Page 115 of Wild Card
The raccoon freezes, eyes shifting toward us.
“Pretty good,” I whisper back, not wanting to ruin the moment for her by talking too much. But she makes a rolling motion with her hand, urging me onward. “I went to a yoga class.”
“Yeah?”
“Yeah. My instructor is extremely fuckable. I couldn’t stop staring at her ass the whole time.”
Gwen bites down on a satisfied smile. “I love this for you. How incredibly motivating.”
We share a heated look that has me grinning and hardening in my jeans.
“What else did you do?” she continues, watching the raccoon move forward ever so slightly.
“Talked to the therapist I’ve been chatting with. They gave me clearance to work again. Might start slow, though. I don’t need to overdo it.”
She nods. “I bet your yoga teacher thinks it’s superhot that you’re taking such good care of your mental health.”
I chuckle. “What about you? How was your day?”
She lifts another handful of cat food and tosses it onto the grass, just a little closer to the deck. The raccoon startles, then tiptoes forward cautiously.
“Oh, me?” Gwen asks. “My day was great. I kind of want to fuck one of my students though, and that’s a first.”
I playfully eye her with suspicion. “Is it?”
It’s just part of the friendly banter—I didn’t mean for it to be about Tripp, but as soon as the sentiment leaves my mouth, that thread of unease stretches between us. He keeps popping up even though I don’t want him to. He’s ever-present—unresolved.
“I didn’t mean?—”
She waves me off. “I know, but let me rephrase that. I want to do more than just fuck one of my students, andthatis a first.”
A deep feeling of satisfaction settles into my bones. She’s told me before that she’s done nothing but keep things casual, that relationships aren’t something she’s gone looking for. Hell, I could see it the other day—the way she sat on the couch like I was some experiment she had to figure out in real time.
For Gwen, doing the most mundane things might feel more monumental than they should. But those domestic moments…those are what I crave.
The same ones that Gwen hasn’t had at all.
I’d be lying if I said there haven’t been times when the thought of her with Tripp hasn’t kept me up, driven me to distraction, and made me jealous. And yet, it strikes me now that she’s giving me something far more precious than what she had with him.
With contentment glowing in her eyes, she reaches for a marshmallow and tosses it across the grass. The raccoon backs up a couple of steps, and I watch as it rubs its grubby little palms together like it’s just found something exceptional. It scampers forward, snatches the marshmallow, then sits down on its haunches, rotating the puff of sugar while munching away like you would corn on the cob.
“Oh my god.” She sighs. “Is that not the cutest thing you’ve ever seen?”
I stare at the oversize rodent. I won’t lie. I’ve spent time and energy keeping raccoons off my property by placing my garbage in a shed and generally scaring them off. But sitting here now, watching this raccoon devour a marshmallow, I have to confess, “Yeah, Gwen, it’s pretty damn cute.”
She hums happily. Like she’s relieved that I don’t hate her new friend. “Should we name him?”
“You say that like it’s a child,” I quip.
“Yeah, except I wouldn’t name a child Marshmallow.”
“Marshmallow?” I ask. “You’re naming him Marshmallow?”
She shrugs. “Yeah, why not?”
I watch the raccoon. “I mean, it’s just not very dignified. Do you think he’s going to run back into the bushes and tell all his friends that the hot blond lady who lives here named him Marshmallow?”
She shakes her head. “You might be overthinking this.”
