Take Two (Modern Love Story Shorts Book 1)

By: Daisy Prescott

Saturday night …

“I’ll take it if you want.”

“Only if you want to. No pressure from me.” Maggie looked down at the little blue pills still safely ensconced in their silvery packet.

“I could be up for it.”

“Pun intended?”

I smiled at her. “What’s the worst that can happen?” I ran my hand over her hair.

“A never-ending erection? A trip to the ER, and the embarrassment of having to tell a doctor what’s wrong with you?”

“If that happens, you have to promise never to breathe a word of it to anyone.”

“So you’re willing to risk all that for a roll in the hay?” Amusement colored her question.

“Sure, as long as no actual hay is involved.”

“Okay, bottoms up!” She handed me a blue tablet and the glass of water from my nightstand.

“Pun intended?” I knew my sly smile matched the devilish glint in my eyes.

Chapter One


Friday …

Cardboard boxes and plastic bins cluttered the downstairs of Gil’s house. I’d been spending more and more time here since the reunion  . Last weekend, we’d finally gone to the island and loaded two cars full of boxes, which contained more kitchen stuff than clothes. Or shoes. Luckily, Gil had bachelor cupboards and closets. I teased him about his limited collection of mismatched bowls, pint glasses and single cookie sheet, but I was delighted for all the extra space. His constant reminders that his house was now our house made me happy in a way I’d never imagined six months ago. My beloved stainless steel stand mixer sat on the counter next to his deluxe coffee/espresso machine.

“Why does anyone need so many glass jars?” he asked, emptying one of my boxes, glass clinking against glass.

“Why does anyone need so many pint glasses?” I gestured at the open cabinet.

“Beer, water, gin & tonics … iced tea.” He smiled. “Want me to go on?”

“You’ve covered four of the major beverage groups.”

“I have wine glasses, too.”

“It looks like you’ve done all your shopping in the gift shops of micro-breweries and wineries.”

“And that’s a bad thing?” His chuckle was low and settled deep under my skin.

“Not at all.” I set my Mason jars alongside his collection on the shelf.

“Are you smiling at the cupboard?” He stood behind me and wrapped his arms around my waist.

I tried and failed to temper my grin. “I am. I’m remembering the first time we shared a kitchen.” I wondered if we’d still dance to “Call Me Al” in this kitchen the way we had all those years ago.

“Listen Betty, college didn’t count.” Gil’s chest rumbled with his laughter against my back. He’d remembered too. “Plus, we had housemates.”

“We were friends.”

“Without benefits.” He swept my hair down my back.

“We were friends.”

“We were silly youth who thought we knew everything and had all the time in the world to let things unfold.” He kissed the top of my head.

“Silly, stupid girl.” I couldn’t argue with him. My smile returned thinking about this moment and this life, and how unexpected and right it felt to be here.

“It’s ridiculous how happy I am right now.” I pulled his hand to my lips and kissed the back.

“Happy enough for pie making?”

“Is this a euphemism or real pie, involving filling?”

His arms tightened around me and he dragged his scruff over the skin between the collar of my sweater and my jaw. I shivered. Oh, two could play at this game. I arched my back and rubbed my ass against his jeans.

“Filling could apply to either.” His fingers slid closer to my breasts. “I love your pie. What kind is up to you.”

“Filling? Really?”

“You said it first.”

My heart thumped quicker in my chest. After months of flirting on the phone, our not-so-dirty euphemisms still made me smile. They weren’t sexy, or really all that dirty, but they were goofy like us. “I’ll never get all these boxes unpacked.”

“Let’s chuck them all. We can live with pint glasses, jars and paper plates.” His hands traveled over the soft swell of my bra and he stepped impossibly closer. He lowered his voice. “I'd rather fill a box—”

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