“No, ma’am,” he choked out after a minute.
“Lil! He’s choking! Get him a whiskey!” Evelyn called.
Lil snorted. “No. He’s trying not to laugh about something being in his ass.”
Kathleen looked around at all of us before she looked back at Mason. “Is there something in your ass?”
“Oh, Jesus, Kathleen, sit down!” Grandma snapped. “Cut the cake, and we’ll all get to know each other.”
“It’s not Alcoholics Anonymous, Grandma. Just everyone’s names for Mason’s benefit will do.” I cradled my glass of wine against me.
“No, we’re doing full introductions. We’ve been practicing for this very moment. Everyone sit down with a drink!” She waved her hands, and all the old ladies snapped into action.
Evelyn poured Mason a Jack Daniels and forced it into his hands, Kathleen slices the cake into eight pieces, Grandma fussed at everyone because her cushion was missing, and Lil… Well, Lil sat down with her glass of wine and watched them all go insane.
I looked into my own glass. There was not going to be enough wine in this thing.
“Right! I hereby call this meeting of the book club to order.” Grandma banged her mini gavel on the arm of her chair.
I really had no idea where she got that thing from.
“Today, we have a new member. Mason from next door,” she went on. “Oh, wait, what’s the date?”
“Nobody is taking notes, Jennifer, get on with it!” Lil sniped. “I want to talk about Mr. Wesley’s nipple clamps!”
Mason’s eyes widened, and I grinned like the Cheshire cat rolling around on his branch. He’d just learned exactly what these crazy old women liked to read.
Dirty BDSM erotica.
He met my gaze and mouthed, “What the fuck?”
I kept grinning.
“All right, all right,” Evelyn said, stepping in. “My name is Evelyn Elmhurst. I’m eighty-one years old, I like gardening in my greenhouse, I absolutely hate cats, and I’m here because I like to read about kinky things I should have done fifty years ago.”
Well.
There we go, then.
That was how you introduced yourself to the group.
“I’ll go next!” Kathleen sat up straight. “My name is Kathleen Springs, and I’m seventy-nine years old. I like knitting, crochet, and I can roast a mean chicken. I like sending Evelyn photos of cats and watching alien documentaries on the History channel.”
Crochet and aliens? You learned something new every day.
“Right.” Grandma straightened in her seat. “My name is Jennifer, I’m eighty years old, and I let my granddaughter live in my house.”
I rolled my eyes.
“I’m excellent at baking, watching Netflix, and complaining about absolutely everything.”
Preach that.
Lil sighed. “My name is Lillian Fradley-Park, I’m eighty-one years old, and I couldn’t give a damn about anything other than Mr. Wesley and his nipple clamps.”
Good old Lil.
“All right. Imogen?”
All eyes turned to me.
“What? I’m not doing that. I’m not a part of this club. I’m here to supervise,” I said.
“You’re drinking our wine,” Evelyn pointed out.
“I’m drinking my wine,” I retorted.
“Oh. Never mind then.”
Grandma shook her head. “Imogen.”
“Fine. My name is Imogen Anderson. Despite my grandmother’s protestations, she lives in my house, I’m an artist, I run an art store, and I have to look after four drunken, kinky-book-loving pensioners once a week because they can’t be trusted by themselves. Is that okay?”
“A little brusque,” Kathleen replied. “But it works.”
“It was fine,” Lil answered. “Politer than mine.”
“Everyone is politer than you, Lil,” Evelyn offered.
“Mason.” Grandma nodded at him. “You’re up.”
He cleared his throat and looked around the room. “Uh. Hi. I’m Mason Black. I’m twenty-eight, I have a three-year-old daughter called Maya, and I’m a lawyer. I also have a Shih Tzu puppy called Dolly that I was coerced into adopting by my daughter.”
“And you used to sleep with Imogen,” Lil offered brightly.
Mason coughed. “That’s not usually how I introduce myself to people, but sure.”
My cheeks flamed bright red.
Why the hell had I been a part of the conversation that ended up with him at book club? I should have known better. I should have known that at least someone would bring that up.
I lifted my wine glass and finished the rest of it in one. “Look at that. I need another drink. Anyone else?”
I jumped up and darted into the kitchen before anyone else could answer. Gripping the edge of the counter, I stepped back and dropped my head forward, closing my eyes for a brief second.
This was just going from bad to worse—and then some.
I pushed off the counter, refilled my wine, and headed back in once I’d taken a few deep breaths. The ladies were now discussing the book, and Mason looked like he wanted to be anywhere other than here.
You and me both, I thought.
I took my seat and put my feet up. Mason caught my eye, and I hide a smile behind my glass.
“Can we please discuss the nipple clamps now?” Lil asked, waving her book around. “We’ve already discussed the words used to describe his penis.”
Mason paled slightly.
“I’m not sure ‘bulbous love wand was a favorite of mine,’” Evelyn mused. “It made me think of the bulbs I have to plant this fall.”
“Not really the kind of excitement the author was going for, huh?” I replied. “What was your favorite description, Mason?”
He went even whiter. “Uh, they were all so good I can’t possibly choose.”
“I bet it was the ‘pulsating cannon,’” Kathleen said. “These penis analogies are awful. Why do we read this BDSM stuff?”
“Because nobody ever screwed us on a sex swing, Kathleen,” Grandma responded.
“Speak for yourself,” Lil said, getting up. “Bobby Thornberry was a real sexpot back in the day.”
“Him? A sexpot?” Evelyn raised her eyebrows. “I doubt that. I went on one date with him, and he had the sexual skills of a kitten.”
Lil patted her silver curls. “Maybe he just needed a real woman, Evelyn.”
This was not how I’d expected the gossip portion of the evening to go.
CHAPTER TWELVE – IMMY
The Great Escape
“Dear fucking God, that was enlightening.”
I looked up from my sketchbook and grinned as Mason stepped out onto the back porch. “I told you it was interesting.”
“I think I know more about their sex lives than I do about my own.” He ran his hand through his hair and sat on the chair next to me. “I’m sorry, but I think I have to break up with the book club.”
I laughed, setting the book down on the table. “Lucky you. I can usually work while they yammer on, but I wanted to experience your reactions the first time.”