Shopping for a Billionaire 2
“Okay…yes.” Declan. The feel of his jaw against my cheekbone. The way our bodies touched and I could inhale his essence. The push of his hips into mine as our skin tingled with anticipation. I just…
    “Did he accept it?” Mom asks. Her words say one thing, but her pleading eyes say, Farmington Country Club wedding . PoshTots. Beacon Hill in-law apartment.  
    “He didn’t think she was worth one iota of attention,” I say, distracted by my own pleasant tactile memories, memories quickly fading away as Mom’s question makes me remember the rest of the night. Steve had huffed off, but given me a gesture, using his hand to create an old telephone, held it to his ear, and he’d mouthed, Call me .  
    Bzzzz . We all jump. My phone.  
    “Jesus—that thing has been buzzing all morning,” Amy groans. It’s about an inch away from falling off my nightstand.
    I come out from under my bed fort and grab my coffee mug, wiggling in the air between me and Amy. She laughs and grabs it. She really is my new best friend. Amanda can suck it. Whoever brings me coffee gets my loyalty on this fine, post-Declan morning where I am bombarded by meddling people who know more about Jessica Coffin and moisturizer cream performance on veiny hands than they do about the new healthcare law or campaign finance reform.
    Twenty-four new text messages. TWENTY-FOUR. Whoa. I am never that popular. Who did I blow last night?

Chapter Two
    I cringe. Oh, God. What if I really did…?
     
    Fifteen text messages are from Steve:
     
    How long have you been dating him?
    Was this a one-night stand?
    Do you miss me?
    I miss you.
    I miss Chuckles. How is he?
    Things ended badly and I think we need to talk.
    Jessica was joking about that bank account thing.
    I’m not into Jessica at all.
    Are you exclusive with him?
    How are Marie and Jason? Jason still golf on Saturday mornings?
    I forgive you.
    I shouldn’t have ended things like that.
    I’ve changed.
    You haven’t changed a bit. And I like that about you.
    Please call me.
     
    Seven text messages were from Mom:
     
    Don’t forget condoms.
    But if you do, there are worse things than getting knocked up by a billionaire. Think of the child support payments.
    Your father’s having bad gas. Don’t marry a man with an irritable bowel.
    But a billionaire with an irritable bowel is an exception.
    Does Declan have a brother for Amy?
    If you get to fly in a helicopter, have sex in it. Mile-High Club. Whee!
    I am on my third Lime Rickey and your father says I need to stop thinking about billionaire grandchildren.
     
    One is from Amanda:
     
    Stop thinking about Steve.
     
    One is from Declan:
     
    I’m bringing “both” to your place on Friday. Six o’clock. See you then.
     
    My mind scrambles to remember the day. Tuesday. It’s Tuesday. He attaches a picture of strawberries the size of my fist, dipped in chocolate. Dark and milk. But not white, which is a sign from the universe that he is The One, because white chocolate is the jackalope of chocolate.
    I read all of these aloud to my pity groupies, who suddenly can’t pity poor Shannon with the sad little life. How do you respond to knowing I’m being pursued by Steve the Ladder Climber and Declan the Almost-Billionaire Hot Guy? They look confused.
    I want to kill all of them except Declan. When did Chuckles become the good person in my life?
    “You guys sent me these texts? Seriously?” I grouse.
    Amy rushes back to the bedroom but calls out behind her, “Not me!” The espresso machine begins hissing. So does Chuckles. He gives Mom and Amanda an evil eye that makes old Italian grandmas flinch.
    “I was worried about you!” Mom argues.
    “You’re getting a turkey neck, Mom,” I snap.
    She shrieks back, “Now you’re just being vindictive!” Chuckles lifts his palm like he’s giving me a high-five. If my mouth didn’t feel li k e wet sand and my head like a blow-up doll being inflated by a horny, newly released ex-con after serving

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