Chapter 18
THE PERFECT SQUISH
REMY
I’m finishing up my podcast in a studio in the Mission District, reading a How We Met story about a couple who were reaching for the same avocado at the farmers’ market.
“And then, we debated how ripe it should be,” I say, recounting the tale a listener submitted to me of how she met her wife.
“And she insisted it should be almost squishy. I said ‘not quite squishy’ and we discussed the squishiness of avocados over the display at the farmers’ market for a good long time till I asked her out. ”
I pause and sigh happily into the mic. “Listeners, is there anything better than the perfect squish of an avocado? Wait. You don’t even need to answer because the only answer is yes.”
Then I return to my computer and read the rest of the tale the couple sent me.
“And now as I wrap up this week’s episode, I have the term of the week for you.
It’s…good growl, as in a good growl brand of chivalry.
It’s when a man—or hey, a woman can growl too, because I’m all for equal opportunity growling—makes that sexy, rumbling sound in their throat and goes all possessive for you.
” I shudder at the memory of Lake’s sounds.
“And let me tell you, once you hear it you don’t ever want to go back to a time without growls.
Until next time, don’t forget to send me your cutest meet-cutes to share on the air. ”
I hit end on the computer and save the recording.
I glance up at the window for the studio and wave at Skylar, my good friend who records her podcast here too.
She hooks me up at the end of her hour-long slot here and since my show’s a shortie, weighing in at less than ten minutes, I can just slide in for free.
That is the only way I can afford the studio.
I gather my computer and head out. In the hallway, Skylar’s holding her Doxie mix in her arms as she says, “For the record, perfect squish applies to butts too.”
“Dog butts?”
“And hockey butts,” she says, since her fiancé is a retired hockey player. “They should be hard enough to bounce a quarter off of and soft enough to squish in your hands.”
I can’t help but wonder if the squish of Lake’s ass is perfect.
“Duly noted,” I say as Simon shoots me the side-eye he’s famous for, but I scratch his chin anyway, then say goodbye to my redhead friend, telling her I’ll meet her in a couple of hours for pickleball.
I’ve always loved playing with my friends, but Elena reminded me when I saw her this morning to do the things I love still.
Spend some time dating yourself. That’ll help you move forward.
And that wasn’t the best opening either to tell her about my fake boyfriend.
Before I can see my friends though, I pop into my mom’s favorite coffee shop in the Marina, finding her already at a table, peering through her reading glasses at her phone, then tapping the screen. A brain game, I bet. She spots me and waves me over.
“Did you make it to the top of the diamond league today in your app?” I tease.
“Please. I own that spot in the leaderboard,” she says, then asks what I want to drink.
Nothing, honestly. But it’ll make her think I didn’t want to come to this impromptu review of the wedding plans if I say that, so I opt for a vanilla latte.
Once it arrives, she pins me with a more serious look.
“Let’s make sure we haven’t forgotten anything for Caroline’s big day.
Is there anything we might have missed?” She clicks on her phone again, opening a calendar app.
“I have a tracker from when I was planning weddings. We have to make sure she’s all set with the wedding favors she ordered.
Then we’ll want to confirm the spa knows exactly how many people are coming.
We want it all to come together without a hitch. ”
“Of course,” I say with a crisp nod, ready to do my part to make sure everything is just so.
An hour later, I’m more than ready to leave the shop and am gathering up my things when she flashes me a knowing smile. “So…the hockey player,” she says, in a tell me more tone.
Ah, of course she’ll still want to know why I haven’t said much. “What about him?”
“He’s quite taken with you. Sending you foxes and plants. That’s going to make such a good story someday.”
Seriously? Is she already planning my wedding? “Mom!”
“But it will, Remy.”
“We’re just dating,” I say, to try to call her off the scent.
“And you’re already planning wonderful dates,” she says, and something twists uncomfortably in my chest when she says that.
“That’s what I do,” I say, evenly. “Or at least what I’m trying to do.”
“And you’re so good at it.” The twinkle in her eyes vanishes though, and with some concern, she asks, “But are you sure you’re ready to date like this again? Is it the right time?”
It’s like whiplash. She literally just said our romance would make a good story, but now she wants to know if the time is right?
But that’s my mother. She wants everything to be done in a certain way, on a certain timetable.
Caroline’s the opposite. She marches through life like a vengeful goddess, taking no prisoners, and making no excuses for living the life she wants.
“Yes, Mom,” I say, holding my ground, wishing I were a little more like my sister.
* * *
Once I’m home, I put the encounter with my mom out of my mind. I edit the podcast file, then post it and get ready for the game with Mabel, Skylar, Trevyn, and also Clementine, who doesn’t play pickleball but likes to watch while she knits.
As I’m tugging on a pickleball dress, my phone pings. I grab it as I pull the skirt down, and a little thrill zings through me when I see the name.
Lake: There are a few things better than the perfect squish of an avocado.
He listened to my show? Already? He’s in Montreal, and game time is soon.
Did he listen to it during his pre-game workout?
I picture him on an exercise bike at the visitors’ weight room, or lifting weights, headphones on, my voice in his ear, him sweating.
I’m breathless, both from the news and from the images, and it’s ridiculous how much I want to hear what’s better than a perfect squish.
Remy: Do tell.
Lake: The quiet of the sun rising over the hills in the morning. A hard workout. And a catnap. Ideally with a cat.
Is Lake a secret poet? As I grab my racket, I dictate a reply.
Remy: I wish I were a napper. They sound delightful, but they make me more tired.
Lake: Then you’re not napping right.
Remy: There’s a right way to nap?
Lake: Yes. I can show you.
I run a hand through my hair. Do I want to take him up on that offer or is he teasing?
Remy: You’re actually offering nap lessons?
Lake: I am.
He’s so straightforward, it makes me feel wobbly in the best of ways. I’m so not used to a man like him. Blunt, confident, no bullshit.
Remy: Far be it from me to say no then.
I head to the door, feeling frothy. All from imagining…a nap? Who even am I? When did naps become flirty?
When Lake Axelrod told me he’d give me a lesson.
I picture him tugging me against him, spooning me, running his nose through my hair. The zing rushes down my chest, straight to my thighs where a sweet ache builds.
Lake: Nap lessons are a go when I return.
I’ll see him in a few more days, and I kind of can’t wait. But I also need to return to topic number one.
Remy: You listened to my podcast already?
Lake: It’s what a good boyfriend would do.
Jameson never did.
Remy: I’m not used to that.
Lake: Remy, you watch my hockey games. Of course I’m going to read, listen to, and watch what you do.
I’m warm everywhere, but I remind myself not to get caught up. This is all part of him showing me how a man should treat a woman. That’s all this is. It’s not about me per se. It’s some kind of, well, point. A point I like a lot. But a point, nonetheless.
Remy: Thank you. I appreciate it.
Lake: Besides, I was your inspo on the episode.
A blush creeps across my cheeks. He knows? I gulp then reply, coyly I hope.
Remy: Were you now?
Lake: You know I was. And now I know you like a good growl. If you’re a good girl, I’ll do it again for you.
I’m on fire, and I think I can be very, very good.
Remy: During a nap lesson?
Lake: Yes.
Maybe I’ll find out about the perfect squish of his ass then too.