“Your daddy thinks he’s all that and a bag of potato chips, Bear, doesn’t he?” she whispers to him as they start down the stairs, and the little shit barks his agreement. “Right, if he really wanted to impress us, he’d carry you too.”
“I can hear you!”
She flashes me a brilliant smile over her shoulder. “You’re doing great, Adam! Wow, you’re so strong!”
“Women,” I mutter, and Pig sticks her tongue in my ear.
I spend the ten-minute walk to Wildheart contemplating how to casually drop that I’m a famous professional athlete, that I think she’s really pretty, and it would be super great if she wanted to maybe, like…spend some time with me. Eat a meal she doesn’t make me, maybe have a glass of wine that I can taste from her lips after.
I open my mouth approximately twenty thousand times and snap it shut in favor of silence each time.
Rosie’s not doing much better than me. She’s standing here in front of me, twirling a pink lock and scuffing at the ground with her shoes, beat-up Nikes with a white and blue floral swoosh. Her eyes bounce between her feet and my face, her cheeks growing warmer with each pass.
“Well, I guess—”
“Do you wanna have dinner with me?” I blurt, and suddenly my cheeks are as red as hers.
“Dinner?”
“I know we agreed to hike again next Saturday, but it would be nice to see you before then.”
Wide, hopeful eyes peer up at mine. “Before then?”
“Before then.”
“Before Saturday?”
“Before Saturday.”
She bites her lip, scrunches her nose. “Like…when?”
Tonight is on the tip of my tongue, but it’s too soon. I need help. Maybe professional. I need to call a meeting.
I need a motherfucking girls’ night.
“What about Wednesday? You, me, and dinner.”
Something sparks in her eyes, lighting her from the inside out. Her hands curl into eager fists at her sides. “Oh, yeah, I could do that. I’m really good at eating dinner.” Her jaw drops, and she claps both hands over her mouth. “Oh my gosh. I’m really good at eating dinner . Did I just say that out loud? I did, didn’t I?”
“You did,” I confirm, panic easing its grip on my throat. “But it was no worse than earlier today when I said I liked eating you and then pointed at your crotch.” I take her hands in mine, my thumb moving over the chipped purple polish on her fingernails. “So…dinner? Wednesday?”
Rosie nods eagerly, then pauses. “But wait. Is it just a friend date? Or is it like…a dinner date? Like a date-date? Like two people having dinner, like a…”
“Date?”
“Yeah.”
“Yeah.” I grin. “It’s a date.”
“Okay. Cool. So cool.” Her head bobs. “I like that.”
“Good.” I bring her body into mine for one of those hugs I’ve been thinking about all week. She smells summery, like coconut, melon, and fresh laundry, and I sink into the way she feels against me, soft, warm, and just right. “Because I gotta tell ya, Rosie, the thoughts I’ve been having would get just a friend into an awful lot of trouble.”
By the time we’ve exchanged numbers and she’s disappearing inside, she’s still rocking a volcanic flush that paints her whole body, warm enough I can still feel it as I start back home.
Opening a new message thread, I type in Olivia, Cara, and Jennie’s names.
Me
I need your help. I met a girl.
Olivia
OMG! Adam!!! *heart eyes emoji* *happy tears emoji* *bride emoji* *groom emoji*
Jennie
My guy!!! *eggplant emoji* *peach emoji* *water droplets emoji*
I’ve got some toy recs if you two wanna get creative.
<link> This one’s my fav. I threaten to replace Garrett with it at least 2x/week.
Cara
Well, well, well. Look who’s come crawling to the masters for advice. You’ve come to the right place, young grasshopper.
Cara changed the group chat name to Journey to Pussy Palace.
Me
Care, what the fuck???
Cara: Sorry, babe *sad emoji* I tried “Adam’s Road to Hope: One Man’s Journey to Pussy Palace” but it was too long.
Jesus Christ. What the hell did I just get myself into?
CHAPTER 6
ADAM’S ROAD TO HOPE: ONE MAN’S JOURNEY TO PUSSY PALACE
ADAM
“Welcome, everyone, to the first official meeting of ‘Adam’s Road to Hope: One Man’s Journey to Pussy Palace.’ Don’t forget to pick up a gift basket and get your time cards punched on the way out. Sangria is in the fridge, snacks are on the table, and pizza will be here in thirty.” Cara slings one leg over the other, clasps her hands together under her chin, and smiles. “Class is now in session.”
“Cara, for fuck’s sake.” I bury my face behind one hand before throwing both arms out wide. “Can we stop calling it that?”
“Class? I guess, if you want to be picky.”
“No, not class. Journey to Pussy Pal…ugh, forget it.” I sink into the couch cushions, pinning my arms over my chest and toeing at the coffee table. “Don’t even know if I want a girlfriend if she’ll be anything like you,” I grumble.
“Oh, sweetie.” She pats my hand. “You couldn’t handle me.”
“And why is Hank here?” I gesture at our old friend. “No offense, Hank. I love you, but you just feel a bit out of place at this…this…”
“At Adam’s Road to Hope: One Man’s Journey to Pussy Palace,” Cara finishes for me. “Can you believe it, Hank? Adam thinks you’re too old to be here.”
“I didn’t say that! It’s just, you know…you’re eighty-six years old.”
He grins, stroking both Bear and Dublin’s heads from where they rest in his lap. Dublin used to be his guide dog, but when he moved into a nursing home a year ago, Dublin went to live with Carter and Olivia. Hank gets all the pup snuggles from these two when he’s around.
“I’ve been told I’m quite the ladies’ man, Mr. Lockwood, even in my old age. And something about sage wisdom, blah, blah, blah.” He waves his own words off. “Why you people continue to listen to the words that come out of my mouth is beyond me, but if you need help getting women—”
“I don’t need help getting—okay, I need a little help, but I really don’t think it’s—fine, I have no idea what I’m doing.” I snatch the bowl of All Dressed chips off the table, hugging it as I toss a handful in my mouth. “Gonna die a-wone n’ wif a se-wious case ub—” I swallow “—arthritis in my wrist.”