We take our time, which is a luxury. Mostly we get middle-of-the-night sessions or quickies between tightly scheduled clients. When I’m done loving on her body, she rests her cheek on my chest.

“I can hear your heart,” she whispers.

“What’s it saying?” I smooth my hand over her hair.

“The same thing over and over. I think it’s trying to put me to sleep.” She pushes up on an elbow, her lids heavy. “When are you going to design a tattoo for me?”

It’s a question she’s asked before, more than once. I keep putting her off—not because I don’t want to put art on her, but because I do. The temptation to make myself permanent in her life in some way is hard to resist.

“When I get more than two hours at a time with you.”

Sarah kisses my chin. “My internship isn’t far off, and once it’s over I should have loads of time, relatively speaking.”

“I guess you better figure out what you want then, ’cause I’m booked up until halfway through the summer already.” I try not to think about what’s going to happen to this thing we have when her internship is finished and her job prospects open up.

“You don’t think you can fit me in somewhere between now and then?”

“You think you get special privileges or something?”

She bites my shoulder. “I better get special privileges.”

I check the clock on her nightstand and change the subject. “I still got another half hour. You want me to braid your hair now?”

Sarah throws her leg over my hip. “I can think of way better ways to spend all that time.”

I let her pull me on top of her again, and then I distract her from conversations about body art with my hands and mouth.

Chapter 5

We Need in on That

VIOLET

Alex, my extraordinarily awesome, professional-hockey-playing husband, left at some god-awful hour this morning to hit the green with the guys. Apparently golf is an all-day event, so we’re having a girls’ afternoon. It’s not super hot out, but it’s sunny, and Alex cranked up the heat in the pool. Plus we have those outdoor heater things stationed around us to make it feel like July even though it’s not even close.

“I don’t understand the purpose of golf,” I muse aloud.

“It’s like every other sport with sticks and balls. You aim for a hole, and if you get it in, you score.” Charlene flips onto her stomach and unties the top of her bikini so she can avoid lines. If she were alone—or at Darren’s—she’d probably go without a top.

“Sounds like you’re talking about sex, not golf,” Lily snickers. She’s on her third drink, so she’s nice and loopy.

“You think everything is about sex thanks to Horny Nut Sac,” I shoot back. It’s my favorite nickname for Randy, her boyfriend and Alex’s teammate.

“I think all sports with balls and sticks are a lot the same, aren’t they?” Sunny says from under the shade of her umbrella. She’s rocking a pretty sweet baby belly since my brother, Buck, who everyone else has taken to calling Miller since that happens to be his real name, knocked her up. She only has a few months to go before she pops the cork on this one.

I consider the similarities, particularly between golf and hockey. “I guess golf is kind of like playing hockey, except with smaller sticks, and balls instead of pucks, and grass instead of ice, and a tiny hole instead of a gaping one.”

Lily chokes on her drink and ends up spit-spraying it all over herself. “No one likes gaping holes!”

Charlene snickers along with her, but Sunny purses her lips. “Maybe you should have water after that one.”

“You’re probably right,” Lily agrees.

“It just seems boring. I’ve never seen anyone fight on a green.” I tip my bottle back and drain the last of my drink.

“Once Miller put Randy in a headlock for sending him into the weeds,” Lily says. “But that’s the best I’ve got.”

“Yeah. Like I said, boring. And what’s with the plaid requirement?” I ask.

“Darren looks good in plaid,” Charlene says.

“Personally I think Randy looks hot in one of those golf shirts and plaid shorts, especially with the sleeve…” Lily trails off.

“Do you need a minute alone?” I grin evilly. “Oh wait, you don’t actually need physical contact to have an orgasm, so you can just daydream your way to one and we won’t even know unless you get all moany.”

Lily lifts her sunglasses and quirks a brow. “At what point does the laundry room orgasm stop being a source of entertainment for you?”

Last Christmastime Randy locked Lily in our laundry room. In the three minutes they were alone, he managed to give her an orgasm—fully dressed. How do I know this? We busted down the door and witnessed the voodoo magic.

“Seriously, though, Lily, I need to know how you do that,” Charlene says.

“Do what?”

“Have spontaneous orgasms.” Charlene props herself up on her elbows and we all get a look at her boobs before she realizes she’s showing us her nipples. Her pierced nipples.

“When the hell did you get your nipples pierced?” I ask.

Apparently I’m rather loud about it, because she throws the closest thing at me, which happens to be Andy’s ball. He jumps up and bounds after it when it ricochets off my chair and lands in the pool.

Charlene looks down and back up. “A while ago.”

“And you didn’t tell me? Is Darren into that?” Sometimes I wonder about those two.

Her grin is all smirky. “It’s not like body piercing is something I’m just going to drop into conversation. And yes, Darren likes them.”

Lily perks right up. “Did it hurt?”

“The clamp is a little uncomfortable, but otherwise it wasn’t too bad.”

Lily frowns. “Clamp?”

“They use a clamp to pinch the skin before they feed the needle through.”

Lily puts her hand over her modestly sized boobs. I’m not saying that to be mean. She has little boobs, just like the rest of her.

“Doesn’t that hurt?” she asks.

Charlene shrugs. “I have a pretty high pain tolerance, so I didn’t find it too bad.”