Page 81 of Branded
Another buzz.
Occasionally, but, little bird, I could give a fuck about the plants. I just wanted you to have a chance to participate if you wanted.
I typed back.
I seem to remember a lot of heckling happening between you and the guys about who’s going to win Mac.
Mac was the creepy blue monster that had been made purposely so-ugly-it-was-cute, and it had been the prize for the plant contest since their inaugural competition. I knew it brought bragging rights, especially amongst the very competitive professional athletes.
Oh, if I win, I’m going to lay it on.
I shook my head.
Well, I’ll do my best to make sure that happens.
But before I hit send, I added,
And if I kill Bailey, I’ll happily accept my punishment.
A long pause. Then those dots did the reappearing, disappearing thing again.
And now I’m desperately thinking of wombats so I don’t have an erection in front of the guys.
My laughter was loud and bright and unembarrassed. Even a month ago, if I’d thought that I could be this comfortable in my own skin, laughing and bantering, even via text, with a man I loved?—
Yes. Loved.
I sat in that for a second.
Realized it wasn’t terrifying.
Maybe it should be.
Maybe I should run because it was too much too fast, but…it was me and Smitty. It was right, and…
Loved.
Yeah, I loved the man.
“You eat that?”
I had been reaching for the basket of mozzarella sticks (the cheese made in house, right along with the breadcrumbs), but the bitchy question had me freezing.
Yes.
Bitchy.
Because, frankly, Monica was a bitch.
A gorgeous, slender, beautifully contoured, and designer-clothes-wearing bitch.
And look, it wasn’t the makeup or the designer clothes that Monica was sporting that made her a bitch.
Beth was equally put together (and thus significantly more put together than me and Pru, both in jeans, sneakers, T-shirts, and team hoodies). Hazel almost as much, looking gorgeous in her blouse and slacks, a pair of sensible flats on her feet and a pretty necklace to cap off the ensemble.
But there was a bit of drool on her shoulder.
Drool that Monica had sniffed at.
