Page 49 of Drive Me Wild
Reasonable assumption. Death is the only explanation for me not immediately responding to your text.
Theo Walker
Exactly! So I checked to see if you were in a ditch or something. Turns out you’re with Adler.
How in the—? Oh.Ohh.I forgot that I’d shared my location with Theo when we were in Le Mans. Oh, my God. Not that I think he’s been following my movements, but I’m praying he didn’t see that I went to a new Brazilian bikini wax place in Wickham or visited the gelato spot by my flat on back-to-back nights last week.
Josie Bancroft
His friend had some marketing questions.
Theo Walker
You never answer my questions!
Josie Bancroft
Because your questions are weird, Walker. How am I supposed to know why eleven isn’t pronounced onety-one?
Theo Walker
You say weird, I say creative. Can I ask you a normal question?
Josie Bancroft
We have different definitions of normal, but go ahead.
Theo Walker
Want to get dinner on Friday?
Josie Bancroft
You’re in luck, babes. That’s my one free night this week.
It’s the first time in a while I’ve had a jam-packed week of plans. Plans I made, plans I’m excited about, plans with my friends. Plans that in-a-relationship-Josie would have probably turned down or pushed off until they eventually never happened.
Theo Walker
It’s a date, princess. :)
“Who ya texting over there, Jos?” Lucas asks in a teasing tone. “Do you have a new man in your life?”
“Nope,” I say a little too quickly. Technically, not a lie, since Theo is, by no means,new. We’ve known each other for years now. “Just texting a friend.”
He quickly glances at me, a not-so-subtlebullshitlook on his face. “I’ve never blushed at my phone like that from a friend texting me.”
“Maybe your friends aren’t as good as mine,” I say with a wink.
I’ve never had a friend spend hours between my legs, treating my body like it’s the eighth wonder of the world, but here we are.
NINETEEN
THEO
I prefer spendingthe nights I’m not on the road at my house, but Josie prefers her own space. That’s why, instead of hanging out at my ten-million-pound, seven-thousand-square-foot house that has both a movie theater and a bowling lane, I’m waiting outside of Josie’s one-bedroom, one-bathroom walk-up flat in Shoreditch.
My hands are too full to properly knock, so I kick the toe of my shoe against the door. Her blonde head pops out as I’m rounding up kick three.
