Oh my goodness Max Monroe brought back the steam in The Bet. They didn't slouch on the laughs either. Though most of them came from the hands of Lex and the interactions with the Winslow family, and not so much when the main characters were together. But I digress...
I liked Sophie. She was independent and kind. She knew what she wanted in her career and went after it full throttle. And while she was open to a relationship, she hadn't met anyone who checked all of her boxes. Until the night she met Jude. Their first encounter had all the elements of awkward and hot written all over it. Never mind they were both pretending to be someone they weren't. But that spark was there for sure.
Too bad Jude was a self proclaimed eternal bachelor and Sophie didn't want to play games. But when fate threw her hand in the mix and put them in each other's orbit again, it was Sophie who threw her caution to the wind. For a while anyway. Until those pesky things like feelings creeped in. She knew Jude had them too. It was obvious with his actions, he just needed some time for his head and heart to get on the same page.
I loved watching these two push one another's boundaries of what they thought they wanted. Jude brought some lightness to Sophie's order and she gave him a hope for something he never thought he could have. From start to finish these two were sexy and playful and just fun to read. And that ending left me with the biggest, sappy smile on my face.
Tell me…is it ever possible to recover from the shame of having orgasmed in public--discreetly, I think—all because of the stupid exotic dancer I hired for my sister?
Because, if not, I won’t bother sharing this with my therapist when we have our next session.
“Oh my God!” Belle yells from the stall, her feet teetering on my heels as she tries to squat and hover over the toilet. I swear, if she pees on my one and only pair of Jimmy Choos, I will hex her so hard. “Did you freaking see that guy? He bent you over backward and planted a baby in your womb through your dress, I swear to Jesus.”
“Uh, yeah. I saw,” I comment on the absurdly obvious. But truthfully, I didn’t just see anything. I felt his heat and his heart thrumming in his chest and smelled the undeniably intoxicating subtlety of his cologne. I felt the stretch in my muscles as he manipulated my body left and right and sideways and upside down, all while somehow managing to make the ridiculousness of a male stripper seem sexy.
The only time I could truly say I saw, I suppose, was during the out-of-body experience I had while he straddled my body in the sixty-nine position and straight up sent me into purgatory. There I was, just hovering by the ceiling of the room like Mary fucking Poppins and the kids when they go to have tea with the loopy guy, wondering if that was really my face under his superior crotch or if it was all just a mirage.
And then I had to go and fucking orgasm, like a teenage boy in the middle of a wet dream.
I shake my head to clear it again, thanking my lucky stars that, in this situation, I was at least afforded the luxury of being a woman. No boner. No jizz-filled underwear. Just a hard twist of arousal and a pair of damp panties.
“I swear he tossed you around like a rag doll!”
“Yes, Sophie,” I say, emphasizing my name instead of hers just in case any other drunken members of our group found their way in here and into another stall while I was busy with my emotional breakdown. “I’m well aware of everything Jude, the Magic Dancer was, thank you very much.”
She flushes the toilet and swings the stall door back toward herself, stumbling out into the open area and laughing hysterically at my revamp of Puff, the Magic Dragon, one of our favorite songs as kids before cynics ruined it.
I’m glad she’s having a good time, but holy hell. I’m still shaking. And once I’m certain none of the gals from our group are in the bathroom with us, I give her the cold, hard reality.
“You owe me so freaking much, it’s ridiculous.” Pretending to be the bride at my sister’s bachelorette party when I’m not even dating anyone would surely be something Dr. Winters would see as a “setback.”
“I know I owe you, I really do, but I would have died, okay? You know I would have died. And that would really complicate your use of my Costco membership, wouldn’t it?”
I snort. “Fine. But can we switch back now? Don’t you want to enjoy the rest of the evening as the bride-to-be?”
Belle shakes her head almost violently and stands at the sink to wash her hands. She waves them obnoxiously in front of the automatic sensor several times but still never manages to turn the faucet on. I lean forward and wave my hand in front of hers, bringing it to life.
For some reason, she always struggles with that.
“No way. I’ve had a great time the whole night tonight, but I didn’t realize how much better it is when no one is paying attention to me! Maid of honor is where it’s at, and I can’t go back now that I know how good it is here.”
“Are you serious?” I snap.
“Please,” she begs, pretending to pout. “I know it’s not ideal for you, but pretty, pretty please with a cherry on top, do this for me? I’ll bake you however many cookies and cupcakes and cakes you want for the next six months.”
My sister is the baked goods goddess, and she knows I can’t resist that kind of offer.
“Fine,” I grind out. “But if I were you, I’d invest in stock for flour and butter and sugar and shit because I’m going to run your ass like a factory worker.”
“Whatever you want. John’s really good with investments, so I’ll make him figure it out.”
I laugh at her drunken seriousness—it’s too hard not to—and finally pull her into a hug so I can whisper directly into her ear. “I love you, Bells. But I also fucking hate you.”
She nods. “It’s the Sage sister way.”
“Well, two out of three,” I correct, knowing that Katelynn is the least drama-associated sister of the three of us. At five years our senior, she was always more of a “Disciplinary Board” than a defendant when it came to Sage sister arguments.
“That’s true,” Belle agrees. “I’m seriously surprised at how drunk Kate’s gotten tonight. It’s a real mom’s-night-out kind of vibe.”
I roll my eyes. “Like you should talk. You’re drunker than she is.”
“Yeah, but it’s my bachelorette,” she asserts.
Immediately, I shake my head with a fake smile. “Uh-uh. Not anymore, it’s not. Thanks to you, the glory of tonight seems to be mine.”
About Max Monroe
A duo of romance authors team up under the New York Times and USA Today Bestselling pseudonym Max Monroe to bring you sexy, laugh-out-loud reads.
Max Monroe is the New York Times and USA Today Bestselling author of more than ten contemporary romance titles. Favorite writing partners and long time friends, Max and Monroe strive to live and write all the fun, sexy swoon so often missing from their Facebook newsfeed. Sarcastic by nature, their two writing souls feel like they’ve found their other half. This is their most favorite adventure thus far.