Page 97 of Spindrift

“Totally.”

“Soundslike it. Anything I can bring?”

“Yourself.”

Theway Morgan said the word left Emilia momentarily speechless. She swallowed,tried to respond, paused, and tried again. “I can do that.”

“Great.”She heard the grin in Morgan’s voice. “See you soon.”

Shechanged out of her ragged, paint-stained cutoffs and into a tank top and jeans,glancing at the mirror. The tank top dipped low over her breasts.Too low.She tore it off and wriggled into a T-shirt.Too casual.Her favoriteblouse, however, was too dressy, and the short-sleeved, breezy button-up didn’tlook right, despite the fact that it was another one of her favorites. Gettingdesperate, she seized another tank top and stared at her rumpled hair and wideeyes.I’m hideous, she decided, turning to examine the way the shirtclung to her waist. Nell turned a circle on the bed on top of her discarded clothesand settled with a huff.

“Okay,fine, you’re right, I am being ridiculous,” she said to her dog. The current shirtwas the least offensive of the brood. Simple, with a casual elegance in the drapeof the fabric and a neckline that was flirtatious without drawing attention toitself.

Herdamp hair hung in a curling mess around her shoulders. She twisted it into aknot and pinned it up, then let it down again, remembering the way Morgan hadburied her hands in it.Damn her, she swore internally as she blew itdry. It made no sense to feel this nervous. This wasn’t a first date. It was abarbeque. And after the night she’d already spent at Morgan’s, nerves seemedpreposterous. They’d done things that left no room for misgivings. She shiveredand sat on the bed. Thinking about that night had robbed her of sleep everynight since. Morgan shouldn’t have been able to get under her skin the way shehad. Nobody should. But whenever she blinked she saw Morgan beneath her, facefilled with awe as Emilia rode her, or prone before her as she lifted Morgan toclimax with her tongue. It made simple household tasks difficult.

Nellinvestigated the baggie of extra dog food she packed with interest. Not wantingto seem presumptuous, she settled for shoving a travel-sized bottle ofmouthwash into her purse instead of a toothbrush, and then she killed timewhile she waited for four o’clock to roll around.

“HiI brought strawberries,” she said in a rush when Morgan opened the door.

Morganglanced at the quart of fresh strawberries she’d picked up from a farm stand,then back at Emilia’s face. The air between them hummed with unresolvedtension.

DoI kiss her?Emiliachewed on her lip. They needed to talk, soon, about whatever this was, butuntil then—

“Comein.” Morgan interrupted her panicking thoughts and took the fruit from Emilia’shands, then tugged her lightly into the doorway. Emilia let the berries gowithout protest, hypnotized by the way Morgan’s plain T-shirt clung to herbody. Morgan’s smile widened.

“Iprobably should have picked up some whipped cream or shortcake—”

Morgankissed her. Hunger blazed between them. She didn’t realize she had pressedMorgan up against the doorframe, Morgan’s strawberry-free hand on her ass,until Stevie cleared her throat.

Theybroke apart. Stevie took a bite out of the strawberry she’d stolen from theunattended container.

“Uh. . . Hi, Stevie.”

“Don’tlet me interrupt.”

Morganblushed a deep scarlet and pushed past a grinning Stevie into the house. Emiliaand Nell followed.

“Beer?”Stevie offered her a cold bottle, which she accepted. Morgan, she noted, hadnot tasted like alcohol.

“I’mon call,” Morgan said, correctly interpreting Emilia’s look. “Come help uschoose a movie for later? We need a tiebreaker.”

Stevieexplained Dogpocalypse as they scrolled through Stevie’s extensive moviecollection. The tradition had started a few years ago, before they all livedtogether, and had carried over. All of their dogs except Marvin—who Stevie saidwas too dumb to understand the threat—were petrified of fireworks. This made itimpossible to enjoy the Fourth or to go out, and so they’d decided to spend theholiday watching apocalyptic movies and comforting their freaked-out animals.

“Andthe movie has to be apocalyptic?” she asked.

“Naturally.”

“Toobad there are so few of them,” she said as Stevie continued to scroll through aseemingly endless collection of the genre.

“Iknow. Hollywood really hates the subject.”

“Isthat actually a movie about zombie sheep?”

“Don’task,” Morgan warned.

Theysettled on a B horror flick about colossal tidal waves destined to take outcoastal cities, complete with monsters in the water.

“We’llwatch it later when the fireworks start and we have to go inside with the dogs.Have you seen the orchard yet?”

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