Page 136 of Just for the Plot

“I don’t think he’d text about that. We barely spoke about the dry-humping. I doubt he’d talk about the…the…”

“The diddle.”

“Sure,” I capitulate. “The diddle. I mean, we haven’t talked about it since it happened…or talked much at all, to be honest. Ugh, that’s a lie. We chatted this morning, but it was just him. Wait, that’s a lie too. I told him about the donut I ate, he got mad at me for not sharing, and then said I owe him one, and instead of giving him one like an adult, I left one at his doorstep, bolted, and texted him while I was on my way here.”

Adalade picks up her iced tea. “You’re exhausting.”

“I know. I hate myself for it.” I take a seat on the couch with her and lean my head against the back. “Why did I dry-hump him? None of this would have ever happened if I had just gotten off him the minute I had my cupcake, but noooooo, I had to let my horny flag fly and grind down on his penis like it was my own fuck pillow.”

“Just be happy it was his lap and not his face. I heard that’s a new trend—humping faces.”

“Where the hell did you hear that?”

“Oh, I don’t know. I think Mark was telling me about it, a whole sit-on-my-face moment.”

“Mark your driver?” I ask, horrified. “He should not be talking to you about that kind of stuff.”

“I’ll have you know, just like yourself, I’ve given Mark quite a bit of advice, which has scored him a girlfriend. He actually tested the sit-on-my-face trend with her and it was well-received but quite a commitment, and since you’re not in the business of committing to a handsome professional baseball player with a knee-melting smile, it’s best it was his lap.”

“I…I don’t even know what to do with that.”

“Well, then, if we’re done here, I think I’ll have some chicken salad for lunch and then you can be on your way.”

Sighing, I stand but then turn toward her. “What do you really think it was?”

“I don’t know, but given the upward trend of your interactions, I’d guess that he might want to ask you to sit on his face. I’d be open to it.”

“Adalade.” I let out a deep breath. “With all due respect, you have not been helpful.”

She chuckles and examines her nails. “Just wait. I bet I’m right.”

“There is no way you’re going to be right about that.”

I’ll be honest, the one thing I hate about his schedule is that he gets back home so late after his games. There are times when he doesn’t, because thank God, we’re on the West Coast and games start earlier than, let’s say, the East Coast, but still, the process for him leaving the stadium after all is said and done could be shortened.

I glance at my clock again. My nerves are fried at this point because I’ve been through every scenario in my head and know for a fact what Adalade said is not true.

Which means one thing—this has to be about Gabby.

Knock. Knock.

Once again, I’m going to throw up.

Whatever you do, Bower, do not fall for any funny business. He’s your friend’s brother, he’s your friend’s brother, he’s your—

I open the door and…

Fuck, why is he so hot?

“Hey, you,” he says with a nod before stepping into my apartment.

He must have gone home and changed, because he’s in a pair of gray joggers, a black T-shirt, no hat, but his hair is still wet from his shower and twisted and styled every which way, while he smells like fresh soap, an intoxicating aroma that has my nipples pebbling to attention.

“Why does it look like you’ve seen a ghost?”

“What?” I ask. “Me?” I nervously laugh, as if I’m attempting to hide a murder and the murder weapon is in my pocket. “There’s, uh, there’s no ghost here.”

“Bower?”