Page 81 of The Good Girl (Nashville Neighborhood)

“It’s what I was doing when you texted me.”

There was rustling in the background, and I pictured the slow, steady slide of his hand as it moved up and down his length. There hadn’t been a lot of time between the exchange of our pictures, which meant he’d probably already been hard when I’d sent mine.

I was curious, and since I couldn’t see him, it was easier to talk about. “Were you watching porn?”

There was a heavy breath. “No. I was thinking,” he paused, “about you.”

It was almost a relief to hear it. “God, me too. I was thinking about when we were in my room. When we were facing the mirror.”

“When I had my fingers inside you?”

“Yes,” I whispered.

“You got any of your fingers inside you right now?”

I shook my head, and then realized he couldn’t see. “No. I like it better when, uh,” I lowered my voice, “they’re on my clit.”

“Hmm. I bet you do. How come you’re not using my vibrator?”

I got a strange thrill hearing him call it his. Like he still owned it even after he’d given it to me. “My parents might hear.”

“It’s not that loud.” His laugh was sinister. “Get it and turn it on. I want to listen to you come.”

His command was so sexy, I shivered with excitement, and then I reached for the bottom drawer of my nightstand.

I had no idea how to dress for my evening with Preston. He’d asked me to change my schedule because he wanted to go somewhere together on Thursday, but he wouldn’t say anything more. All he’d sent me for a hint was an axe emoji, so . . . were we going to chop wood? Become lumberjacks? Was I supposed to wear flannel?

In the end, I put on white shorts, a navy-blue halter top, and pulled my hair up into a high ponytail. Summer was in full force, and if we were doing anything outside, I wouldn’t last five minutes with my hair down.

I’d just finished putting on a pair of dangling earrings when Preston texted he was in the driveway. I swiped on some lip gloss, shoved the tube of it into my purse, and headed down the stairs.

My mom was in the kitchen, and when she saw what I was wearing, she looked dismayed. “I thought you were working tonight.”

“I changed my plans.” I kept moving toward the door, but she followed right behind.

“Where are you going?”

“I don’t know.” It wasn’t a lie. I grabbed the handle and pulled it open. “But don’t worry. I’ll be home by eleven.”

She made a sound like there were too many things she wanted to say at once and they all got clogged in her throat, keeping her from saying anything. I stepped out onto the front porch, tugged the door closed behind me, and then hurried down the path to the black Dodge Charger that waited for me.

I was breathless as I got into the passenger seat because I’d walked fast, plus I was excited, and he looked so damn good. “Hi.”

“Hey.” He flashed a bright smile before he put the car in reverse and began to back out of the driveway. “I’ve got something for you.”

My heart skipped and my knees pinched together. Last time he’d started a conversation with that, it had ended with me having orgasms. One hadn’t been enough with the vibrator. He’d wanted to see how many I could squeeze in before he came.

Three was the answer.

“Is it in your pants?” I asked.

“No.” He put the car into drive, and as he headed toward the exit of my subdivision, he pointed to the center compartment below the dashboard. There was a small envelope waiting there. “It’s in there.”

The plain, white envelope was invitation-sized, and when I picked it up, the much smaller card inside shifted around. I untucked the flap and pulled it out, flipping the plastic card over in my hands.

What on Earth?

“Whose license is this?” It was Felicity Gamble’s, according to the information printed on the driver’s license. I looked at the picture of the smiling brunette and then lifted my accusatory gaze to Preston. “And why do you have it?”

---