MADIGAN SAT AT her dining room table Thursday evening, putting the final touches on the digital sketch of a card she was working on, and sat back to see how it looked. SORRY YOUR WIFE WAS BITCHY was scrawled across the front of the card in black. Inside, AT LEAST SHE LOVES YOUR PENIS was written in red with a heart around it. XO, YOUR WIFE was scribbled beneath it in black.

Laughing softly, she printed it out and set it aside with the other new ideas she’d come up with, including sketches for the expansion into wearable merchandise. They were all sexual, which made sense, considering her mind hadn’t climbed out of the gutter since Tuesday night with Tobias. She was still exquisitely sore in places that made it impossible not to think about him. She’d allowed herself to replay their dirty deeds so many times, all it took was the mere thought of his name and she shuddered with delicious memories of them both taking and giving and the vixen he had sparked in her.

She hadn’t left until nearly two in the morning. She’d been a little hurt when he hadn’t asked for her phone number, and that had pissed her off because she didn’t want to care. But then he’d surprised her by following her home to make sure she arrived safely, and that had made her swoon. He’d climbed off his bike, and she’d asked him if he followed all of his hookups home. Only the ones I want to fuck again, he’d said in the same gruff voice that had turned her inside out all night. That had made her wonder if she was just one of many, but he’d hauled her into a toe-curling kiss, obliterating her ability to think about anything other than how much she didn’t want that kiss to end. They’d finally exchanged numbers, and she’d spent yesterday on cloud nine, reveling in the aftermath of their electrically charged connection.

But he hadn’t texted, and today she’d been obsessively checking her phone, only to be disappointed. That was a sucky feeling and a good reminder that it was only a hookup, and she needed to keep her head on straight and focus on work.

That didn’t stop her heart from racing half an hour later when her phone vibrated with a text. She grabbed it, hoping it was him, and Marly’s name flashed on the screen. Feeling foolish, she silently chided herself and read her message. Any word from Sir Broodiness?

Madigan thumbed out, Crickets. WHY do people do this to themselves? It’s torture.

Marly’s response rolled in seconds later. You’ve had hookups before. You know how it works.