Page 29 of Stilettos & Secrets on the 7 Seas

“Let’s pray he’s asking Dad for a loan or donating a kidney to a homeless person.”

“Aren’t you overreacting just a little?” Eli quirked a smile at me.

“No. If Darryl pops the question, the pressure will be on from Mom. She can’t stand it if all Aunt Loretta’s kids are married before hers. She’ll freak out. She’ll hound us every minute of every day.” I breathed out a contemplative sigh. “At least you’re older than me.”

Eli stood motionless in the parking lot. He knew I was right.

I sent him a cheeky grin. “See ya Sunday.”

Eleven

Three days until jump time. I needed to see Caiyan before I left present day for the land of pirates. I pulled out my phone and texted him.

We need to talk.

I stared at the screen. Nothing.

My battery read five percent. I huffed, plugged my phone into the charger, then got ready for linner at my parents’ house.

His reply came just as I applied the final coat of M.A.C. Brave Red lipstick.

We’ll talk and other things very soon.

I had an idea what the “other things” included. Heat flashed to my girlie parts. I texted back.

Before my jump on Tuesday.

Will do.

The man of mystery refused to give me a day or time. I knew better than to ask. He’d show up in the middle of the night, do all the things I liked, and make me forget the reason I needed to speak with him.

Not this time, buddy.

Ragina withholding sex from Darryl for a ring might work for me too. But I didn’t want a ring. I wanted information.

If Caiyan’s got a secret map, I’ll be the one withholding the booty until my questions are answered. I have self-discipline. I have willpower. I have grit and guts and moxie.

I hoped.

* * *

My parents housesmelled of baked beans, chocolate cake, and smoked brisket.

“Jen, you…look cute.” Mom huffed between words, smashing the potato masher inside a large metal pot, her struggle for the perfect texture of potato salad evident in every breath. “That dress is much better than the boxy thing you wore to Durr’s wedding.” She glanced at my feet. “I. Love. The. Shoes.”

My salary from the WTF paid my rent, groceries, and car insurance. My paycheck from the chiropractic office paid for my shoes.

I’d worn my yellow sundress with little pink flowers to Sunday dinner. It was perfect for the ninety-degree Texas summer, and it had been on sale. The only problem was I couldn’t wear a bra with it. No matter, this hot-humid weather would prevent any surprise nipple erection. I added my new Kate Spade Citrus sandals with sweet lemon-shaped heels. They matched my dress perfectly.

I displayed a lemon heel for her. “What can I say? When life gives you lemons, you wear them.”

“What’s wrong with your life?” Mom asked, then her eyes went wide. “Oh my god, you’re pregnant.” Mom held the masher with a tight fist, waiting for the answer that would ruin her day.

“No, Mom. I’m not pregnant. Everything is fine. Can I help?”

The mashing resumed. “Sure. Set. The. Table.”

I turned toward the drawer filled with placemats, napkins, and mismatched napkin rings Mom had never used but claimed looked cute in the store.

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