Page 51 of Can We Skip to the Good Part?
“You sure that’s all? Anything you want to share with the class?”
Max pretended to think it over. “Hmm. No. Nothing I can think of.”
“Ella, what about you?” Ariana asked. “You seem engrossed in the leaves of that plant.”
“I got it at Lowe’s,” Stevie said proudly. “And it’s still alive even with me being distracted lately. Bless its sweet heart.”
“What about me?” Ella asked.
“Anything new going on these days?” Ari asked.
“Other than the move, the new town, new job, and recent fascination with these awesome books, thanks to you all? No. I think I’m at my fill,” she said with a winsome smile.
Max grinned. Proud. Amused. All of it. She raised a finger. “I have my thoughts composed.”
“Ah! Tell us all about it,” Ariana said, and folded her arms as if she couldn’t wait. She clearly knew way too much and enjoyed every delicious second of her triumph.
“I think the dark moment came earlier than anyone was expecting, and by exercising that early pounce, the author,” she turned her copy of the book to remind herself of the author’s name, “Amber Elton, caught us unarmed and emotionally vulnerable, and that made the cut much deeper. I thought wehad more good days to explore with these characters, and they were viciously ripped from me.”
“So vicious,” Ella said with a dark nod.
She happened to enjoy that she and Ella were united on this one, even if her opinion might have been easily swayed by her newfound preoccupation with Ella’s lips, hands, and body.
As the book club discussion continued, Max slipped her phone out of her back pocket and typed quickly.
I want my hands on you.
A minute later, she noticed Ella look down at her phone, roll her lips in, and type something before leaping back into the conversation.
Kitchen.
Max understood the assignment, downed her wine, and gestured to the kitchen as if going to open a new bottle. It was only a couple of moments until Ella appeared with an empty cracker tray. Laughter floated into the kitchen through the open window that divided the two rooms. She and Ella exchanged a charged look, full of the pent-up tension that had been ping-ponging between them all night, and went about busying themselves in clear view of the others. Max subtly inclined her head in the direction of the laundry room off the back of the kitchen and casually walked that way. On board with the mission, Ella followed.
The second the door clicked shut, Max had Ella backed against it, her hands already dragging up beneath the hem of Ella’s sweater, fingers greedy against warm skin. Ella gasped, but it melted into a sigh of appreciation as Max’s mouth crashed against hers, the kiss desperate and deep, all tongues and need. Ella clutched at Max’s shirt, yanking her closer, as if she couldpress them into one, as if that would somehow be enough. It wouldn’t be. Not even close.
Max nipped at Ella’s lower lip, swallowed the quiet sound she made, and then Ella’s hands were everywhere—tangling in her hair, clawing at her back, sliding down to her hips. She was aroused and very aware of it, a distinct throbbing settled between her legs that she’d give anything to satisfy. A low groan rumbled through Max as she pressed Ella harder against the door, but then laughter from the other room. A reminder. An unfortunate one.
They stilled, panting. Ella’s hands went soft against Max’s spine. “We should?—”
“I know,” Max muttered, but she stole one more kiss anyway, deep and slow, before forcing herself to step back.
“Dammit.” Ella exhaled sharply, eyes still dark with want. Then, with a smirk, she grabbed the cracker tray off the shelf where she’d set it. “Think they’ll notice I forgot to come back with the crackers?”
Max huffed a breathless laugh, swiped her thumb across Ella’s kiss-swollen lips, and let her go first—because watching her walk away was its own kind of reward.
THIRTEEN
Garlic, Vinegar, and Dread
Five days later, and Ella couldn’t read any more of these steamy books in fear of what kind of sex monster she’d create. She set her newest client’s most recent release on the end table and closed her eyes. The hot and heavy scenes were too much for someone who, ahem, had a lot of pent-up sexual energy and no actual means to expend it.
She thought about Max and their various encounters more than she’d care to admit. She fantasized about what would have happened if each one of those illicit moments had been allowed to play out without interruption. The practice generally left her dizzy, hot, and a whole lot bothered.
The truth was that either one of them could have reached out to the other and suggested a meetup. Neither had. But they hadn’t exactly stayed away either. There were good morning text messages—flirtatious exchanges and sometimes, at night, naughtier ones.
“So, who’s the woman?”
“What?”
