Shopping for a Billionaire 2 Read Free Page B

lesbians,” Mom says.
    I crawl out of bed and sit up, my head trying to secede from the rest of my body. “I really don’t want to talk about this,” I moan.
    “I’ll bet if I checked your bedside drawer I’d find a stash,” Mom says. Her eyes flick over to my nightstand. I freeze.
    “Don’t you dare,” I hiss.
    “Moooooooom,” Amy calls out as she comes back in the room. “That’s another nine or ten therapy sessions you have to pay for if you go rifling around in Shannon’s drawer looking for rabbits and bullets.”
    “What do bunnies and guns have to do with sex toys?” Mom looks at Amy like she’s crazy.
    Amanda is now laughing so hard I think her intestines are twisting.
    “You can go with Amanda when she does seven ‘marital aids’ shops next week,” I add, using my fingers for quote marks around “marital aids.”
    “Why this?” Mom asks, mimicking me. “They are marital aids! You try sleeping with the same man for thirty-two years. It gets boring really fast. And there are only so many times you can play ‘The Pirate and the Maiden.’”  
    Amanda stops laughing abruptly.
    Mom pats her hand. “I would love to come with you. Do we have to act like lesbians, though? Because if I’m going to walk into a sex-toy store, I’d prefer to come out of there with something Jason would enjoy, too. He’s getting adventurous, but a double-headed dildo might make him run screaming from me.”
    My stomach gurgles in the ensuing silence, turning from a light groan of hunger to a disturbing warning of pending sickness. My sprint to the bathroom makes my head pound, but the cool tile of the floor soothes me, calming me instantly.
    That’s right. A mother’s hand on my clammy forehead should help, but instead she’s out there talking about my dad and sex toys while my bathroom floor gives me more comfort.
    A few minutes pass and I realize I still have a job. Work calls, and while I could probably text Greg and beg off for the day, I think getting back to work is better. I drag myself into the bedroom and Mom looks me up and down, opening her mouth to say something.
    Amy appears to shoo them all into the kitchen for good, the quiet click of my bedroom doorknob giving me assurance.
    I don’t want to talk about last night.
    I want to savor it. Not the Ice Queen part, or the Steve part, but the Declan part.
    Okay, a little of the Steve part, because how awesome is it to be found in the most exclusive restaurant in Boston and 1) not be on a mystery shop and choose to eat whatever I want 2) be there with one of Boston’s most eligible bachelors and wealthiest men and 3) be found by your smug ex-boyfriend who dumped you for not being able to fit in with people like…your date?
    Pretty damn awesome.
    The vortex of swirling emotion inside me isn’t just hangover nausea. It’s overwhelm. Emotional overwhelm with a heaping side of disbelief. Declan McCormick wants me. He kissed me. He texted me for a date in four days. With strawberries. And chocolate. And hopefully more kisses, less Steve, and definitely no Jessica.
    The only thing better than Steve finding me in Declan’s arms would have been having Jessica right next to him.
    A plume of jealousy fills the air like a skunk on a spraying spree. I feel like Wolverine and take a sip of coffee to calm myself. If metal claws slid out from under my knuckles right now, I wouldn’t be surprised. This kind of jealousy is completely new for me. Uncharted territory. A wash of emotion so tidal-wave-like in its enormity that it makes my chest tighten, my heart stop beating for a split second, and my vision blur a bit.
    Or maybe that’s still the hangover.
    Three deep breaths and two hot sips of coffee later and I can definitively state that nope—that’s jealousy.
    The memory of her hand on Declan’s arm fills me with red rage. It dissipates fast, but the lingering shock of being affected like this remains, hotter than my cup of joe and lingering like a bad