the only thing I have under control. Everything else in my life? Still a disaster. If only I-To-Do made a similar app for planning everything else. I could certainly use a checklist for that.

Figure out what you want to do with the rest of your life

Write your very first résumé

Find a job (in this economy!)

---