Muffin Top

“I am a woman of unbelievable depths.”

“So how about you? Do you go straight out after sex?”

It was a fair question after how she’d deep-dived into him, but that didn’t mean she was going to answer. “A lady never tells.”

“Does that mean I’ll have to find out for myself?” he asked with a raised eyebrow.

And the horny butterfly battalion went into overdrive. Fucking A. “N. O. Remember? You’ve temporarily renounced sex.”

His eyes did that thing again that made her ovaries volunteer as tribute. “Right. No sex.” He glanced down at her mouth and then back up. “Goodnight, Lucy.”

He rolled over, leaving her to stare at his back as she reminded herself that “no sex” really meant “no sex with her.” Still, after that little convo, there was no fucking way she wasn’t going to be kept up all night by thoughts of sex with Frankie.

Tomorrow was going to be even rougher on no sleep.

Chapter Six

Lucy cracked her eyelids, the hint of a dream still hazy in her memory—something about the rain that had left her hot and yearning—and turned toward the left side of the bed. No one was ever going to confuse her with a morning person, but she wasn’t so out of it when she woke up that she wasn’t going to remember the hunka hottie she’d gone to sleep next to. Really, she’d have to be near death to forget how she’d spent way too much time listening to him breathe before she’d finally drifted off.

Sitting up, she took stock of their room. Frankie was gone, but the sound of the shower coming through the closed bathroom door gave away his location. That turned out to be a really good thing because—per usual—her boobs had escaped the confines of her tank top while she’d slept. Thank God she’d woken up with the sheet up to her chin, because looking like she was going for Mardi Gras beads was not how she wanted to start off her day when she’d be trapped in the car with Frankie for the next twelve hours. Thinking of which, she grabbed her phone and hit the contact number to FaceTime Doctor Daddy. Yes, it was a weird nickname, but so was her dad.

Her dad picked up almost immediately. Unlike her, he was a complete morning person, as proven by the fact that he was dressed and ready for the day at five thirty Antioch time. “How’s my favorite girl this morning?”

“I’m here.” She tried to avoid looking at the little box with her picture in his because she hadn’t done as good of a job as she’d thought taking off her mascara before bed.

“What happened?” he asked.

“We hit a bit of a snag. Frankie’s car broke down, but it should be all fixed up this morning. We should be in tonight, but it will be really late tonight.”

Her dad made a tut-tut noise. “Just drive safe.”

“We will.” A low growl sounded, and the tips of two pointed ears appeared at the bottom right hand of the screen. “Is that Gussie?”

She’d done her best to pretend the French Bulldog was going to a kennel for the four days she’d be home. It wasn’t that Gussie was a mean dog or even a bad dog, it’s just he had some nasty habits that made being around him awkward to say the least.

“Yes, it is,” her dad said as he looked down at the dog who was almost completely out of camera range. “Look at my boy. He’s such a good boy.”

Her dad might think so, but the Frenchie wasn’t a good boy, he was a total dog. Right on cue, she could see his pointy little ears bobbing forward and back. Lucy closed her eyes. She didn’t have to see more than just the tips of the dog’s ears to know what he was doing. Gussie was humping the stuffed reindeer a patient had given her dad that the dog had fallen in lust with at first sight.

“Dad, do you have to let him do that?” she asked, her cringe reaching all the way to her internal organs.

“It’s better not to interrupt, Lucy. It’s a totally natural thing.”

Platitudes like that were what she’d grown up hearing, thanks to the fact that her dad was a sex therapist. That didn’t change her mind at all. To make it even worse, two things happened right then.

One, Frankie walked out of the bathroom wearing only a white towel he was holding mostly together with one hand.

Two, her dad bobbled his phone, changing the angle so there was no missing Gussie as he…ahem…finished.

“What in the hell?” both men asked at the same time.

Lucy slammed the phone to her more than ample chest, glad her cleavage was good for more than storing cash and the occasional tube of chapstick.

“Why aren’t you dressed?” she hissed at Frankie as if her dad hadn’t already gotten an eyeful.