Page 52 of Wicked Pickle

I shrug. “What do you say? Is it true?”

She glances over her shoulder. “Probably. But Marietta is outside.”

“She can wander into the house. My bedroom has a lock.”

Her gaze holds mine.

She’s going to make me wait for her answer.

CHAPTER 17

SYMPHONY

Diesel is serious. He’s sitting across from me at his kitchen table, asking me to have sex with him.

Isn’t that what I came to the bar for?

“Let me check on Marietta.” I practically bolt for the front door.

The cool air is a relief on my face. What am I doing? And why did I confess all that just now?

I walk up to the truck. Marietta is lying across the seat, sound asleep.

Should I wake her?

I glance back at the house. The faint glow of the hall light is visible through the living room window.

If I open the door, she’ll wake for sure. But I don’t want her to be startled.

I text her instead.

Me: I’m going to bang the bad boy. I might not see a text. Barge in if you need me.

I send it.

Her phone lights up near her chest, but she doesn’t stir. I keep waiting.

Nothing.

Okay. If she wakes, she’ll see the message and not freak out about where I am.

I turn back to the house.

I guess I’m doing this thing.

This was the plan all along. I’m shaved and moisturized and wearing things I like but don’t love since we have a history of destroying undergarments.

I draw in a deep breath and carefully turn the knob on the front door.

It’s dark inside, although I can make out the hallway.

Diesel is a shadow near the kitchen door.

“Finished with your pizza?” I ask, frowning when my voice trembles.

Why is that happening? I’m not some shy school girl. I lost my virginity two weeks into living in the dorm freshman year at Florida State.

I know my way around a bedroom.

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