Total pages in book: 72
Estimated words: 66074 (not accurate)
Estimated Reading Time in minutes: 330(@200wpm)___ 264(@250wpm)___ 220(@300wpm)
Estimated words: 66074 (not accurate)
Estimated Reading Time in minutes: 330(@200wpm)___ 264(@250wpm)___ 220(@300wpm)
I shake my head at her. “Have a good night, Chris.”
She grins and makes her exit, but not before calling out her parting words for not only me but the customers walking inside to hear. “Text me after you squeeze her boobs!” And I stand there, red-faced, eyes wide, my mouth opening and closing like a guppy as the couple looks from her departing, laughing figure over to me.
“I—” My brain has shut down at the expression on their faces after registering it as worry, as if I plan to grope the well-endowed but fit black woman with long, thin braids decorated with gold beads. All I can do is shake my head in denial, hoping she understands Christi wasn’t talking about her. But the words that finally leave my mouth don’t help to convey that fact. “To see if they feel real.”
She raises one perfectly sculpted eyebrow and turns her dark-brown eyes framed with extra-long, thick lashes up to her tall, handsome companion. The straight, white teeth of his big smile seem to light up not only his dark-tan face, but the entire store as he wiggles his eyebrows at her. She looks at me again and must see my natural reaction is the last of the human instincts to either fight, fly, or freeze, recognizing the misunderstanding.
She smiles then, hers even more powerful than the man’s, because she has an endearing little gap just between her two front teeth, her lips painted a cool purple I couldn’t dream of getting away with. “I mean, I didn’t get them this big to look real, but if you want to squeeze them, go right ahead, honey.”
My eyes widen even more, and my hands shoot up in front of me as if to ward her off. But then I realize it could look like I’m holding them up right at boob-squeezing level, and I jerk them back, my elbow hitting the display of individual, flavored condoms, sending them scattering to the floor like obscene little pieces of colorful confetti.
My eyes close behind my glasses then, so I don’t see who walks through the door when the little bell dings at that moment.
But I sense him.
And knowing exactly who it is just by the way my body responds to his presence, my anxiety dipping and my heart rate calming, I’m both relieved and extra mortified for him to appear right in the middle of this embarrassing situation.
When I open my eyes, he’s already knelt down next to me to pick the condoms up off the floor. As he looks up at me from his position on one knee, that ever-present mischievous twinkle in his hazel eyes, the smile that spreads across my husband’s breath-stealing face makes me wonder how I could possibly think to describe anyone else’s as beautiful, when it’s this one all others are compared to.
“Breathe, doll,” he murmurs, then stands to his full height, my head tilting back to keep eye contact with him.
“Christi short-circuited my brain again,” I tattle, and he chuckles, leaning in for a soft, quick kiss.
“Well, luckily, she did it in front of friends instead of strangers this time. Twyla, meet Antonio and Crystal. They’re the owners of the place that opened up across the street from our building downtown. Antonio and Crystal Garcia, this is my wife, Twyla Owens,” Seth introduces, his arm coming around my back to lead me toward the couple who came in before him. My first step stutters as he has to actually force my body to move in their direction, but I manage to reach my hand out in greeting on my own.
“Nice to meet you, Twyla.” Antonio shakes my hand, but when I offer it to Crystal, instead of taking my hand, she dips forward a little, as if to set her huge breast in my palm, before jumping back and turning to press her front to Antonio’s as they both burst into laughter at my loud squeak.
My hand is now pressed to my mouth as I look up at my husband, begging him with my eyes to save me.
“Okay, now I gotta know what I missed,” he says instead, and I glare at him before dropping my arm.
“The intimacy companions came in today,” I finally get out. “That’s what Christi was telling me to squeeze.” I look at Crystal again. “Not your… glorious décolletage.” I attempt humor in order to get me out of this loop of embarrassment, or I’m afraid I’ll be stuck in it for the rest of the day.
“Glorious décolletage,” she repeats in a breathy, thick Southern accent before glancing up at her man. “I like the sound of that way better than ‘your tig ole bitties.’” Which makes everyone laugh—including me, after the extra second it takes me to get it—and the tension leaves me. “But what the hell is an intimacy companion?”