I give her credit. Her face falls, but she catches it quickly. “That sounds good.”
I want to ask her if she is still thinking about Troy, but I know if she was, she’d tell me. She doesn’t bring him up, not when we stand hip to hip making a box of macaroni and cheese, not when we put our favorite television shows in order, not when I rub her feet and she tells me what the boys were like when they were young, not when I put her on all fours and eat her cunt from behind until she comes not more than two minutes later, and not when she straddles my thigh—onmyorders—and grinds herself against me until she orgasms.
When I kiss her goodnight, she isn’t thinking of him. And when she texts me a photo of her curled up in bed, blowing me a kiss in the moonlight, she’s thinking of me.
But I’m thinking of him.
And how that motherfucker isn’t coming anywhere near Clara June and the boys.
CHAPTER
TWENTY-TWO
CLARA JUNE
It’s strange.When Troy called, I was hyper focused on creating a plan. A blueprint. An escape strategy both verbally and physically that existed in the event that he actually came back.
But as soon as I shared with Dean and exposed thevulnerabilities of the situation, the weight and stress of worry seemed to be lifted.
“He offered to have me and the boys come stay with him until we’re certain Troy isn’t coming back,” I tell Jackie, dropping a penis shaped ice cube into her wine glass. I pop another mini dick from the silicone mold and hold it up as it melts down my wrist. “Why?”
She shrugs, twisting the rim of my glass in sugar. “It was on sale. It was cute. I like penis ice. Sue me.” After the rim of my glass is thoroughly coated in thick chunks of pink crystallized sugar, Jackie slides it over to me, adding, “Please tell me you said yes.”
I shake my head and pluck a stray flower off my top, one that must’ve floated down from one of the many blooming trees in Jackie’s back yard. “No, I didn’t. I mean, I definitely want him around all the time… but… I don’t know. All of a sudden we live with Coach Dean? How could the boys possibly understand that?”
Jackie plays with a tendril of her hair that refuses to obey her sleek ponytail, sunglasses balancing on the tip of her nose. “What do you mean, how could they understand? He spends time with you four at your house. The boys see you two together. They know you’re dating, don’t they?”
I shrug. “I mean, yeah, they know but we haven’t really had a talk about what’s going on or what it’s going to look like if it progresses.”
“Not if, but when, because I think we both know you’re gonna end up with a ring on your finger, another baby in that womb while signing your grocery store checks as Clara June McAllister. So talk to the boys, then move into that man’s house.” She takes a test sip of her drink, her eyes watering as she swallows. “And not because of Troy. Because y’all are in love.”
I shake my head. “We’re not in love. It’s too soon.”
“Sure.” She slides them back up, covering her great cat eye liner and shimmer shadow. “So anyway, I already warned you that I would be extremely unhappy if you didn’t report back on the sex right away.”
I hold my hands up as if to saydon’t shoot.“I know, I know but… there’s nothing to tell where that’s concerned. We haven’t slept together yet.”
Jackie dramatically tosses back her way too strong cocktail, finishing it with a cough. “What?!”
I shake my head. “He wants to take it slow. And I do, too. Or… I did. You know, when I wasn’t sure what he wanted and wasn’t sure how to tell him about my orgasmic difficulties.”
One threaded brow lifts. “You saiddid. You don’t want to take it slow anymore but he does?”
I nod my head and sip my drink, loving the excited flutter in my belly at simply having a partner to discuss. For the last few years, I’ve listened to all of Jackie’s stories and conquests, but now, I have someone. I have someone to gush over, to beam about, to talk endlessly about until Jackie wants to vomit. I’m that lucky.
But it also feels borderline like a betrayal to the trust we’re building together if I spill my guts to Jackie about what me and Dean have.
“He just wants to make sure the boys are comfortable with him and I before we get too serious,” I explain, because that’s half the truth. The other half of the truth? That he thinks I deserve time to be doted on, cherished and worshiped—his exact words when I begged to blow him two nights ago on the couch. Part of me wonders if he is concerned aboutitnot fitting inside me, but I would think if that were a possibility,he would have told me about the trail of ladies whose vaginas were torn apart by his glorious penis.
I keep the rest of that to myself, though, because Dean wanting to pleasure me endlessly because I deserve it is too good to share. Not right now at least. Maybe a few years down the road, but right now, that truth is precious and sweet, and all mine.
My phone rings just then, and I set down my nearly empty cocktail, answering. “Hello?”
It’s funny. We have been sitting here discussing Troy, but in a way that allowed me to talk about him without actually thinking about him. And here he is, calling. I didn’t even check the caller ID.
“Clara June?”
My eyes dart to Jackie, who mouths his name as a question, earning her a nod.
