Page 48 of Champagne Fizz

Simon:The back office eggplant shenanigans happen far more often than I’d like to admit.

Kendall:TMI!

Simon:Yes, I can arrange it. Let me talk to the eggplant tamer and I’ll let you know.

Kendall:The eggplant tam …? Oh.

Simon:*blushing emoji* I couldn’t help myself. I must hang out with Arie too much. I’ve forgotten how to be a gentleman.

Kendall:They say we’re the reflection of the five people we hang out with the most.

Simon:And I hang out with Arie, Arie, Arie, Connor (who is the male version of Arie), and … maybe I should hang out with you more.

My hands freeze over the phone. Is that—? Is he—? Connor said Simon was into me. But he doesn’t mean …

Simon:You can minced oath me back to gentleman-hood.

Kendall:Focaccia, I can!

Simon:Bread jokes. Cute. Now, is there a baguette emoji …?

Kendall:You may be a lost cause.

Simon:*loaf of bread emoji* *croissant emoji* *fried shrimp emoji*

Kendall:Are you actually working right now?

Simon:Why? Is this the part where this text conversation becomes a booty call?

Kendall:Definitely a lost cause.

Simon:I’ll send you a message when I have a time for the meeting.

Kendall:Thank you.

Simon:Goodnight *yellow t-shirt emoji*

Kendall:Goodnight *glasses emoji*

Simon:Touché.

The grin on my face should not be this wide. The whole emoji flirting thing is fun, but I told myself that I wasn’t going to tempt Lady Lada with Simon. Not that she’s listening. She’s already setting up appointments for a down-under wax-a-thon, and the thought of Simon’s hands between my legs makes me moan in my living room. Or his mouth covering my soft, newly waxed—

“Oh wow!” I grab the edge of the couch.

I know the best place to think about these kinds of thingsislate at night and definitely all alone like this—but I shouldn’t. Imagining Simon between my thighs is just going to make seeing him in person even more uncomfortable.

Of course, that still doesn’t stop me from laying back against the cushions and closing my eyes. My breath is already heavy as I slowly trace my fingers down the front of my stomach, and imagine Simon wearing nothing but those hot horn-rimmed glasses as his beautiful mouth follows the same trail as my fingers.

“Mmmmm, Simon,” I breathe, dancing my fingers over the fabric of my yoga pants.

In real life, I know I’d come too fast, especially if he put his hands on me—or holy cheese whiz, his mouth!

Oh sweet peanut butter and jelly!

I’d come even faster if I let him push himself inside—

My thighs quiver.

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