Page 130 of The Art of Almost Losing It
“It was the white-chocolate raspberry one too.” Piper looks down at me as I slump over on the bathroom sink at Svensson Investment. “If you really want some cake, you can get your behind back to your kidnapper’s penthouse and tell him you’re not leaving until there’s bleeding.”
I feel sick.
“Why can’t we just go home and knit instead?”
“We have done that, and neither of our dream men have come crashing through the front door. We agreed—New Year’s resolution—that we were going to put ourselves out there. Get some practice with guys. Hopefully find Mr. Right. But we are willing to settle for Mr. Meh.”
She shoves a bag at me.
“Here, change your clothes. The execs from the Boston office are here, and you know it’s going to be a shit show.”
I sigh. “At least there will be catering.”
Havingthe Boston office in town, though, is a good excuse for a distraction.
It’s not like I can tell the VP that the reason I missed that typo was because I was thinking about how it felt to have a man’s fingers down there.
Well, any fingers, really.
I sleep on the floor. And my dad is up late, and my mom is up early, so it’s not like I’m going to lie there and fluff my pillow at night, you know?
“Did he text you?” Piper crouches down next to my desk.
In the conference room at the end of the open-office floor plan, Greg Svensson is screaming at one of his brothers. Gotta love nepotism.
Screw ’em. He can be verbally abusive as long as I get paid on time.
“Where is your phone? Graham didn’t text you at all?”
“No! Maybe I shouldn’t have ordered all that food.”
“No way. Guys don’t care.”
“You had, like, half a boyfriend, what do you know?”
“More than you,” Piper reminds me. “Look at the guys that Gran brings home. You’re telling me that men are out there with high standards? They just want a pussy. Old, young, doesn’t matter. As long as it’s warm. And Graham did want your pussy.”
“No, he didn’t.”
“Graham was getting off on the prisoner thing. You did it in his closet, right?”
“We didn’t reallydoanything. Also, I leaked. A lot. In hindsight, maybe that grossed him out.”
“Kegels.”
“Not like that.”
“Ah. Dr. Piper says that you have lots of lubricant stored up because you haven’t been having sex. It’s like a snake or a spider.”
“I don’t think that’s how that works. That doesn’t really sound accurate.”
“Yeah, it is. I watched a TikTok video about it.”
“Maybe I smell. Do I smell?” I sniff myself. “I’m going to ask him.” I start typing.
“Do not”—Piper slaps my phone away—“text him that. Gawd, Dani.” She peers over the plant at my desk.
“Looks like lunch is over. I’m going to go take the leftovers to the break room. Make sure you’re first in line. It’s those fried chicken wraps you like from Red Skillet.”
