Page 94 of Pity Play

Allie comes over to our table and says, “Congratulations, you two. You’re going to make each other so happy. I just know it.”

“Speaking of happy,” my eye strays in my brother’s direction, “anything you want to tell me?”

“I mighthave a story.” She smiles coyly. “But that’s for another day …”

Allie and Noah’s story is coming soon! PreorderPity Pleasenow.

If you haven’t read the first book in the series, here’s a teaser forPity Date.

PITY DATE TEASER:

FAITH

Anna and I have been planning our weddings since we were in Pull-Ups at the Little Sunshine Preschool on Maple Street. Of course, we're going to be each other's maid of honors. To be precise, I'll be Anna's maid of honor when she gets married next month, and she'll be my matron of honor, seeing as how she's getting hitched first. Not that I'm officially planning my wedding. Not yet. I have an inkling of who my groom might be, but nothing's set in stone.

My prospective fiancé is none other than Astor Hill. Not only is he Anna's fiancé's best friend from law school and office mate, but we're walking up the aisle together for the ceremony. We haven’t been a couple that long, but as you near your thirties—and I’m twenty-nine and three quarters— most of us have dated enough toads to know when we’re being courted by a real prince. Astor is a real prince if there ever was one.His name alone, am I right?

“Faith, are you coming out or not?” Anna yells through the curtain of my changing cubicle. That’s when I realize I haven’t even taken off my street clothes yet, let alone put on the bridesmaid dress.

I start to fumble with the button on my jeans. “I’m almost ready.”

“Are you daydreaming about Astor again?” she teases. “Girl, you’ve been nonstop mooning over that man since your first date. I’m starting to think you might be the next one to the altar.”

I subconsciously put my hand to my heart in a gesture of pure, unadulterated, “Who, me?” Astor hasn’t mentioned taking our relationship to the next level, but that doesn’t mean he’s not thinking about it. He lives in Chicago, and I live in Elk Lake, Wisconsin, which means we only see each other on the weekends.But as absence makes the heart grow fonder, it’s been a very workable arrangement. Especially since it’s only temporary.

Astor and I met on a blind date nearly ten months ago while I was visiting Anna. We hit it off so spectacularly that I’ve taken the train down to Chicago most weekends since. It’s just over two hours from my door to his.

Ripping off my t-shirt, I gingerly step into the pool of silverpoult-de-soieat my feet. As I pull the sheath dress up, it gets stuck on my hips. “Crap,” I grumble under my breath. One of the benefits of falling in love is that my appetite for food has decreased considerably, which is obviously the reason I made such a rookie mistake as to think I could get into this dress the same way a supermodel might. While my hips have shrunk a size since Astor and I have been together, they have a ways to go before making the pull-up maneuver possible.

“How’s the house hunt?” I ask. Anna met Christopher when she was a realtor in Chicago. She sold him his condo. Once they got engaged, they decided he would hang his shingle in Elk Lake and the two of them would get busy starting a family. When she’s not planning the wedding, she’s looking for their first home as a married couple, as well as office space that will suit Chris’s lawyering needs. Astor is planning to join the mass migration to Elk Lake and set up shop with him. For this reason alone, it would appear he sees a future with me.

“I’ve found a couple places that I like but neither one of them is perfect. The one on Elk Lake is slightly preferable. Three bed, two bath, its own dock.”

“You’ve always wanted to live on the lake,” I remind her.I’vealways lived on the lake. Actually, I’m still in the house I grew up in. My parents bought a condo in Boca several years ago, so I’ve got the place all to myself. Which, honestly, is the only reason I’m still there. My mom is too much of a control freak to cohabitate with on an ongoing basis.

“It’s the old Turner house down the road from you.”

“I love that place! All it needs is a good coat of paint and maybe a new porch.”

“And a new roof, and potentially a new septic …” she groans.

“Oh boy, that sounds like a lot.” As I put the dress over my head and scooch the silk material down my hips, I decide that two more pounds ought to be enough for this confection to be a perfect fit. I could manage it now, but I wouldn’t be able to eat supper and I’m really looking forward to the meal I helped Anna pick out—prime rib or wide-mouth bass served with prosciutto wrapped asparagus, balsamic glazed new potatoes, and the triple layer Black Forest cake I’m making for their wedding cake.Seriously yummy.

“Yeah, but it’s a steal,” she says. “I’m going to show it to Chris over the weekend and see what he thinks.”

“Has Chris said anything about Astor popping the question?” I ask, trying my best not to sound as hopeful as I’ve started to feel.

“No, but that doesn’t mean anything. You know men, they don’t talk like we do.”Life would be so much easier if they did.

My heart races like I just hurdled over the twenty-yard buffet at the Rib Barn. “I don’t suppose there’s any way you could ask?”

“Chris?”

“Of course, Chris. I don’t want you asking Astor,” I practically hiss. The disaster potential of approaching an unsuspecting man with such a question is seriously staggering.

The next thing I know I hear what I suspect is Chris’s phone ringing. “I didn’t mean now!” I holler.

Instead of hanging up, Anna pushes her way into my dressing room and sits down on the chair wedged in the corner. “Hey, babe, what’s up?” Chris’s deep voice is a near baritone which is odd as he’s rather slightly built. It’s kind of a Rick Astley situation. You know, that singer from the eighties. Howthatginger isn’t a giant Black man is anyone’s guess. Chris is a moderately statured Japanese-American with a flat Midwestern accent that belies his genetics.

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