Page 154 of The Holiday Clause

“I’m losing my virginity. Tonight.”

Jocelyn’s head popped back around the corner. “About-fucking-time. Let me see what I have in terms of champagne. Give me a sec.”

She disappeared again as bottles clanked from the bar. “So, who is it?”

Wren shut the front door. “What do you mean, who is it? It’s Greyson, of course.”

Jocelyn reappeared with a bottle of prosecco. “This is the best I can do for bubbles and stems.” She snickered, twisting off the cork. “Sounds like an idiom for tits and dicks.”

Wren followed her into the newly renovated kitchen, numb from face to chest. “I thought you’d be a little more shocked.”

“Shocked? Wren, honey, you’re thirty. The shock lies in the fact that you made it this far. It’s about fucking time you got that cherry smashed.”

She blew out a shaky breath, her body processing the strange anticipation in a thousand strange ways.

“My god, look at you. Relax! Fucking is fun.” The cork popped, and she filled two tall glasses.

Wren pulled out a leatherback stool and sat before her legs gave out.

Jocelyn lived too eccentrically to actually cook for herself, but when she got her last six-figure deal, she used a portion of it to design a state-of-the-art kitchen, which mostly functioned as Hideaway Harbor’s largest liquor cabinet.

“I knew you’d eventually break him.”

Wren frowned. “I didn’t break him.”

“Well, not you,per se. Lady Lovewatch has the whole town curious. Which brother will it be? Did you read what she wrote about my event?”

“I did.”

Jocelyn slid her a glass and lifted her own. “To your hymen.”

Wren rolled her eyes and sipped. “It’s a little jarring how much detail Lady Lovewatch was able to gather.”

“Hmm. Yeah. Weird.” Jocelyn took a long swallow and grinned. “But we all knew Greyson Hawthorne was a jealous man, and now look where you are.”

Wren needed to plan for the future, not dwell in the past. “I don’t have much time. I need your best advice, and I need it quick.” She guzzled the prosecco, hoping it might calm her nerves.

“My advice?” Jocelyn’s silk kimono sleeves gathered at her elbows as she dramatically fanned her face and flattered herself. “Well, I am an award-winning author of Norse cock. And the Hawthornes do have old Scandinavian roots.”

“Jocelyn, focus!”

“Right. Well, the first thing I can tell you to do is hydrate. A good battle always starts with a full flask.”

“Okay.” Wren nodded, drinking down her sparkling wine. “Got it, what else?”

She tapped her chin. “Make sure he gets you nice and wet. Otherwise, things can tear.”

“Tear?”

She waved away her concern. “I’m sure you’ll be fine. Greyson’s a real guy. I’m used to writing fictional men with baby arms between their legs.”

“Baby arms?” Wren wasn’t sure her friend’s visuals were helping to calm her nerves.

“Yeah, my readers like ‘em big and veiny.”

Wren’s eyes widened. “Greyson’s pretty big. Do you think it’s going to hurt?”

“Even if it doesn’t, act like it does. Men like to think they’re giants. I’d definitely throw out someoohsandahhsto play it up right.”