Page 65 of Thirst For Me
“Siling labuyo. Filipino chili sauce.” She utters something in Filipino—swearing, I think—as she rushes into the kitchen. She brings me back a glass of milk.
“It’s not that spicy,” Sophie says, patting me on the back. “As long as you don’t choke on it.”
“You and Mason, huh?” Bev muses as once again, everyone stares at me. “I can see it.”
I shake my head as best I can while chugging milk, my eyes watering.
After that, June arrives, and we get to discussingMurder in the Barnyard, which no one but me and June actually seemed to enjoy, and I suspect half the women in attendance never actually read.
Maybe they think I didn’t read it, either, considering how totally distracted I am and how little I add to the conversation.Once again, I hand over my note-ridden book to Sophie, who has at it.
The highlight of the night is an impassioned debate between the moms and June, who can’t seem to agree on whether the hot detective deserved to die. Interestingly, it’s June who thinks he should’ve lived and had a happily-ever-after with the widower, while the moms are out for his blood.
“I would never have guessed you’re such a romantic, June,” Sophie teases.
To which Bev says, “Oh, June always picks the books with a tragic love story.” And June, drifting into the kitchen for a white wine refill, pretends not to hear.
When we eventually get low on alcohol, we say our goodbyes, Bev stuffs our handbags with leftovers, and we head out into the night. She insisted only June stay behind to help her clean up. “Bev wants to gossip about us,” Trish tells Sophie and me.
By now, I’m starting to make peace with it. Frankly, all the local cider and wine really took the edge off caring one way or another if the entire town decides to hate me because they’re Team Mason.
We say goodbye to Hot Mom at her car—Power Mom left long ago—and the three of us walk together, making our way back to Honeymoon Lane. As Trish peppers Sophie with random questions about the work she does for Dirty, I mentally spitball excuses to back out of this planning-committee thing.
Mornings are me time?Dick move.
Against my religion?Don’t have one.
Struck with a sudden illness?Not a good look for Cutie Fruitie.
As we approach the stop sign where Honeymoon Lane begins, a couple of men appear on the road to our left, also approaching the intersection on foot. Tall, attractive men who’re built kind of similar. One blond; one with brown hair and a beard.
Oh, no.
Trish gasps ever so quietly. I think she’s drunk. And definitely some part in love with Layne Grant.
“Layne!” she calls out. “Mason. What perfect timing!”
Yeah.Soperfect.
I haven’t come face-to-face with Mason since a week ago on the beach when he wore those very thin clothes on a windy day and I drooled all over him while he declared war on me.
I didn’t know how weird/uncomfortable/panic-inducing it would be to run into him unexpectedly with other humans as witnesses andso much boozein my system.
And he looksfreaking good.
Stupidly, unfairly good, in a sleeveless black T-shirt and jeans, his haphazardly sexy hair ruffled by the breeze.
Sophie meets my eyes as I edge behind her and mouth,Help me, I’m drunk!
“Hey, ladies,” Layne says easily as the gap closes between us. “Nice night for a wander, huh?”
“Oh, we’re not wandering,” Drunk Sophie says, positioning herself smoothly between me and the brothers as we all naturally form a loose group to continue walking together. “Just coming from a serious book club meeting.”
“Cool,” Layne says. “Just coming from a serious meeting ourselves. Poker night.”
Trish giggles, inserting herself between the two men. “Who won?”
“This guy.” Layne waves a thumb at his brother. “Always.”
