Page 1 of Bean Flicker
REGINA
Why I thought the entire contents of my two-bedroom apartment would fit inside a tiny cottage in the country is beyond me. My living area currently looks like a hay-bale maze, and I seriously have to do some contortion-type gymnastics just to get from the kitchen to my bedroom--theonlyroom in the house that isn't piled high with moving boxes—with my glass of wine and plate of cookies intact. The moment I bump the door closed with my butt, I pause and breathe a sigh of relief. In here, with the bed made and my furniture in place, I can pretend I don't have a mountain of unpacking to do on the other side of that door come morning.
Moving sucks.
And the reason for my move sucks even harder.
But at least I have the brilliant escapism of books to help distract me. They've been a literal lifesaver these last few months as I've packed up my life and moved away from everything I've ever known. A bold choice, I know. But I simply couldn't stay in the city a moment longer than I had to. Too much water under that bridge. So much, in fact, that I needed to burn that bridge to the ground.
Setting my wine and plate on the nightstand, I pull the elastic from my messy bun and let my chestnut hair fall loose around my shoulders, sighing with relief as I rub my scalp and feel some of the tension leave my body. Then I plump up my pillows and get myself comfortable before I do the most decadent part of this self-care ritual, I pick up my copy of 'Pucking Gorgeous' by Saffron Spark. It's an ice hockey romance featuring one of my favorite plus-sized models, Marsha 'Marshmallow' Foster on the cover, along with her now-husband Carter Reeves. At twenty-nine, I've given up on finding love in the real world but knowing these two met and fell in love on this very photo shoot gives me hope that there are more curvy girls out there finding men who love them for who they are, and not who they could become if they ‘just put their mind to it’.
But that's enough about me, my interest right now is on this curvy heroine and her hockey star hero who wants nothing more than to claim her as his own. And claim her he will, because if there's one thing a good spicy romance novel gives us, it's a heck of a lot of 'claiming' until the inevitable happily ever after wraps it all up in a tidy little bow.So much better than real life.
Sipping at my wine, I rapidly turn the pages as the tension builds between the main characters. It's getting so hot that I feel the need to open a window before I return to the bed and continue reading until I…er... decide to join in.
Don't judge me here. I'm alone in the middle of nowhere and a girl has needs.
With my glass now safely on my nightstand, I slide my hand into my pajama shorts and find myself as turned on as the heroine. So while the hero takes care ofherneeds, I'm busily taking care of my own, reading one handed as we both get closer and closer until...
Baaaaaaaaaaaaaa
My hand stills between my legs.
Baaaaaaaa!
Skin hot, and throat dry from all that gasping, I turn slowly toward the sound, a shriek leaving my body when I find agoddamn sheepsticking its head through my open window andbleating at me.
"Get out!" Reflexively, I throw my book out the window, only to hear a subtle,oof,in response.
Last I checked, sheep don't makeoofnoises.
Which is precisely when I lock eyes with themost handsomely rugged man on this planetand scream even louder, my arms and legs flailing as I jump up, knock over my wine and cookies then rush over to the window and pull it closed, tugging the curtain across it and clutching it tight while I try not to hyperventilate.
Oh my god! Oh my god! I can’t believe he just saw that. I'm going to have to move again!
"I’m from the property next door. I was just collecting our stray sheep, and I didn't see a thing," the now-muffled voice on the other side of the window says.
"That's a lie," I call back, dying inside because denying he saw means hedefinitelysaw.
"You're right." He chuckles, and it's this deep rich sound that I wish I could hear under any other circumstance. "I just didn't want to embarrass you."
"A little late for that."
"Hey, there’s nothing wrong with a little bean flicking. In fact, it’s a healthy expression of—”
"Can you maybe just leave so we can forget this ever happened? That might be better than rehashing it."
There’s a short pause, then a, "Oh, I'm never gonna forget, flick. That little show was the highlight of my day. Maybe my year." He chuckles again, and the indignation mixed with my embarrassment makes my ears burn hot.
"Who the hell says that to someone they don't even know?" I snap, tugging the curtains open. My mouth drops open when I find all six-foot-four of him standing with my book in his hands while he studies the cover. I open the window. "Give that back."
His mirthful eyes, blue as the summer sky, land on mine as he gives me a dimpled grin. "You threw it at me. It's mine," he says, tucking the novel into the back pocket of his jeans. "Think I might head home and see if the story is as good as it appeared."
My face feels like it's on fire. "There is something seriously wrong with you."
"Maybe," he says, backing away from my window with the sheep dutifully following along. "But I have a hunch that once I read this, I'll be feeling very,veryright." He pulls out the book and waves it in the air as he turns his back to me. "See you round, neighbor. I'll return this when I'm done with it."
My mouth flaps open and shut before I bluster out, "Those pages had better not be stuck together when you do!"
