Page 7 of Peaks of Color

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“Take a page from my book for a little while. Test out different men and see what you might like. I love you and I love that we’re different, but why not try looking at men as temporary for a little while. I know you want the relationship, the husband, but why not pause that high-standard job description for a little while?”

“I’m listening.” Maybe she has a point here. If I don’t try something else, I’m going to keep ending up in the same place. Settling. And I’m so scared I will end up settling for someone that’s just barely enough. What she’s suggesting isn’t that crazy. Harden up my heart, soften the hard limits for the type of men I find suitable, and just go for it.

“I can see you having a real coming to goddess moment here, but I’m just making a suggestion. I’m not saying you need to adopt my mentality completely. I know full well that my approach is not a guide for how to find the love of your life, but it is a shake-up for how to find some of the best sex of your life.”

“I hear everything you're saying, but I don’t know how to do all of that.”

“Stop thinking about the future. Stop trying to check all the boxes that you want in a life partner and instead just feel it.” She takes a bite of her pastry, then points her finger at my lap and says, “Ev, you gotta let that kitty purr.”

She shimmies forward in her seat, readying to stand. “I have to open the shop for a few hours. I have some scheduled touch-ups to do this afternoon and a couple of customers coming in tonight. Sunday dinner tomorrow?”

I pout. “Want to come over for a glass of something after your appointments tonight?”

“I’m planning to have a few orgasms tonight. It’s been a bit, ya know?” She pops the last of her croissant into her mouth and brushes the flakey crumbs off her fingers. “That guy with the mosaic stained glass design I’ve been working on for months across his chest and down his back is looking to dip it farther into that nice V-cut and I feel like if he’s not interested in some bumpin’ and thumpin’ afterward, then I’m going to hit up my vibration station for a little relief.”

Sometimes I can’t respond fast enough to what comes out of her mouth, so I just laugh and shake my head. “Okay, fair enough. And yes, Sunday dinner is on.”

We get up together to head out, and as G’s pulling on her jacket, she whips her head back to me and points her finger in my direction.

“You didn’t say what we’re having, which means it’s barbeque, which also means dickhead is cooking.”

“Smoking, actually. He’s doing a smoked duck and maybe a brisket thing.”

“Of course he is. Fucking show-off. Who’s he bringing?”

“I have no idea. I don’t think anybody, but you know Henry, he’s so tight-lipped about who he’s seeing after he broke up with ‘the one who we shall not name’ that I have no clue.”

“I can’t stand the brooding oaf, obviously. But I still hate that redheaded wildebeest with such passion. I’m glad I don’t have to endure any more discussions about juice cleanses and why art should be hung and not worn. She was such a pretentious, condescending bitch. I don’t know what he saw in her.”

As we walk out of the shop, I can’t keep from laughing. “I’ll probably never know. I mean, she was beautiful. I’ll give her that, but it was only skin deep. She was awful, wasn’t she?”

G and Henry really can’t stand to be in the same space for too long. They were instant hate from the moment I brought G around.

We stop at the front of G’s tattoo shop, which is conveniently right next to Brews & Books. “Love you. I’ll see you tomorrow, then?”

She wraps her arms around me, never shying away from affection. “You will. And think about what I said. Sometimes you just need to flirt and fuck your way out of a funk. You never know, maybe you’ll find that what you’re looking for is something orsomeoneyou never would have tried.”

I wave at her over my shoulder and start the trek back to my house.

A short gondola ride, a heap of overthinking, and then ten more blocks, and I’m strolling into our driveway. Wearing my Jimmy Choos, an oversized Riggs Outdoor sweatshirt, and my black pencil skirt, with my hair piled high in a messy bun, I’m embodying theleftovers from last nightlook. My tired and hungover brain is ready for a shower and a nap. I can strategize about my lackluster love life later.


Tags: Victoria Wilder Romance