Page 55 of Thoroughly Pucked

When I look up, Dev’s standing in front of me. He looks happy, and very, very horny. I glance down at the bulge in his shorts. Following my gaze, he rubs his palm over it.

“Want me to…?” I ask.

He shakes his head. “Later, baby. I like delayed gratification.”

Later.

This is not a one-time thing.

Not at all.

Ledger slumps over me then kisses the back of my neck, whispering, “I think you broke my dick, honey,” he says, and he sounds like that’s all he wanted.

It’s the best compliment I never expected to get.

Soon, we clean up as best we can, and we leave. When we reach the car, I remember I never took the picture of the little bench at the loop in the trail. Or the view of the water.

But I’m pretty sure I won’t forget this double honeymoon hike.

25

THE OTHER KIND OF HANGING OUT

Aubrey

Spank me.

Did I really say that?

Fuck me?

Who am I? I stare at my reflection in the bathroom mirror, alone in the suite that evening as the guys work out. I finished a yoga video, doing my friend Briar’s twenty minutes of downward dog with her dog Donut, but now I’m unsure what to do next.

It’s six. We didn’t even make dinner plans.

When they return, do I say, “That was fun. Fancy a burger and another fuck? I picked a spot for food. Do you want to pick the position?”

I have no idea how this works. I did a great job fantasizing about the sex but not the in-between sex.

I flop down on the couch in the living room. Ofcourse we’ll have dinner. We have to eat, but is this a dinner date?

Oh, shut up. You just had sex and broke rules. It’s like National Grilled Cheese Day—that’s all.

But what do I even wear to dinner? Do I put on a cute sundress? Jeans? Boots or heels?

I groan, sinking deeper into the cushion, then do the only thing I can. I commiserate with my phone, searching for an outfit of the day for a platonic honeymoon. Surely, I can’t be the only person who’s ever faced this fashion dilemma. But Google refuses to even acknowledge the adjectiveplatonic, serving me up a barrage of pretty honeymoon outfits.

Because no one goes on platonic honeymoons.

Wait. Ivy would know! She’s a fashionista. I hop over to my text app, spotting one from my sister and my brother, and some new ones in my group text with my friends. I go there first, clicking open that thread.

Ivy: Ahem. Details.

Trina: Also, I’d like a medal for having waited twenty-four hours to check in.

Aubrey: Yes, you get a prize for amazing self-restraint.

Trina: That was not an answer.

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