Page 18 of Playbook
“I am not going on your honeymoon with you. I love you, but I draw the line at a threesome.”
She snorts. “It’s hardly a honeymoon when our wedding was almost three months ago. We’ve banged a lot of the newlywedded-ness out of our systems.”
I seriously doubt that. I’ve seen how handsy they are even after being together for three years before getting married earlier this spring.
“Speaking of…” I slink down in my seat. “I may have let sex Saturday slip to Alec.”
She laughs instead of shooting daggers at me, but still I feel bad.
“I’m sorry. I was drunk and spiraling…”
“It’s fine. Everyone should schedule sex. I like to guarantee an orgasm once a week.”
I can hardly argue with that.
“So you’re not coming to the beach with us?” she asks, knowing the answer.
“I have to be at the engagement party. She’s my sister,” I say. And as worried as I am about it all happening so fast, I wouldn’t miss it. “Plus, I’m not letting Chris get off that easily. He’d think I was hiding from him because I’m still obsessed with him or something.”
“I don’t know. Not showing up could be a real power move.”
“He’s too egotistical to see it that way.”
“Fuck him,” she says, and I arch a brow. Paige rarely cusses. “Seriously,” she continues. “He was lucky your standards were so low in college. You deserve so much better.”
I laugh again and nod my head in agreement, but my throat tightens. It isn’t that I think she’s wrong. I’ve accepted that Chris is an asshole and not the amazing guy I believed him to be during our relationship. I was young and in love. Stupid love.
Paige stands. “All right. I’m gonna go.”
She pushes the strap of her purse over her shoulder and steps toward me. “Love you, Lo. Text me later and let’s hang out this weekend. Should we hit the club?”
I glare at her, then wrap my arms around my friend. “I’m never going back there again.”
On the way home from happy hour, I stop to get my mail. I brace myself as I turn the key but when I open the small, metal box it’s empty, or nearly empty. I pull out the two envelopes – both perfume and lipstick-free. I double-check because it feels too good to be true, but yep, both are for me.
Today must be a slow mail day for Brogan’s harem. And then my eye catches on the sender’s name written in the upper left-hand corner on one of the envelopes.Brogan Six.
I glance around, half-expecting him to jump out at me, but I’m alone. I close and lock my mailbox and then carefully openthe letter. His handwriting is small and neat and fills only about a quarter of the page.
Dear London,
Nice to meet you Saturday night. I’m sorry about the mail mix-up. It should be taken care of now, and your box should be free of my panty kink. If you run into any more problems, let me know.
I really am sorry, and I think you got the wrong idea about me. Can I make it up to you?
Brogan
SIX
Friday morning I’m in a staff meeting, struggling to keep my eyes open. Once a month we have these big department-wide meetings with management and members of the executive team. It always feels a little like they whisk in totally unprepared and hurried, as if this is just one of many meetings on the docket for the day and we’re clearly not the most important.
My boss, Wayne, is standing in front of the conference room going over all the projects we’re currently working on.
“And finally, the T-shirt design for the picnic next month.” On the large screen in front of us, the mock-up of the shirt displays.
One of my coworkers, Shane, glances over at me and smiles. The whole team pitched concepts to Wayne, but he picked mine. A surprise since he hadn’t shared that with me or anyone else as far as I know.
My design is simple, really. It says Channel 3 in the same styleand font that is used on all the branding, but I made the inside of the letters a red and white checkered design to fit the whole picnic theme.
