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Back Confess to Me Save as PDF
Chapters (87)
  1. Cover
  2. Also by Sharon Doering
  3. Title Page
  4. Dedication
  5. Prologue
  6. 1
  7. 2
  8. 3
  9. 4
  10. 5
  11. 6
  12. 7
  13. 8
  14. 9
  15. 10
  16. 11
  17. 12
  18. 13
  19. 14
  20. 15
  21. 16
  22. 17
  23. 18
  24. 19
  25. 20
  26. 21
  27. 22
  28. 23
  29. 24
  30. 25
  31. 26
  32. 27
  33. 28
  34. 29
  35. 30
  36. 31
  37. 32
  38. 33
  39. 34
  40. 35
  41. 36
  42. 37
  43. 38
  44. 39
  45. 40
  46. 41
  47. 42
  48. 43
  49. 44
  50. 45
  51. 46
  52. 47
  53. 48
  54. 49
  55. 50
  56. 51
  57. 52
  58. 53
  59. 54
  60. 55
  61. 56
  62. 57
  63. 58
  64. 59
  65. 60
  66. 61
  67. 62
  68. 63
  69. 64
  70. 65
  71. 66
  72. 67
  73. 68
  74. 69
  75. 70
  76. 71
  77. 72
  78. 73
  79. 74
  80. 75
  81. 76
  82. 77
  83. 78
  84. 79
  85. Author’s Note
  86. Acknowledgements
  87. About the Author

Sawyer’s cup was empty, so I stood to grab the milk. Trevor followed me. Swallowing his fortune cookie, holding his fortune in his hand, he pressed me against the refrigerator, inconspicuously pushing his pelvis against me. He locked eyes with me, and something peculiar and unreadable flashed behind his easy eyes—desperation or love—then it was gone. He smiled and leaned close. His breath tickling my neck, he whispered in my ear, “My fortune says I will soon sink my fingers into something warm and wet.”

I put my lips against his ear and whispered, teasing, “Maybe your fortune is to do last night’s dishes. I’ll fill the sink with warm soapy water.”

Pressing my lips to his neck, I caught a strange scent. Earthy. The odor of musty caves and tidal pools.

*  *  *

Hours later, pulling on my bedtime T-shirt, a threadbare Lollapalooza, one hole near my navel, one under my armpit, I said, sincerely, curiously, “Are you fucking Paulina?”

Trevor dropped his jaw and left it there.

“She’s so motherly and generous,” I said. “If you are, I’m not mad. I kind of wanted her to give me a blowjob.”

“Heather,” he said, appalled by my language. He was like this sometimes. He had this difficulty putting the mother-me, the wife-me, and the pre-marriage fucktress-me in the same body. Like an old rickety stick shift, he had a bumpy time with the transition. He had the same difficulty transitioning within himself. If we were fucking, and Emily happened to knock on the door, he had to stop. His penis went as limp as cooked asparagus.

“What about DeeDee?”

“Seriously? Heather. No. How could you even ask me that?”

“Like this, I’m asking. I hear she’s loose with rules.”

“What do you mean loose with the rules?”

“Oh, nothing.” I didn’t want to take away Judy’s cigarette stash under the toilet lid. She had negligible joy as is.

Plus, the cigarettes might speed along her death. Win-win.

Oh, come on. If she’s gonna bite it, what’s the difference between four more weeks or eight?

Trevor pushed me against the closet door. “Paulina,” he whispered while thrusting against me comically. “Can I stick my penis in your pierogi?”

Laughing, I pushed him hard and he fell back onto the bed, tripping on a shoe midway. He rocked back, grabbing his foot and hamming it up. “Ow. There’s so much crap everywhere.”