Misadventures of a Curvy Girl (Misadventures #18)(59)
Ireland flexes her hand, enraptured by the glitter of our rings, and it’s both unbearably arousing and unbelievably—almost spiritually—gratifying to witness.
Ben is ready to fuck her again, I can tell, but we’re not quite finished. I reach into the pocket of my pajama pants and pull out another ring.
It’s made of beaten metal that’s been hammered and burnished to a dull gleam, as quiet and strong as the man it’s going to belong to. I take Ben’s hand, which is suddenly shaking, and I slide it onto his finger.
“I love you,” I tell him, my best friend and lover and weary, mysterious soldier. “I want all three of us to be married, together, in a ceremony apart from anything we do legally. Maybe only two of us can be married on paper, but in our hearts, it will be all three. Tell me yes, Ben. Tell me yes.”
The corner of Ben’s mouth hooks up in a smile at my command. “I thought I was the one who gave the orders around here.”
I kiss him. Hard. And then Ireland is joining in, and the three of us are kissing with more fierce possession than we ever have before, the firelight catching the new rings and sending beams of reflected light around the room.
“Well, then,” I finally manage. “I’m ordering you to order us around for the rest of our lives.”
“Yes,” Ben says. “Yes, of course, and fuck you, I’m crying now.”
He is.
Ireland kisses the tears off his cheeks, and somehow that turns into the three of us on the floor, kissing and grinding and eventually fucking while the fire crackles and more snow spits outside. I catch Ireland and Ben looking at their rings more than once as we make love, and if I felt eight feet tall before, there’s no telling how I feel now.
Like the luckiest man alive, the luckiest man who’s ever had the privilege of being alive. With my farm and my Clementine-cow and my Greta-dog and my truck.
With my broody ex-soldier.
With my curvy girl.
Lucky doesn’t even begin to cover it.
* * *
Want More Misadventures?
* * *
Click here to stay in the know!
Acknowledgments
Firstly, I have to thank my amazing agent, Rebecca Friedman, who co-pilots with boundless energy and kindness.
A resounding thank you to my heroic editor, Scott Saunders, who cleans up tenses and straightens out straggly subplots with the patience of a saint—and to the rest of the Waterhouse team: Meredith Wild, Robyn Lee, Jennifer Becker, Yvonne Ellis, Haley Byrd, Kurt Vachon, Jonathan Mac, and Jesse Kench. And my eternal gratitude and awe go to Amber Maxwell for creating a gorgeous-as-heck cover for Ireland and all her curves!
An especially deep and humble thanks are owed to Julie Murphy, who spent long, late hours talking over plot points and characterization with me, as well as helping me catalog Channing Tatum’s and Adam Driver’s best physical attributes.
To Ashley Lindemann, Serena McDonald, Candi Kane, and Melissa Gaston for their tireless toil and love! To the Snatches and other authors who make working in this bananas industry possible—especially Tess and Natalie, who keep plenty of beer and sparkling water in their house for me, and any author who has tolerated my lust for dance parties on a retreat: thank you. I owe the Kiawah crew a special shout-out for plot help and, in particular, Ally C for helping me with the nitty-gritty details of Kansas farming.
Loving and margarita-soaked thanks to the Jarrett girls—Aunt Paula, Aunt Jan, and my own Grandma Sandra—the farm girls in my own family!
And finally, I have to thank you, the reader. Thank you for going on this journey with me and Ireland!
Don’t miss any Misadventures!
Misadventures with a Book Boyfriend
March 2019
Keep reading for an excerpt!
Did you enjoy
Misadventures of a Curvy Girl?
Please leave a review.
Excerpt from Misadventures with a Book Boyfriend
I was Oliver Connely, for Christ’s sake! A household name—especially if the house had women living in it. For the past decade, my face had been plastered on billboards and buildings around the world and every magazine cover from GQ to Esquire. I’d walked for top designers in Milan, Paris, and New York. I was at the top of my modeling game.
But today?
Today I could barely pay my rent.
I’d heard of the proverbial “wall” from others in the industry but smugly laughed it off, never believing it would happen to me. After all, I was the most sought-after model of my generation. But my twenty-seventh birthday loomed like a dark cloud on the horizon, and the blustery wind that blew in before the storm took all the modeling jobs out to sea with it.
And now I was the guy scraping together change to pay his fucking cell phone bill.
Well, my agent, Harrison Firestein, might not be calling, but my favorite lounge chair at the pool in my condo complex certainly was. I’d been setting up shop there a few times a week to perfect my tan, relax, and forget about the stress in my life.
Since I actually was expecting a call from Harrison, I made sure my phone was charged and then grabbed my backpack and strolled across the complex to the pool.