Chapter Twenty-One
“This is our wedding night,” on-screen Lemon says coyly, her speech slurred. She then darts a glance at the giant bed.
Slut.
On-screen Art walks up to her. “It sure is.”
Lemon gets on her tiptoes, licks his earlobe, and very loudly whispers, “Someone should lose their virginity.”
Art’s nostrils flare. “Should they?”
“Emphatically.” Lemon’s gaze shifts to her crotch. “To that end, are you ready to eat… crème brûlée?”
I, the semi-sober Lemon watching, feel myself turning into an orange. At my side, Art’s gaze is glued to the screen, his lips slightly parted.
On-screen Art looks at Lemon’s Manolo Blahniks, then drags his gaze up until his eyes lock with Lemon’s. “Who knew my kislik was so traditional?”
“So traditional.” Breaking eye contact, Lemon leaps for the des
