Page 62 of The Plus Ones

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"What's that now?"

She licks her lips. "Screw you, Bridges," she whispers as she leans in and lets me kiss her. Soft and slow and deliberate, the way you carefully smooth out wet sand after pounding it down until there are no more weak spots, adding layer upon layer, pushing and smoothing, and then it finally begins to take the shape of something you could see yourself living in.

Or finding someone’s head inside of.

I keep the kisses soft and slow and deliberate, even as her breath quickens and the little moans get louder, until she pulls away and stands up and says, "I'm going for a walk."

I clear my throat. "To cool off?"

"To let you cool off."

“Are you coming back?”

She raises her hand in the air, a vague gesture that could mean anything, but I know what it means.

You’ll be back, Roxy Carter. You’ll be back. And I’ll be here, the king of my fucking castle waiting for you.

Or with a really awesome head in a box.

Whatever.

Whatever you’re ready for today.

14

Roxy

“You aren’t going to know this,” Matt states while staring at the slip of paper in his hand.

“Rude!” Bernadette yells out. “Try me!”

They’re both standing front and center in the lobby, and the timer is counting down from one minute.

“Baseball Hall of Fame pitcher for the Mariners and the Diamondbacks. ‘The Big Unit.’”

“Babe Ruth!”

“Pass.”

Bernadette balls up her fists. “Rude!”

Matt returns that piece of paper to the basket and pulls another one from it. “That singer you and Tommy like that I can’t stand.”

“Christina Aguilera!”

“The other one.”

“Katy Perry!”

“Other one.”

“Taylor Swift!”

“Yes.” He drops that slip of paper and draws another one from the basket, glancing over at Don and Debbie, the oldest couple here. “He’s in old movies with his brothers, and he has bushy eyebrows and a mustache and glasses and a cigar.”

“Groucho Marx!”

Matt tosses the piece of paper aside and grabs another one. Don and Debbie look disappointed and surprised that Bernadette actually got that one, but they don’t realize she has the soul of an eighty-year-old.

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