Текст книги "Sexy"

Автор книги: J. A. Huss

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Текущая страница: 7 (всего у книги 18 страниц)

I nod and he stands back up, taking me by the hand and pulling me with him. He reaches under my dress and pulls my pink panties down, throwing them over his shoulder as he twirls me around and pushes me up against the wall again. “Open your legs.”

I open them a few inches.

“Wider, Tiffy.”

I spread out, and the air rushes in, teasing my clit and making me throb again.

He takes off his shirt and I stare at those perfect abs in the gray dusk of early evening light while he throws that aside too. Then he kicks off his boots, drops his pants, and flings them away.

He stands there naked before me. His perfect, god-like body is all hills and valleys of taut muscle.

“Now you.”

I swallow hard and reach to the back of my dress. “The zipper.” It comes out as a hoarse whisper. But before I can explain that I need help, he reaches for my flirty skirt and drags it up my body, whipping it over my head.

“Fuck the zipper,” he says, reaching for the front clasp on my lacy pink bra. “Who’s got time for a zipper?”

Chapter Thirteen

 

She automatically crosses her arms, preventing me from taking off her bra. “Shy much?” I tease.

“A little.”

“You weren’t shy this morning.”

“I didn’t take my clothes off this morning.”

“Hmmm,” I say. “We’ll have to work on that then. Men like a little blushing, but they like confidence too. So how about we start with lesson number one.” I lean into her ear, thread my hands in her hair, and say, “You can practice with me.”

Her shoulder comes up to stop the tickle of breath against her skin. “If we’re going to have a professional relationship, then we shouldn’t mix business with pleasure.”

I can see her point. I can also see that it’s a copout. But whatever. She wants to rationalize this, and I’m OK with that. Because I’m horny. I want her. And she’s beautiful. “OK. But you’ve got to practice on someone. I can get one of the guys to come help you out. Mitch is a good decoy.”

She pulls back a little. “What do you mean? Decoy?”

“To practice, Tiffy. There’s so much more to this than licking your lips. You need real bedroom experience.”

“I have bedroom experience, Fletcher. I’m not some stupid college virgin.”

“That’s not what I’m saying. But Cole isn’t interested, right? I think we can both agree on that. So obviously you’re not his type. We need to make you his type. What kind of girls does he date?”

She scowls at me, still with those arms covering her perfect breasts. “I don’t know.”

“You’ve known him a while, surely you’ve seen him with women. Right?”

“He likes blondes, I guess.” She says it with an air of disappointment.

“I like brunettes myself. What else does he like?”

“They are tall. Taller than me.” Another frown.

“Hey,” I say, tipping her chin up. “Don’t do that. Don’t feel bad about who you are. My matchmaking works for two reasons. One, the women are confident. And two, the men understand that not everyone is blonde, Tiffy. Not everyone is tall. Not everyone who makes a match with me is even pretty. But all of them feel sexy on the inside. And that’s all it takes. So forget about looks. Tell me what he likes about them.”

She bites her lip and then sighs. “I think he likes their looks, Fletcher. And maybe status. I mean, one was a pro golfer. I know that. But another one sold him a yacht.”

Yacht. What kind of douche has a yacht? “Maybe it’s not golf and yachts that attract him, Tiffy, but the fact that they’re…” I want to say snobby bitches. But I realize Tiffy might fall into this category as well. “Refined and cultured.” Good recovery, Fletch. Besides, Tiffy’s not snobbish. Sure, I can tell she comes from money. She has a polished sophistication about her. Nice clothes, precise speech, and dignity. Mostly it’s the dignity. But she’s polite, resourceful, and hardworking too. “And you’re refined and cultured too. So this is an easy fit.”

“Can I put my clothes back on?”

I laugh. “Why? We’re just getting started.”

“But we’re not going to fuck again, right? I mean, that’s pleasure and this is business.”

“We don’t need to fuck to work. But if being naked makes you uncomfortable, then that’s something you might want to work on.”

“Why? Cole is not a stripper, Fletcher. He’s not going to morph into some sociopath BDSM guy and expect me to crawl on the floor and sit at his feet naked.”

I picture that and actually get hard. “Have you ever done that?”

“No.” She laughs. “No. I’m so not into experimenting. I like the normal stuff.” She takes a few steps towards her dress on the floor, but I grab her arm and make her stop. “I want to get dressed.”

“I want you naked.”

“I’m sure you do,” she quips with a tip of her chin. Superiority, that chin tip says.

“And that,” I say, taking her face in my hands and kissing her softly on the lips, “is sexy. Confidence is sexy, Tiff. So if you’ve got it, flaunt it.”

“Have I got it?” she asks, the insecurity spilling out again.

And fuck if that isn’t sexy as well. “In spades, princess. More than you even know. Cole is stupid for not noticing what’s right in front of his face. But maybe he’s just one of those workaholic types.”

“He is. He works like sixteen-hour days.”

