Page 59 of Score on You

“My eyes! They’re bleeding. I’ll never recover,” she wails.

I snort at her theatrics, but this reaction is preferable compared to her drooling over him. “Bummer, babes.”

“You don’t even care about my wellbeing. The image of my shirtless boss will haunt me.” Harper points in Ridge’s general direction.

“Maybe you shouldn’t be looking.”

“I wouldn’t if I had a choice, sassy pants. Way to warn a woman.” She shudders.

“Not sure what you’re complaining about. He’s yummy.” I wiggle my fingers at him.

My boyfriend reciprocates by blowing me a kiss, which I pretend to catch. In. My. Mouth. Not sure what’s gotten into me, but I’m positive it has everything to do with this man.

“Um, wow. Why don’t you lick him while you’re at it.” Harper sticks out her tongue for emphasis.

“I just might.”

“Those twat flutters are ready for flight, huh? Horny duck.”

“Isn’t it toad?”

“You would know,” she quips. “Not that I can blame you when your favorite flavor of man candy is flaunting his physique.”

I disguise my squirm as an adjustment in position, skipping my toes along the wood floor. “But unfortunately, I’m not sure what to do about it.”

Harper waves off my concern. “The unknown won’t last much longer. It appears your relationship is progressing rather quickly. Has he asked to trim the hedges?”

My gaze scans the freshly cut grass. The natural fragrance is ripe in the air. “Huh?”

“How about plowing the field?”

“Do you mean the flowerbeds? He planted chrysanthemums for me.” Which earned him several boxes of freshly baked cookies.

She giggles. “Did the smitten kitten pull your weeds while he was down on his knees?”

I twist my lips. “Oh, you’re using euphemisms to be sexually suggestive.”

“Obviously. A little debauchery is good for the soul,” she reminds. “You catch on quick.”

The sarcasm doesn’t escape me. I raise the Instax from its cradle on my thighs and snap a picture of my main muse. “Like you said, I’m preoccupied.”

“And now I see why.” She peeks over at Ridge long enough to notice the gauze on his left pec. “Did he hurt himself while whacking your bushes?”

“No,” I laugh. “That’s his new tattoo.”

“Have you seen it?”

A thrill skitters through me. “He sent a picture.”

“Care to share with your bestie?” Harper huffs and opens her palm.

Mine reaches for my phone. “I don’t see why not.”

She gasps at the image. Her shock lacks the mock-horror from moments before. “Oh, that totally tracks with his claim at Roosters.”

I straighten in my chair. “What claim?”

“That’s for him to tell you. Have you touched it?”

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