Page 25 of The Fine Art of Faking It
“Would you stop it?” Eden hissed.
“Look, the closest I’ve been to a cock lately is wading through the flock of chickens on Old Man Carson’s farm last week,” Sammy sighed. “Humor me.”
Eden reluctantly took the breadstick from her friend. “Fine. But this too falls under the Fort Knox protection.”
She looked over both shoulders to make sure no one was eavesdropping on them. In Blue Moon, it was a risk you took being in public. Your business was everyone’s business here.
Enid Macklemore was working on a second bottle of wine with her friends Aretha and Xanna across the restaurant. Two tables away, Julio, the suave ponytailed cook from Pierce Brews, was staring deeply into the wide, violet eyes of Charisma Champion, school teacher and town astrologist who technically still should have been in school for the day.
Satisfied, Eden held up the breadstick and bit an inch off of the end and put it back down on her plate.
“You’re screwing with us, aren’t you?” Layla asked, eyeing the representation.
Eden shook her head. “I wish I was.”
“And this was just head wound, pants off, naked? Not like ready to spelunk in your lady cave naked?” Sammy asked.
Eden closed her eyes. “You need to get laid. Like ASAP.”
“Seriously,” Layla agreed, still staring at the breadstick.
“So, are you going to?” Sammy asked.
“Going to what?” Eden picked up the breadstick and hastily took another bite of it before anyone guessed that they were playinghow big is Davis’s schlong.
“Are you going to have sex with Davis?”
The bread lodged in her throat, and Eden choked and coughed.
“Shit. Now I have to give her the Heimlich,” Layla sighed, putting her napkin down and standing up.
Eden coughed, her eyes watering, and grabbed for her water. “Sit down! I’m fine,” she rasped.
“Yeah, Layla. She’s fine. She just choked on Davis’s breadstick,” Sammy snickered.
“I hate you both,” Eden gasped.
“No, you don’t,” they said together.
“I do! And just to be very clear, I am not sleeping with Davis. Ever. Not in a million years would I let that man into my bed!”
“Well, I’m sure he’ll be very disappointed,” Franklin said, setting a plate of chicken parm in front of her.
12
She’d left the dishes from snack time next to the sink, intending to do them tomorrow. But Eden hadn’t taken into account how that decision would haunt her while she chased the sleep her body begged for. She stared at the ceiling over her bed. Blinked. Then stared some more. Sleep continued to elude her.
It was because her brain was clogged with Aurora Decker’s tea party to dos, with catering menus, and linen rentals for the Beautification Committee’s reunion luncheon. This was the second request for midnight blue napkins.Should she buy her own and add to her ivory, white, and grey collection?
She wondered if Davis was comfortable next door.
His comment card, discovered by her two-man cleaning crew on his already neatly made-up bed had simply said:Thank you, Eden.
She wondered if he slept naked.
No!Eden rolled over and punched her pillow. She wasnotlaying here not sleeping because she was wondering if Davis Gates slept naked… and if he was covered by a sheet or sprawled out like an Adonis in repose.
“Damn it,” Eden muttered, kicking off her own blankets. Those dishes were going to get done and maybe while she was at it, she could scrub all thoughts of Davis—naked or clothed—from her mind.