“So where did he take these women he dated?”

“Um…” She thinks for a few moments. “Well, I think they mostly came to see him at lunch and they dined in his office.”

“So he likes lunchtime quickies.” What a dick.

“Quickies? He didn’t fuck them in his office, Fletcher.”

“Tiffy, please. If a man invites a woman to his office for lunch, he wants to fuck her on his desk.”

“That’s not true! My mom had lunch with my dad—Oh my God.” She waves a hand in front of her face. “Make it go away. I just pictured my mom and dad having sex on his desk.”

I laugh at her naiveté. “Did Cole take them out on any real dates? Maybe they were whores?”

“Whores! Jesus Christ, Fletcher. Cole Lancaster does not date whores.”

“Call girls, I mean. You know, high-class sluts? Cater to businessmen who are too busy to fuck?”

She screws up her face. “That is not a real thing.”

I throw my head back and laugh. “OK, let’s move on, pretending that Cole is not into whores or fucking on his desk. Where do you think he fucks the girls?”

“Do I have to think about him fucking other people?”

“No, I just need you to think up a place where he fucks any people. So we can prepare for it.”

“I think he fucks people at home in his bed, like everyone else.”

I place my hands on her shoulders and pull her close so I can whisper in her ear. “Like we did this morning?”

“That’s different.”

“How?”

“It was a heat-of-the-moment thing. If we were really dating we’d have gone to one of our places and had sex—”

“Against the wall over there?”

“In bed, you dumbass. Not everyone is a sexual deviant like you. Cole is not fucking whores on his desk at lunch.”

“OK,” I say, giving in. “You know him better than me, so I’m gonna take your word for that. Let’s move on. So when you get back to Cole’s place, after he takes you to lunch at his desk, what do you do? How will you seduce him?”

“Won’t he seduce me?”

“OK, Tiffy you’re losing me, babe. Do you want this guy or not?”

“I do,” she whines. “But why do I have to initiate things? I thought you could make him initiate things with me. Can’t you? And can I please put my dress back on?”

“So you want to take the passive approach? And why put the dress back on? I’ll just have to take it off again when I fuck you after this conversation.”

“What?” And then she bursts out laughing. But my even stare makes her stop abruptly. “We’re not fucking again.”

“We are. We’re naked. We’re talking about sex. And we’re horny. So we are most definitely fucking. I just wanted to get to know you better this time. So I know what to try next.”

“What do you mean?”

“I’m trying to figure you out, Tiffy. So I know how to make you feel good about yourself. And now that I know you like to be guided, well…” I kiss her mouth again. I hold her chin in my fingers as my tongue sweeps inside her, and when I pull away, ever so slowly, she sighs. “I’ll tell you how I like it so you know what to do back. I’ll do things without asking you, so you don’t have to make decisions. And I’ll make sure you have the best sex of your life every time you’re with me.”

“Do you fuck them all?” she spits as she pushes my chest back and sends me stumbling. “Is that what this matchmaking business is all about?” She grabs her dress off the floor and before I can even say another word, she’s got it pulled over her head and she’s hunting for her shoes.

“Tiffy? What the hell?”

“This is a mistake. You’re just trying to sleep with me. And I fell for it! Oh my God, you are such an asshole. I came in here to fire you—”

“And we made a deal, remember? I’m just trying to help you with your deal.”

“By fucking me? No.”

“OK,” I say, pulling my jeans back on and zipping them up. “OK. We don’t have to fuck. And the answer to that last question is no. I don’t fuck these girls. Not one of them.”

“So why me, Fletcher? Why me?”

“You picked me off the floor last night.”

“No, you chose me. How delusional are you?”

“You had your eye on me the whole time.”

“I’m your boss. I was there to discipline you. Of course I’m going to be watching you!”

“Well—” I’m speechless for a few seconds. And then the answer I need manifests. “Well, then I guess you’ve got moves, Miss Preston. Because your inner sexy was shining bright last night. I saw it from a mile away.”

“Player!” she squeals. “God, you are so full of bullshit moves, I cannot even believe it.”

“Tiffy,” I say, my hands up, palms out, like a hostage negotiator trying to reason with a terrorist. “We made a deal. I promise you, this is business. And if you need me to keep my hands to myself, then I will. Done deal. No fight about that from me. But we both need this, right? You want Cole and I want this job. So don’t walk away mad. Just meet me down in the lobby at noon tomorrow and we’ll start your first lesson.”

She huffs out a breath of air, shakes her head, turns away, turns back, and finally says, “OK. And you better make things right with Lisa and those girls you fucked over.”

A few seconds later she’s gone.

And I’m back to being the guy who fucks girls over just because they want me to fuck them.

Chapter Fourteen

 

I barely slept at all last night. I tossed and turned. Fretted and fussed. I am riddled with guilt. Why did I sleep with him? Why did I make this stupid deal? My poor father, if he finds out. And those girls. They will come back to haunt me, I’m sure of it. There is no way Fletcher Novak can make things right with them. No way.

