Page 70 of Yearn
“Don’t spoil anything,” I said quickly, leaning back against my seat. “Because I’m picking it up from the store today on my lunch break. I’ll dive in soon.”
Ro laughed. “Dive in is the right phrase. Girl, by chapter two you’re gonna need a towel and to take out your vibrator. I surely did.”
Cadence let out another shriek, half laughter, half scandalized groan. “I cannot listen to this filth before work. I need holy water in my ears.”
“You need holy lube in your drawer,” Ro corrected.
“Oh my God!” Cadence cried. “Okay, I’m hanging up. I have actual teens waiting for me at the library who expect me to talk about leadership skills, not lubrication!”
Ro and I cackled while Cadence fumbled with her goodbye.
“Love you, Tey. Be safe,” she rushed out. “And Ro, for the love of God, behave!”
The line clicked, and it was just me and Ro.
“You still there?” she asked.
“Yeah,” I said softly.
“You know we’re clowns, right? But also—we love you. Don’t forget that.” Her voice warmed. “And don’t forget Wednesday. Blow jobs. Dildos. All in your mouth. And champagne.”
I laughed again, shaking my head. “Goodbye, Ro.”
She hung up, leaving silence in the car.
I sat for a second, the engine ticking as it cooled, my hands resting on the wheel. The echoes of their voices lingered—Cadence’s warnings sharp as scripture, Ro’s encouragement warm as sin. Both of them tugging me in opposite directions, both of them right in their own way.
But even as I grabbed my bags and smoothed down my skirt, my mind wasn’t on Pool Boy.
It wasn’t on the Blow Job class.
It wasn’t on court prep, or this crazy week ahead, or even Scott.
It was on Dominic.
On the way his shoulders flexed over the stove this morning. On the smell of butter and roses braided in the air. On his voice, low and promising, sayinglater.
Later.
My thighs pressed together at the thought.
Fuck. . .
Chapter thirteen
The Rose on the Shelf
Teyonah
I came home late.
Too late.
The kind of late that sank into my arches and chewed the back of my heels where the shoes had rubbed angry, glossy spots all day.
My lipstick had quit on me hours ago, leaving the suggestion of color.
My shoulders were tight, mouth dry, head still crowded with my supervisor’s depositions and deadlines.
