Page 58 of Finding Molly Parsons

“I have sinus issues,” Mateo argued.

“I thought you didn’t snore?” Carmen said pointedly.

“And I thought we had agreed you wouldn’t be seen out in public looking like that?” Mateo shot.

“Mateo, not all of us feel the need to dress like a French hooker to go to bed.”

“That is so insulting! I’m a French Madam.” Mateo and Carmen both stared at each other before falling about laughing. Molly couldn’t help but join in. Bessie shuffled inside and brought out a tray of beer.

“Might as well have a drink. It’s only us adults,” she said, passing out the bottles. Carmen settled next to Molly, which was awkward because Molly’s eyes involuntarily kept traveling to Carmen’s long caramel legs. They look so soft.

“What is it that you do?” Molly asked Carmen. Enid and Bessie were busy discussing French whores.

“I’m in graphic design.”

“Cool.” Oh Molly, come on, you can do better than that. “So who do you work for, or are you freelance?”

“I own two companies, but I prefer the design side of things rather than managerial.”

“Wow, okay, that’s impressive. You’re like what? Thirty?”

“Yes, I am definitely thirty. Let’s stick to that.”

“Oh, come on, you can’t be much older, right?”

“Thirty-seven. But I like your guess better.”

There is no way Molly would have put Carmen close to forty. Jesus, what the hell kind of skin care routine does she have?

“I can see what you’re thinking and yes, it is down to a skin care routine. One that is forced upon me by that butthole over there,” Carmen pointed with her bottle to Mateo, who was currently in the middle of doing a Cher impression. Qué sorpresa.

“He forces you to look after your skin,” Molly laughed.

“Yes, since we were kids. I’m happy to have a wash with soap and maybe stick a bit of moisturizer on once a day, but Queer Eye throws a hissy fit if he doesn’t get to perform weekly facials. We would be millionaires if he stopped buying skin and hair products.

“I have to say, looking at you, I think I have to agree with him. Your skin looks amazing.” Molly saw a slight blush creep over Carmen’s face, and for some odd reason, she felt proud.

“Don’t let him know you think that. I’ll never hear the last of it,” Carmen smiled, bumping Molly’s shoulder.

“Your secrets are safe with me… If—”

“If?”

“You tell me what brands he uses.”

“Shit, um, one is white with a blue logo,” Carmen began. Molly threw her head back, laughing. Every pair of eyes on the porch turned in her direction.

“You can’t be serious,” Molly cackled, ignoring Enid and Bessie’s not-so-subtle interest.

“If I learn what the brands are, it encourages him more,” Carmen laughed.

“What’s going on over there?” Enid called.

“Nothing, keep your beak out,” Molly shot back playfully, knowing her refusal to answer would drive Enid and Bessie nuts.

“Charming,” Enid huffed.

A chime from Molly’s phone interrupted their conversation. Molly saw Carmen turn her head away, but she was sure she’d seen Chelsea’s name on the message. Which was not PG rated. Shit. “Excuse me,” Molly mumbled to Carmen, eager to get out of viewing range. Standing alone, leaning against the porch railings, Molly typed a reply to Chelsea. The gist of Chelsea’s message was that she desired a booty call. Molly did not.

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