Page 40 of The True Love Experiment

There was a time when a comment like this—no matter how well-meaning—would have sent me down a rabbit hole of guilt. Steviewasyoung and going through the divorce was the hardest thing I’ve ever done, but that doesn’t mean it wasn’t the right thing to do, either. “She was.”

“But you and Nat are close now? I’ve heard Stevie talk about her a few times, and I’m pretty sure I’ve seen her at the school during pickup. She’s hot.”

I laugh. “She is. And she has a very young, also very hot boyfriend whom I expect to propose to her any day now.”

“How nice for her.” The moment stretches out, tense andknowing. I expect her to look away; she doesn’t. Instead, she clucks her tongue sympathetically. “Too bad for you you’re no good at compartmentalizing.”

I decide to stop dancing around it. “Specifically, I’m not good with casual sex.”

The wordsexflares out between us like a flamethrower and she grins. “Yes, actually I meant too bad formethat you’re no good at compartmentalizing.”

I laugh at this. “You are an honest-to-God menace, Felicity.”

“You like it.”

I pretend to think about it, and she comes right up on tiptoes, growling in my face.

Finally, I relent. “You are tolerable.”

She sets back down on her feet and leans against the counter beside me. “Delightful,” she says.

“Bearable.”

“Gifted and charismatic.”

“Pushy and opinionated.”

“Your new best friend. Say it.”

Her hand rests near mine. My pinky twitches, brushing against hers. If I move away now, I could pretend it was an accident. But I can’t, and instead shift my finger so it rests on top of hers.

She curls her finger around mine. Heat spears through me, and the urge to turn into her, to press her against the counter, lift her up, step between her legs, and—

I pull in a slow, deep breath. “My new best friend.”

nineteenFIZZY

Juno is no longer a tiny child.

Which means when we pull up outside Jess and River’s house, and both girls are passed out like sacks of flour in the back seat, there is no way I can carry Juno to the doorstep.

Truthfully, I’m not even sure I could getmyselfto the door right now. Not to toot my own horn, but I’ve written sexual tension that could peel wallpaper, and none of it comes close to the last twenty minutes in the car with Connor.

“I’ve got her.” Connor ducks around me, bending to unbuckle Juno’s seat belt.

His thighs flex beneath his jeans and his shoulders strain against the soft cotton of his new T-shirt as he easily lifts the floppy kid from his back seat. “I really don’t think my ovaries can take any more,” I mumble.

He turns, adjusting her weight over his shoulder. “What’s that?”

I cough delicately into a fist. “Clear night, don’t think there’s rain in store.”

Connor looks skeptical, but seems to trust that if I’m filtering myself, it’s probably a good thing. He turns and heads up when I gesture that he should lead the way.

The door opens as we approach. Jess stands in the frame, backlit by a warm, golden glow, and seems to entirely miss the mental flare gun I repeatedly fire into the air. River comes up behind her, reaching to take Juno from Connor, who murmurs a soft “Got her?” as he passes her off.

My heart launches itself out a tenth-story window.

The little girl reveals her level of consciousness by snaking her arms around her dad’s neck and mumbling, “Thank you, Mr. Prince.”

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