Page 86 of Every Beautiful Mile

I wince at her jarring loudness.

“Mom, it was fine. Can I call you back tomorrow or something?”

She ignores me. “Did you get naked like I suggested?”

“Mom! No!” I hiss. “And can we plea—"

“You know, Penelope, as your mother, I should tell you if you don’t keep using all the parts of your body, they will not be happy with you. The fewer orgasms you have, the harder it is to have them.”

Ethan laughs next to me into his wine glass, and I want to die. Again.

“Mom!”

“I’m serious, your dad isn’t here. This is just girl talk. When was the last time you experienced the gift of your feminine pleasure? It’s a natural part of life to have those needs.”

My pulse pounds in my temples. I’m going to kill her. Slowly.

Ethan chokes on his next sip.

I haven’t had an orgasm since Travis died, but I’m not having that conversation with my mother. Sadness doesn’t exactly set the tone for me to tap into the gift of my feminine pleasure.

“Mom. Stop,” I demand. “I cannot have this conversation with you right now. I love you, tell Dad happy Fourth. I’ll call you when I’ve mentally recovered from this in three years.”

She’s still talking when I hang up and my entire body burns in embarrassment.

“I’m going to go check on the kids and pretend that didn’t just happen.”

I don’t wait for him to respond before sliding the door open and disappearing inside.

Thirty-two

The last thing I need is more heat, but Ethan builds a fire in the yard with two chairs next to it.

“Marin’s already sleeping on a couch,” I say as I drop into one of the chairs. “And my guess is the boys are going to fall asleep with game controllers in their hands the way they were yelling at each other.”

He laughs, standing across the fire from me poking a log with a stick.

“I’m sorry about my mom. And my awkward confession.” I stare at the growing flames. “Turns out making people uncomfortable is genetic.”

“I liked listening to your mom,” he says, his voice overly serious. “I think she made some very valid points I would be more than happy to help you with.”

I slap him on the arm as he sits next to me. “Funny.”

“And I liked your confession.” He smiles, dropping his elbows to his knees and looking at me with an intensity that makes me look away.

Again.

“You looked away, Penelope,” he says in a teasing hum as he taps my boot with his.

“Well, you know. The whole soul-seeing thing and all.” I blow out a half breath-half laugh.

I drop my head back and look up at the sky, the heat from the fire warming the already scorching skin from my chin to my chest.

He pokes at the fire with a stick. “Do you ever filter yourself?”

“Sources close to me would say no.” I laugh, looking at him. “Do you?”

“Maybe.” He shrugs. “I like saying what people want to hear.”

---