I roll my eyes. “Not weird. Mind-blowing. The best sex I’ve ever had—times a million. It’s not just the sex; it’s the book!”
She sips her coffee, resting one hand on the island. “You do realize you can have mind-blowing sex with a guy and not be book soulmates. Right? Please tell me you get that.”
“Of course I know that.”
I just don’t really like to think about it.
“He’s coming to book club tonight. I’m not going to be able to keep from blushing the whole time.” My cheeks flush just saying the words … thinking about the group discussing the erotic scene while Eric stares at me, knowing what we did last night.
Freya pops her lips several times, eyes wide. “Okay. Well, it should be interesting.”
Chapter Eight
Book Club Night Two
* * *
I wear a yellow lace cutout sundress and my yellow wedges to book club. Freya serves wine as everyone mills around a few minutes before seven. My heart won’t calm down. My breaths won’t even out. My eye’s won’t stop staring at the door.
Where is he?
Biting the inside of my cheek, I decide it’s best to just get started. He’ll completely derail me once he comes through that door.
“Let’s get started.”
Freya hands me a generous glass of wine after I sit next to her.
“Just in time.”
I glance up at Eric taking a seat across from me. Here it comes … the heat, the memories, the full-on blush. “Hi.” Yeah, I’m really breathy.
Once again, his hair is wet. I try not to focus on my intimate knowledge of him. Little things like knowing what he looks like completely naked and dripping wet in the shower.
The way his lips part before his tongue drags across his lower lip as I wrap my lips around his—
“They’re waiting.” Freya elbows me.
Shit.
When did everyone quiet down? And how long have they been staring at me drooling over Eric and remembering the blow job I gave him last night—in the shower.
“Um …” I clear my throat and tear my gaze from Mr. Sex. “Let’s start with one word that describes your feelings about chapters nine through sixteen. I’ll go first. Riveting.” I risk a glance at Eric, but he’s focused on his plate of snacks.
The one-word descriptions follow mine: provocative, stimulating, sensual, arousing, stirring, alluring …
My heart swells as so many accurate and positive words fall from their mouths. When it’s Eric’s turn, I hold my breath. I want him to be honest, but I fear his honesty could expose us to everyone. Fire fills my cheeks the second I hear his voice. With one sexual description, I could melt into a puddle.
“Eric?” Freya prompts him.
He glances up, chewing slowly, eyes wide, and gaze shifting to me as he swallows. “Um … do you want me to participate or just listen?”
I smile and bat my eyelashes at him. “Participate of course.”
A tiny crease forms along the bridge of his nose and his eyes narrow a fraction. It’s … weird.
“Just say it. There’s no right or wrong.” Freya verbally nudges him again.
Well … I wouldn’t go so far as to say there’s no right or wrong.
“Okay um …” He tips his chin and focuses on his wine glass as he swirls it. “Self-indulgent.”
No one responds. Not that they need to respond. The one-word impressions don’t require responses or explanation. They’re just a great way to set the tone for the rest of the discussion.
“Okay … so … what’s the next question on your list?” Freya snags my book and the sticky notes with questions stuck to the cover.
“The characters are self-indulgent? Like emotionally or sexually? Or the writing is self-indulgent?” I ask.
Eric dips a baby carrot in dressing and glances up at me as he pops it into his mouth. “Uh … is one more acceptable to you?”
My jaw drops and I cough on my reaction, which is something between a gasp and an “uh.”
“Moving on. Do you think the accelerated pace of Jasmine’s and Andrew’s relationship is based on attraction or fear?” Freya reads my question.
I don’t even hear the other answers. The word self-indulgent rings too loudly in my head. The way Eric won’t look at me because he’s a coward, who just came for the free food and wine, keeping his head bowed and his mouth full.
“Breathe …” Freya whispers in my ear. “Get your shit together.”
After draining my full glass of wine, I find a smile for everyone except Eric.
I ask questions.
I share my thoughts.
I nod politely at everyone’s opinions.
That’s what you do in book club.
After the final thought is shared and everyone is assigned the last third of the book for next month, I get to work on cleaning up the mess. Eric sticks around to help, but keeps a safe distance. I guess it means he’s not one hundred percent stupid, but he’s still one hundred percent a dick.
Even Freya remains quiet, shooting me the occasional cringe as Mr. Helpful refuses to just leave.
“I’m going to take the bottles downstairs. Will you be okay?” Freya asks.
I return a slight nod while wiping down the tables.
“So just to be clear … you want me to read the book but not have an opinion that’s not the same as yours? Why didn’t you just say that?”
My back straightens before I whip around to face him. “What was that last night? Were you mocking the book by doing exactly what the characters did in the book?”
“Oh, Anna … I wasn’t mocking anything last night.” He reaches for my face and I bat him away.
“So you just liked the scene?”
He furrows his brow. “The scene last night or the one in the book?”
“The book!”
“Well, I like what it inspired.”
“Is that what you thought was self-indulgent?”
He chuckles, shaking his head. “You’re quite the piece of work. I have never seen someone get so worked up over fiction. Remind me to never watch a movie with you, or like blue if you like red, or choose the wrong topping on a pizza, or…” he slaps his forehead with the heel of his hand “…have an opinion that’s my own.”
“Why? Why play that game last night?”
Planting his hands on his hips, he lifts his gaze to the sky. “I …” He shakes his head. “I honestly didn’t think you would go there with me. It started out as a joke.” He returns his attention to me. “I thought we’d laugh about it. It blew my mind that you not only latched on to my lead … you took it. You wanted to be those characters.”
Crossing my arms over my chest and flipping out my hip, I squint at him. “You could have stopped it.”
“I wanted you anyway I could get you. I’m not saying the sex scene—and what we reenacted last night—wasn’t hot. It was. It was hot as fuck. You were hot. Not Jasmine. Not Andrew. Who were you having sex with last night? Me? Or Andrew?”
I piece together my words without completely exposing myself. “You. I was having sex with my neighbor, Eric, who I thought liked what he’d read … who I thought liked my favorite book.”