In Skates Trouble
chicago Rebels, Book 0.5
A USA TODAY BESTSELLER
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Up until about ten minutes ago, Ford Callaghan would never have dreamed of eavesdropping on a private conversation. True, his grandmother was known to leave a room telling people to argue loudly so she didn’t have to strain herself, but she was from the trashier side of the family, and Ford’s mom had raised him better than that. However, all bets were off when the conversation was about oral sex.
Or, more particularly, how the entire male species knew jack about it.
Only when he rolled his shoulders and discovered he was so flat against the back of the balcony sofa he could’ve melted into it did he realize that maybe he had more of Granny Tate in him after all. Something else struck him too: he had an opportunity not usually afforded to men. Didn’t he owe it to his tribe to learn where every man had supposedly been going wrong?
“He called himself a cunning linguist,” one of the women said, her voice carrying clearly from the adjoining hotel room balcony. “With a straight face.”
Her balcony mates—two of ’em—let loose with sympathy chuckles.
“At least he knew the terminology. When I suggested the stockbroker take a visit downtown, he looked at me like I was speaking a foreign language.”
“So not cunnilingual, then?”
“Barely monolingual.” There was something familiar about this woman’s voice. Girlish and musical, like Marilyn Monroe. “What about you, Addy?”
Ford perked up at the mention of that name. Addy. For the last ten minutes, hers was the voice of the three women that pleasurably twisted his insides. Quieter than the others, she spoke with a smoky rasp. He didn’t recognize it like he did Marilyn’s, but something within him sensed an affinity.
“My ex would need a GPS to find a clit. And knowing him, he’d argue that the directions were all wrong anyway because they were given in a woman’s voice.”
Their laughter covered Ford’s own low chuckle of appreciation.