Page 44 of (My Accidental) Killer Summer
I let out a noise that’s part sigh, part strangled choke.
SANDY: I refuse to believe that man is a real person. This is Photoshopped. Has to be.
MOLLY: Girl, you married that and let him go??
Amy snorts. “Do they not realize that’s Noah? Or are they just enjoying torturing you?”
“Both.”
JEN: Those shorts are… not leaving much to the imagination.
AMY: Thank you! I can basically see his… well, everything.
“See?” I mutter. “At least someone said something about the shorts.”
“They can’t be ignored,” Amy says.
MOLLY: I don’t hear you complaining, Elle.
SANDY: Look, I’m just saying—if we ever need a community morale booster, we slap this on a calendar. Mr. December, coming in hot.
JEN: He was always attractive, but this? This is… next level.
AMY: That’s cause he was never around to flaunt it.
ELLE: Thank you, Amy.
SANDY: Elle, how are you even functioning right now? If my ex looked like that, I’d still be married.
MOLLY: Preach.
ELLE: He has shin splints, snores like a freight train, and tells terrible dad jokes.
JEN: Yeah but imagine him telling one shirtless.
MOLLY: With those forearms. And that smirk.
I groan. “This is harassment.”
Amy grins. “Nope. This is entertainment.”
And yet, I stare at the picture way longer than I should.
He’s not even doing anything, and I can feel the tension buzzing under my skin, building pressure like it wants to explode. This is a problem. I don’t have time to be flustered by muscles and smirks and forearms that could write poetry but also strangle a man.
I need to stay focused. If I can do that long enough to devise a Doug disposal plan, avoid any continued group chat horniness, and work up the nerve to try my hand at dismemberment before the kids are out of school, I deserve a cookie.
Or a martini.
Or Noah’s arms around me again?—
His cock inside me.
Nope.
NOPE.
Back to plastic sheeting and alternates to massacring dead guys.
