Gin Fling by Lucy Score & Claire Kingsley

Author:Lucy Score & Claire Kingsley [Score, Lucy & Kingsley, Claire]
Language: eng
Format: epub
Publisher: That's What She Said Publishing, Inc.
Published: 2019-06-25T23:00:00+00:00

Q. Where in your community do you feel the most welcome?

Rhett Ginsler: The Lookout on a Friday night. It’s got everything you need. Beer. Pool. Music. Neighbors. Someone’s always willing to blow off a little steam with a fight. Good times.

30

Shelby

“Have any nightmares last night?” I asked, sucking in a breath as we crested a slow rolling hill on the road. My legs were on fire. My hands cramped into claws on the handlebar. I forced them to relax. But it was a good kind of pain. The kind of challenge to push through. I was learning the difference between what to push through and what to acknowledge.

Last night, I’d introduced Jonah to my guilty pleasure: horror movies. He’d been a good sport about it.

“Not unless you count waking up to Billy Ray’s cold wet nose in the small of my back,” he said.

Fifteen minutes after his rude awakening and a potty break for the dog, I’d woken to Jonah’s morning wood in the small of my back when he’d climbed back into bed and draped an arm over my waist.

I’d looked over my shoulder, and we’d stared at each other for a long, heated thirty seconds before Billy Ray realized we were both awake and made his desperate plea for attention.

Jonah was annoyingly not winded. He looked like he could ride for fifty miles without getting tired. Meanwhile, I was struggling with sprint triathlon distances. A 750-meter swim, a 12.2-mile bike ride, and a 3.1-mile run. My illness made me more sore, feel more joint pain than the average healthy adult. But I was learning to pay attention and make better choices, thanks in large part to my sexually unavailable roommate.

I’d slogged my way through a 500-meter swim this morning and was pleased with my improved time. It wasn’t going to set a course record, but it was a hell of a lot better than what I’d accomplished on my own. We’d dropped Billy Ray off with Gibson this morning and headed out for a ten-mile ride before Jonah’s birthday party tonight.

And after the party?

I was going to seduce the birthday boy. I would be showered, made up, hair styled, and sexed up. He would be putty in my hands. Wait, no. He would be achingly hard—

“How you feeling?” Jonah called over his shoulder.

I dragged my thoughts away from Naked Jonah. Eight miles into the ride and I was starting to think that maybe, just maybe, I had a shot at finishing next month.

“Good,” I puffed.

Sweat trickled down my back to the waistband of my shorts. It was a sensation I was learning to get used to and maybe even enjoy. I still preferred the swim. I liked sinking into the water, letting it muffle all my senses. But the bike was fun, too. Unless you took into consideration how much it hurt getting hit with a bumblebee as you flew down a hill.

I had welts.

I took the downhill, intending to be cautious—bumblebees and all, of course—but the speed, the wind that cooled my skin, made me brave.

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