Total pages in book: 154
Estimated words: 148473 (not accurate)
Estimated Reading Time in minutes: 742(@200wpm)___ 594(@250wpm)___ 495(@300wpm)
Estimated words: 148473 (not accurate)
Estimated Reading Time in minutes: 742(@200wpm)___ 594(@250wpm)___ 495(@300wpm)
The possibility makes me a little giddy, as if I have a good secret powering me on. It’s a secret I hold tight in my heart as I complete my final round. Hardly anyone pays me any mind, which is how it should be, of course. I’m not paid to stand out but to blend in.
It’s funny, though, how a mere couple of nights ago in Vegas, people noticed us. With Asher, I’m Mrs. Callahan. With Asher, I’m…someone.
But perhaps someday, I’ll be someone on my own too.
For now, I focus on finishing the job and then saying goodnight to Vivian.
On the bus home, I pull out my phone from my purse, sliding it past the copy of If Found, Please Return that lives in my bag. I want to ask Asher if he wants to get together before our brunch with the owners to hammer out some of the bajillion and one questions I have about what it means to be his someone. But when I tap my phone, I see he’s already texted me.
Asher: Hey, wife. We should probably get our story straight before brunch. Meet me Tuesday morning for coffee?
Maeve: You took the words right out of my mouth.
Asher: Such a lovely mouth too.
That giddy feeling spreads as the bus rumbles toward my tiny place in Hayes Valley. But this lightheadedness comes from the question echoing in my head.
Is my husband a flirt?
I think he is. And I think I kind of like it.
I lean into his compliment, typing a reply.
Maeve: It has many uses.
Hmm. That’s not flirty. It’s downright dirty. I erase it and try something more playful.
Maeve: Flattery will get you everywhere.
Asher: I happen to like everywhere.
Oh. That’s a little naughty from him, isn’t it? I mean, I’m everywhere, right? I glance around the bus to make sure no one is peering over my shoulder. No one is, so I write back as night falls deeper over the city.
Maeve: I’m feeling very “pet me and tell me I’m pretty” thanks to your texts.
I wince, though, as I re-read it. That’s a little clingy. Once again, I delete the message. Be flirty, but don’t be needy. I can do that. I send a reply.
Maeve: Same here, husband.
As the bus swings into the heart of Hayes Valley, the bubbles dance on my phone. I clutch it, on the literal edge of my seat.
Asher: You know what a good husband would do for his wife?
Fuck her into next year with that big dick? But I behave. I don’t write that either.
Maeve: Dying to know.
Asher: Get you a ring, stat. I want you to wear a diamond. Something that broadcasts to the whole damn world that you’re taken. Got it?
A pulse beats between my thighs. And this time, I don’t debate the response. I write it and hit send so fast.
Maeve: Yes, please!
24
GIVE THIS GIRL A BADGE
Maeve
“So, please say we get to go ring shopping with you. Like really soon?” Leighton’s sea-blue eyes sparkle mischievously as she grabs her tea from the counter at Doctor Insomnia’s on Tuesday morning.
Everly, Josie, and Fable are already sitting at a table in the back, waiting for us. As I snag my chai latte, I glance at the clock on the wall—I’m meeting Asher in thirty minutes, but I have to see my girls first.
“So we’re all going ring shopping together?” I ask it while meeting Leighton’s gaze since I know she prefers being able to see someone’s face when they’re talking to her.
“Yes. Because we need to make sure he gets you a proper, big, gaudy diamond. You’re married to an athlete, after all. Even though it’s a”—she stops to lower her voice—“you know what marriage, you can’t be seen with small bling.”
We reach the group and sit down, and Fable gives a long, emphatic nod. “She’s right. You need the biggest.”
I gesture toward the billionaire’s girlfriend, rolling my eyes playfully. “Says the woman who will probably have a fifty-carat diamond when her man proposes.”
“I should hope so,” Josie chimes in, taking a sip of her coffee.
“If Wilder Blaine doesn’t give you the biggest rock in the history of the world, I’ll eat my Louboutins,” Everly adds, then looks at me over the top of her mug. “But seriously, emerald cut? Princess cut? Solitaire? Or maybe a sapphire or ruby?” She tosses her head back. “Gah! I can see them now—sparkling before my eyes.”
“And are you taking me with you?” Leighton asks again, far more into this ring-shopping idea than I’d expected. She always seemed a little more, I don’t know, badass with her black clothes, multiple ear piercings – including a pair of flower studs she wears every day—as well as flower tattoos on her arms. “You actually want to go ring shopping?”
“Don’t sound so surprised.” Leighton waggles her fingers. Her nails are a bright shade of copper. Silver bracelets jangle on her wrists. “I like shiny things. I’m a boudoir photographer—of course I’m into all things romance, especially jewels. Oh, you two could even do a couples session. Married couples are doing those more. Dating couples. It keeps the spark alive, they say.”