The Magnolia Chronicles: Adventures in Modern Dating(50)

He sucked in a breath through his nose, his gaze heating me like a splash of liquid sunshine. "Yeah," he replied, his head bobbing in tiny degrees. "Yeah, pretty girl. I swore I wouldn't ask but I need you to get in here."

"I'm not having sex with you in there."

"Whoa, whoa, whoa. Who said anything about sex in the shower?" He was good enough to play hard at being offended. "Certainly wasn't me."

I traced the neck of my t-shirt. "Then what are you hoping will come from me squeezing in there with you? Because it is cozy."

He dropped his gaze, tilted his head toward the floor. "Just want to be close to you," he replied. "Just for a little while. Okay?"

I didn't know how it happened. I didn't know how I went from watching him through a crack in the door to pulling my t-shirt over my head or kicking off my shorts. I didn't know where I found the confidence to walk toward him as I dropped my panties, unhooked my bra and let my breasts bounce free while he drank up every inch of me. I didn't know how I stowed away the ever-present fear of being hurt, being used, being abandoned. And I didn't know how I pulled back that curtain and joined him under the hot water.

I didn't know, and I didn't care because I did it. I took what I wanted, and that didn't require an explanation.

I was leaping.





Chapter Twenty-Three





My dates loved their mimosas.

I mean, loved their mimosas. Honestly, I loved them too.

"Okay, okay," Tiel Walsh said, waving her hands over the brunch table as if she could sweep away the hodgepodge of half conversations percolating between us and her sisters-in-law, Andy, Shannon Halsted, and Lauren Walsh. "Start over. From the beginning. Whole story. How did you come to be seeing two men?"

"It's not that uncommon," Shannon said. "People do that. Dating isn't what it used to be and that's probably okay."

"I don't think people date, period," Andy argued. "They hook up and sometimes they hook up with the same few people over and over."

"This is depressing," Tiel murmured. "For many reasons."

"Because you never hooked up with a bunch of dudes before getting married?" Lauren asked. "If it helps, I didn't either. Shannon and Andy did but that's because they have better game than we do."

"I think your game is just fine," I said to Lauren.

"You didn't know me when I was single," she argued, laughing. "My game was nonexistent. My game was Bambi-in-the-forest."

"Oh my god," Shannon grumbled. "You and the fragile fawn thing again. Just because you didn't slut it up in your single days doesn't mean you were innocent. I've heard the things you say to my brother and I've seen more than a few text messages too. Bambi you are not."

"Can we not call it 'slutting'?" Andy asked. "Women are allowed to seek out sexual partners and then have sex and also enjoy sex. None of that makes them slutty. None of that necessitates judgment. It's a normal, healthy part of life and it's not necessary to add value judgments."

"You're right," Shannon said, wagging her empty champagne flute at a passing waiter. "Even using it for fun—like, taking it away from slut-shamers and making it our own and eliminating their ability to wield it in a shame-y way—carries some shitty baggage. Because no one looks at the dude on the other side of all that sex and calls him a man slut."

"Thank you," Andy said. "I'm not trying to be a purist. I don't want to police the way people speak but I hate the way words are weaponized against women sometimes. I hate how fucking everything is weaponized against women when it suits others. I'm a little sensitive to all that noise right now."

"You're allowed to be sensitive," Shannon said. "You're allowed to feel your feelings. You're also allowed to drown them in champagne so long as you don't start telling me about the things you do with coconut oil when you're alone with my brother."

"What about the things that don't involve coconut oil?" Andy asked, her eyebrow arched like a Sephora ad.

"I don't want to hear about those either," Shannon said with an exaggerated shiver.

Lauren shifted to face me. "You must have a favorite. Or a slight preference. With your boys, not coconut oil. Right?"

She was the only sober one at the table by virtue of being extremely pregnant. By my count, she was at least seventeen months along. Had to be. She'd been pregnant forever. Since Nixon was in office, at least.

"How long have you been pregnant?" I asked. There was some slurring involved. It sounded like "How long 've be pregnant?" and ended with a hiccup.

To her credit, she smiled. That was the best thing about Matt Walsh's wife. She made everyone comfortable. She was good to people even when they hadn't earned her goodness.

"Eight-ish months. This kid has a few more weeks to go."

"Okay, good," I murmured, nodding hard enough to slap myself in the face with my ponytail.

"Back to the topic at hand," Andy announced, snapping her fingers. I wasn't certain but I got the impression she'd picked up that move from Patrick. He was a snapper. The snappiest.

Shannon leaned back against the booth with her champagne flute in hand. "Allow me to recap the key points, boss. Two guys. Both fun and pretty. Cool dudes. Big event with one of them coming up. Am I missing anything?"