Page 370 of One More Kiss

Delaney

“We’re nearlyout of the ‘Wine Not’ cheeseboards and ‘Every day is Margarita Day’ drink kits,” Rebecca says to me as she walks around, taking inventory in the store.

I tap my pen against the pad I have beside me. “I’ll add those to the list. What about the, ‘He’s a cocksucker, try these instead’ lollipops?”

“We’re good on those, but the breakup survival kits are running low.”

“Again?” I peer up at her, my pen frozen in my hand, midword. “I just restocked those last week.”

Rebecca shrugs at me as she continues to count items. “What can I say? They sell out quickly. There are a lot of douchebags in this town.”

“Seriously.”

I add in another two cases of those to my order form. When I opened my store three years ago, no one thought I’d succeed. It’s gimmicky. I get it. We have a lot of weird stuff in here. But it’s become something of a staple for women all over Boston. I have a painting party night every other Thursday with wine and finger foods and get so many orders from brides and maid of honors for fun, different gifts and party favors. Sometimes women just come in here to hang out and meet other women they can be friends with.

It’s the coolest and I love it more than I love my white Docs and these bitches have been with me since I was in high school. I’d give them a kidney if they asked.

“Speaking of douchebags, have you heard from Jason since Friday night?”

“No. Not a peep. But then again, I did block his newest number. But for real, if he comes back around, it’s restraining order time.”

“Good for you.” She picks up one of the “personal massagers,” pretending to look it over though she’s doing a horrendous job of hiding her curiosity.

“Go on. You can ask. You made it five whole days and I know you’re dying on the inside.”

She sets down the vibrator with a bit more gusto than I’d like before she springs on me. “That’s because you didn’t say anything about it. Nothing. Not a peep. Forget dying on the inside, I am dead from trying to restrain myself. It’s Wednesday, Delaney. Wednesday. The struggle is real.”

I tap my pen against my bottom lip, trying, and failing, to hide my amusement at my exasperated friend. “Fine. Ask.”

“Did you go home with Liam’s insanely hot brother? Does Liam know his brother kissed you? Is he older or younger? Did you sleep with him because that seems oh so sexy and forbidden? Was he any good? How many orgasms did he give you? Are you going to see him again?”

I hold up my hand, stopping her before this gets out of control. Which it will because this is Rebecca we’re talking about. “Silas is older, and I did go home with him. Liam does not know I kissed him or did anything else with him unless Silas told him, which I highly doubt. He was ridiculously good. Lots of orgasms to the point where I stopped counting. And no, I’m not going to see him again.”

A pouty frown. “Why not?”

I cock an eyebrow. “Are you kidding me? Did you miss the part where it was Liam’s brother I did the naughty with?”

“But you and Liam broke up a year ago.”

“And it’s his brother. There are rules about that. It’s a thing and I know you know that. It would be fucked up. It would be weird. Seriously weird and seriously fucked up. For all of us and knowing Liam, I don’t think he’d be cool with it at all.”

“Forget what he’s cool with. The asshat cheated on you.”

“Yeah, but he didn’t cheat on Silas and they’re very close. Not to mention Silas has a six-year-old son who is cuter than Winnie The Pooh and Piglet combined, and an ex-wife who, if memory serves, is a mega bitch. It’s too much drama. I’ve had my fill of drama for a while. Besides, even if I were to entertain a repeat, he’s not. He told me point blank it can’t happen again. It was a one and done.”

Which is why I snuck out of his house and took an Uber home when he fell asleep and didn’t respond to his text the next morning. And have done my due diligence to push him and Friday night from my mind. I don’t think about him. I don’t think about the things he said or the hot, hot sex. It’s safer like this.

Ignoring the perturbed look my friend is hurling my way, I get up, going for one of the boxes of “A Mom’s Survival Kit.” Talk about selling out. We’re talking a bottle of decent wine, a waterproof vibrator, a candle that smells amazeballs, a doorknob sign that says, “Thirty Minutes of Quiet Time, Enter At Your Own Peril,” and a steamy hot romance book that changes with each new kit the designers send me.

Have I mentioned how much I love my job?

Opening the box cutter, I attack the massive amount of tape on the huge box.

“I think you should have sneaky, hot, dirty, naughty, forbidden sex with Liam’s older brother. There, I said it.”

I roll my eyes as I hack at more tape. “He doesn’t want that.”

Although I think he does, he just feels guilty, and again, back to the aforementioned reasons as to why Friday was a one and done.

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