Page 44 of (My Accidental) Killer Summer

I let out a noise that’s part sigh, part strangled choke.

SANDY: I refuse to believe that man is a real person. This is Photoshopped. Has to be.

MOLLY: Girl, you married that and let him go??

Amy snorts. “Do they not realize that’s Noah? Or are they just enjoying torturing you?”

“Both.”

JEN: Those shorts are… not leaving much to the imagination.

AMY: Thank you! I can basically see his… well, everything.

“See?” I mutter. “At least someone said something about the shorts.”

“They can’t be ignored,” Amy says.

MOLLY: I don’t hear you complaining, Elle.

SANDY: Look, I’m just saying—if we ever need a community morale booster, we slap this on a calendar. Mr. December, coming in hot.

JEN: He was always attractive, but this? This is… next level.

AMY: That’s cause he was never around to flaunt it.

ELLE: Thank you, Amy.

SANDY: Elle, how are you even functioning right now? If my ex looked like that, I’d still be married.

MOLLY: Preach.

ELLE: He has shin splints, snores like a freight train, and tells terrible dad jokes.

JEN: Yeah but imagine him telling one shirtless.

MOLLY: With those forearms. And that smirk.

I groan. “This is harassment.”

Amy grins. “Nope. This is entertainment.”

And yet, I stare at the picture way longer than I should.

He’s not even doing anything, and I can feel the tension buzzing under my skin, building pressure like it wants to explode. This is a problem. I don’t have time to be flustered by muscles and smirks and forearms that could write poetry but also strangle a man.

I need to stay focused. If I can do that long enough to devise a Doug disposal plan, avoid any continued group chat horniness, and work up the nerve to try my hand at dismemberment before the kids are out of school, I deserve a cookie.

Or a martini.

Or Noah’s arms around me again?—

His cock inside me.

Nope.

NOPE.

Back to plastic sheeting and alternates to massacring dead guys.