Page 32 of Booked for the Holidays
Purposely, continuously, tenderly.
His fingertips trace along the curve of my jaw, leaving sparks in their wake.
“I think this has the potential to be the best Christmas I’ve had in a while,” he murmurs. “Maybe ever. The jury is still out, but we’ll see.”
The moment between us snaps, and he steps back, our beaker of bliss breaking. I miss his touch already.
“Yeah. I guess we will.”
TWELVE
BRIDGET
“Bridget!Time to put the tinsel down. We have dicks to talk about!”
Chandler’s crude statement comes as I hang the final garland strand on a bookshelf, stepping back to admire the curtain of green.
“Coming!” I answer, making my way to the front of the store.
It’s been two days since our group meeting, and phase one of the initial decorating is underway. We rearranged the store to accommodate the trees I’m buying soon. The interior walls are now covered in flickering lights, a task I conquered yesterday afternoon during a lull in foot traffic. Chandler’s holiday drinks were added to the menu–sugar cookie, cinnamon babka, spiced hot chocolate, and sticky toffee pudding rounding out the flavors. I put out the first batch of chocolate-peppermint brownies and snowflake cookies this morning, and they were gone within a few hours. Brooke bought a box of mistletoe and keeps sneakily trying to dangle the plant from doors when my back is turned.
The hardware store also looks great. I popped in yesterday to deliver a basket of fresh pastries and found stockings with every employee’s name tacked behind the register. Even Theo has one, complete with a Santa hat drawn on with felt paint. Lights are up over there, too, hanging from the ceiling and looking like falling icicles.
We’re prepping the individual stores first before moving on to the joint effort of painting, building, and arranging. With how quickly we’re moving, we should start phase two at the beginning of next week.
The phallic objects Chandler raucously mentioned have nothing to do with our Christmas plans and everything to do with the book club we recently started. Curated as a safe space for women of all backgrounds to gather, we talk about our favorite novels that might not be appropriate for the dinner table.
Classic literature likePride and PrejudiceandWuthering Heightswill always be adored, the lyrical prose woven through descriptive imagery. We wipe our eyes at the prolific love declarations cemented as must-read stories, wondering where our own haughty Mr. Darcy is.
At the same time, we also enjoy reading less traditional romance novels. The ones bordering onfilthyandtaboo. The kind of material that strays far away from the words of Jane Austen or the Brontë sisters. We indulge in books where sex is plentiful. No woman goes unsatisfied, and the language is far from tame or Shakespearian.
The Fictional Dicks and Fizzy Drinks book club came into existence one morning after Chandler and I had exceptionally bad dates. My mishap was a dude who’d rubbed my boob three times in his car, seat warmers on full blast despite the sweltering temperature outside, and asked if I finished. Chandler had a man whose fingers wandered to the wrong hole, claiming he “thought they were the same.” She said it wasn’t so much the direction he went, but that he assumed he wasright. She was appalled, and spent the next thirty minutes with her legs spread, educating him on proper techniques while he tookactualnotes. She claimed she was doing a favor to the rest of womankind.
We lamented about the disastrous occurrences over banana bread, conversation shifting away from men whothinkthey have the magic touch to books where theyknowhow to deliver and the various kinks we enjoy.
Me: hair pulling, sex toys and praise.
Her: degradation and spanking.
After forty-five minutes of deliberation we decided to create a club where we could talk about these topics freely, with other like-minded women.
Plus, it gave us an excuse to read more smutty romance novels.
A post about our first meeting circulated on social media. It was shared between a couple of friends and ended up in some local book groups. Then, it exploded on Instagram, garnering 10,000 likes, hundreds of comments, and folksbeggingus to live stream the event so they could watch.
Which leads us here. Almost sixty people in attendance, a wide range of ages chatting with each other, a book tucked under their arm. I grin as I make my way through the group mingling about the shop.
A tripod sits in the corner of the room, camera already streaming to social media. We haven’t even started yet, and the number of viewers is rapidly climbing into the high hundreds. I pluck a flute of champagne off the counter and take a swig to calm my nerves. Doing my best to smile and wave to the group while juggling my book and booze, I take a spot at the front of the store.
“Hi, y’all. Welcome to the first official meeting of the Fictional Dicks and Fizzy Drinks book club.”
A cheer goes through the crowd. They lift their glasses my way, smiling eagerly. I grin back and indulge in another sip. The bubbles pop on my tongue, easing the tension at the base of my neck.
“We’re so excited to have you here,” I continue. “This group was formed so we could have a place to get together and talk about sex, books, and sexinbooks. Anything that gets shared here tonight doesn’t leave these walls. Your faces won’t be on the video, and I’ll be deleting it right after, but please don’t feel obligated to participate. You don’t need to share if you aren’t comfortable. This space is yours. Talk, don’t talk. Read, don’t read. It’s up to you. The only thing I ask is for everyone to be respectful. Are we cool with the rules?”
Head nods and verbal confirmations answer me. I peer out to the crowd and spot my three best friends; Lucy, Skylar and Polly. They wave, encouraging me along.
“Since this is our first meeting, we asked y’all to bring a book you enjoyed because it took you out of your comfort zone. I can’t wait to hear what you picked. At the end of the night we’ll decide on next month’s choice together.”
