Total pages in book: 123
Estimated words: 119694 (not accurate)
Estimated Reading Time in minutes: 598(@200wpm)___ 479(@250wpm)___ 399(@300wpm)
Estimated words: 119694 (not accurate)
Estimated Reading Time in minutes: 598(@200wpm)___ 479(@250wpm)___ 399(@300wpm)
And she will learn that her place—always and forever—is by my side.
5
Jules
Book Club—or “The Curvy Girls Smut Club,” as Lucia, our resident smart-ass dubbed it—is held every Thursday night, usually at Yelena’s house, because she married well and when her husband died, he left her a big place in South Tampa. She has plenty of room for our rowdy group at her mini-mansion and we love to gather there. Frankly, I’m just happy to be in such a nice house—it’s a huge contrast to my own dinky apartment near USF.
Yelena opens the door before I can even ring the bell. She’s a gorgeous, statuesque blonde in her forties with full curves and sharp blue eyes. I think she might be from Ukraine, but her English is perfect and only slightly accented. One thing I love about her is that she knows her worth.
“Darling, hello. Let me take that from you.”
She grabs the two long loaves of Cuban bread as she ushers me into the foyer. There’s a crystal chandelier that probably cost more than my car shedding golden light over the white marble floor and antique fixtures.
“Thanks Yelli.” We give each other air kisses on the cheek and she smells the bread, inhaling deeply as her eyes flutter closed.
“Oh, they must have just baked this! It smells delicious.”
“Tasha asked me to get it,” I confess. “I was going to get a fruit tray.”
She makes a shooing gesture.
“Oh please—as if we want to eat fruit during Book Club! I want to sink my teeth into something fattening. ”
I can’t help laughing.
“True. I guess there’s a reason Lucia calls us ‘the Curvy Girls Smut Club.’”
“Speaking of which, did you finish the book?” Sophia bounces up to meet us on the way back to Yelena’s massive kitchen. She’s the baby of our group—only twenty-seven and it shows. With soft brown curls and big blue eyes, she’s absolutely adorable. Too bad she’s got an absolutely horrible boyfriend—not that I would tell her that. She’s not ready to hear it yet.
“Oh my God, did you read what they did in Chapter two? I mean, they barely got to know each other first!” she exclaims.
“Yeah, but someone slipped an aphrodisiac into her drink.” Hanna comes up as we enter the kitchen. “He had to help her or she was going to die.” She widens her green eyes dramatically and pushes a loose auburn curl out of her eyes.
“Oh, please, Hanna—you’re a hospice nurse,” Lucia says, stalking over. “You know perfectly well people don’t die of being horny.” She’s happily divorced and a few years older than me. I see she’s still wearing her work clothes—a black pencil skirt and a white silk blouse that looks good against her light brown skin. But she’s let down her hair so it flows over her shoulders in a jumble of sable waves.
“We know that, Lucia, but it’s romantic.” Marisol sighs deeply as she goes back to chopping cheese for a charcuterie platter sitting beside her on the marble-topped kitchen island.
Mari is half Korean with warm, golden skin and a waterfall of straight, shiny black hair that’s currently pulled back in a ponytail. She makes the most gorgeous jewelry to sell on Etsy, but unfortunately, it doesn’t pay enough to live on so she also has a side-gig at Smoothie King. I know from talking to her one-on-one that her parents are very disappointed in her choices. They wanted her to be a doctor like her brother.
“Hi, Jules. How’s it going?” Naomi walks in with a key lime pie covered in whipped cream in one hand. “Oh, I see you went to Publix too,” she says, nodding at the two long loaves of Cuban bread.
Naomi is originally from New York. She’s also a single mom since her husband left her about a year ago. Luckily for her, her kids are in their teens now and they can be left alone long enough for her to attend Book Club. She’s got curly black hair, dark blue eyes, and a motherly way about her I appreciate. She works as a secretary for the Head Curator of the Tampa Museum, but she doesn’t love her job—apparently her boss is an asshole and a creep.
I know how she feels.
“Yeah, we really need to coordinate better. I could have gotten a key lime pie while I was there,” I say, smiling and giving her air kisses.
“It’s okay—I had to do some shopping anyway. Publix has the best pie.” She smiles at me.
“Where’s Tasha?” I ask, looking around. I’ve been wanting to talk to her again since we hung up earlier.
“Here I am.” She sweeps in and gives me a big hug and a kiss. She’s wearing her hair natural I see—tight black curls that fall down her back. Her deep maroon lipstick looks great with her gorgeous brown skin tones and I’m sure it’s going to leave a mark on my cheek—not that I mind.