Page 32 of All Jacked Up

My cheeks hurt from the fucking big-ass grin on my face as I sent it.

Shakespeare: Grilled cheese. I’m not an alien.

And again, I laughed. The tension that the blow job hadn’t eased was gone. Damn, I wasn’t sure if this was a good thing or not. I mean, on one hand, hadn’t this always been why I texted her? Held on to the girl from my youth via text because she always distracted me when I needed it? Just because she wasn’t sitting in a dirty bathrobe with a squawking bird didn’t mean it changed things.

Okay, yes, I had just fantasized about her sucking me off while another woman was doing it, but guys did that. It was normal.

Me: Did you get a new editor?

I’d felt somewhat guilty over shipping off the editor she had always worked with while she was in the middle of a book, but he was a dick, and she needed him out of her life. That took the guilt away.

Shakespeare: Yes, they reassigned someone to me as a trial run. To see if we work well together. I like her as a person, so I’m hoping we’re a good fit.

A female editor. I liked that.

Me: Good.

The door swung open, and my head snapped up as I glared at Gathe.

“Ten minutes. They’re gonna have them in the gate soon,” he told me.

Stolen was about to race in the Breeders’ Cup. I nodded and motioned for him to close the door, then looked back at my phone.

Shakespeare: You’re watching the Breeders’ Cup, I’m assuming.

Me: Yeah. Crosby’s horse is about to race.

Shakespeare: Which one is it?

Me: Stolen. Are you watching it?

Shakespeare: I am. I have money on it. Wish I’d known about Stolen though.

She bet on a horse? What the fuck?

Me: When did you start putting money on races?

Shakespeare: A couple of years ago. I don’t with every race. Just the big ones.

Me: Who did you put money on this time?

Shakespeare: I always pick the prettiest one.

Chuckling, I replied, not needing her to tell me the name. There was one horse that a woman would think was the prettiest in this race.

Me: Bad idea, Shakespeare. Smoking Wheel is not good on this track, and besides that, he doesn’t have good odds.

Shakespeare: But he’s a pretty silverish-gray color.

I paused and debated sending what I was thinking, then figured,What the hell?It was friendly. We were friends.

Me: Almost like the color of your eyes.

She read it, but no little dots appeared.

I glanced at the time and saw it had been five minutes since Gathe had come to warn me. Getting up, I headed back to the door and into the great room. Forge had come in from outside, along with the female he’d taken out there. Locke was back in the room as well with Sonya now perched on his lap.

My phone buzzed, and I quickly lifted it up to read her response.

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