A New Highland Game

Shade. I wanted shade. This temperature wilted me.

“Anabelle, you need to make some blueberry cobbler to take to work,” said Aunt Bessie.

“Auntie, they expect my stellar work ethic for journalism, not my food-making prowess.” My cousin, Justine, rolled her eyes at me.

Family reunions in the sweltering summer heat, even in the mountains, suck. Yet, here I was roasting, positioned at a picnic table sandwiched between Great Aunt Bessie, with her upper lip covered in moisture, and my distant cousin Anabelle, who droned on about her work at the local newspaper.

I glared at Justine, who had pleaded with me to come with her. Beads of sweat trickled down my neck, forming a path between my breasts. If only they were signs of arousal and a talented tongue could lick them off me.

Justine, determined not to go it alone, had dug into the guilt vault throwing me a reminder of my last trip request of her, the double-date weekend debacle. For added torture, she dangled the promise of introducing me to a hot guy.

I eyed an errant laminated menu at the end of the picnic table and I reached over a disapproving Annabelle to snatch it up. My make-shift fan made me hotter when I noticed the sexy man on the cover. I pulled the fabric from my chest and fanned, but all I could feel was a tongue proving itself useful.

And now, with the food and socializing nearly over and Justine’s mission accomplished, I...