I glance down at my watch. It’s ten past noon. He can’t even make things right with me, because he’s already fucking up.

Calm down, Tiffy.

I take a deep breath and search the lobby one more time. But nope, I don’t see him. So I grab my phone from my purse and dial Amy’s receptionist, Leslie.

“Landslide management,” she says in her professional voice.

“It’s Tiffy. Do you know where I might find Mr. Novak at this hour? He was supposed to meet me and he’s not picking up his phone.”

“Oh, yes, ma’am. He’s in rehearsals on Friday mornings. Until…” She hesitates. “Well, noon. Technically. But he’s missed a few from what I’ve heard. Maybe they’re staying late?”

“Where are rehearsals?”

“The North Tower basement. There’s a key pad to the studio at the end of the west hallway. Your ID should get you in.”

“Thanks,” I say with a cheerfulness I don’t feel.

I take a deep breath and head towards my tower and then take the elevator to the basement. There’s a security guard at the entrance to the gym, but he tips his hat at me and says, “Afternoon, Miss Preston,” as I pass by.

I find the west hallway, and it’s not difficult. I can hear the stripper music a mile away. Goddamn him. How dare he leave me waiting up there? I really need to put an end to this ridiculous deal.

I swipe my card and pull the door open as my anger builds.

And then I stop. Dead in my tracks.

Fletcher Novak is doing some sort of striptease to a girl tied to a pole in the middle of the room.

“Yeahhhhhhh,” Claudio yells. He’s bound to the next pole over.

“Claudio!” I yell over the music.

“Whooooooooo,” he screams again. His eyes are on that other guy. Presumably the gay one Claudio was referring to yesterday.

“Claudio!” I scream again, but the music cuts off halfway through my outburst, and it echoes in the silence.

Every head turns to me.

Six male strippers in various stages of undress. Claudio, who has an open mouth and wide eyes. He might even be blushing. And about fifteen girls, who I can only presume are groupies. Some of them have Landslide uniforms on.

“What the hell is going on here?”

“Tiffy,” Claudio says excitedly. “We’re stand-ins for the crowd for tomorrow night’s new act.” And then he does a not-so-subtle head tilt towards the stripper whose crotch is just inches from his face, and waggles his eyebrows.

“I’ll talk to you later.” I drag my gaze to Fletcher. “Why are you here when you’re supposed to be—”

“Tiffy,” he says, cutting me off. “Sorry, I got caught up in the heat of the moment and lost track of time.” He smiles sheepishly at me. “What time is it?”

“Twelve twenty-one,” I snap.

“OK.” And then he leans down to his captive’s neck and whispers something that makes her laugh.

I let out a long, aggravated sigh. “I’ll meet you—”

“No, no, no,” Fletcher says, jogging away from the girl tied to the pole in nothing but skimpy panties. “We’re done. I was just playing around with her. Come on, I gotta change and then we can go.”

He takes my hand and I don’t even bother trying to pull away, because he’s practically dragging me down a hallway.

“You can’t mention that I’m mentoring you, Tiff. It’s weird, ya know?”

Boy, do I ever. “About that—” And then I stop because he just ushered me into a men’s locker room. There are hot guys everywhere I look.

“Pay no attention to them, Tiff. I have a private dressing room back here.”

I blush my way past one, two, three, four, five, six naked men and one, two, three four half-naked men, and then let him swoop me behind a closed door.

Jesus. This job cannot be real.

Fletcher whistles and looks me up and down. “You look hot, princess. Like smoking.”

“Oh.” I blush again. I’m wearing tan slacks that hug my curvy hips, a pale pink sleeveless silk blouse with a little flutter of fabric near the neck, and some crystal-encrusted pink Louboutins that I wore to my cousin’s wedding in May. “Thanks.” I think I look pretty hot too. I thought about what Fletcher said. About becoming the girl Cole wants. But this is me. The me not in a suit, at least. And I don’t think Cole is that shallow. So I’m not going to change my ways to win him.

“I love it, babe. Fuck, yeah, you’re hot in that fancy shit.” He reaches into a closet and pulls out a garment bag. “But you said Cole was a yacht guy and dates golf pros. So we’re gonna have to… adapt a little.” He smiles as he thrusts the garment bag towards me.

“What’s this?”

“Your outfit for today’s practice lesson.”

“I’m not—”

“Not me, relax. We’re going to the golf course to hang out in the bar. Obviously, you will be alone and I’ll be watching from afar, otherwise I’d cramp your style. This is your first chance to try out your tips on a stranger.”

“But I only have the lips thing, Fletcher. And I had Cole interested in that yesterday.” Jesus Christ, do I hear myself? I came here to tell him it’s off.

“Relax,” he says, placing his sweaty hand on my cheek. It should repulse me. He’s sticky. And he smells.

But I like it. His whole body is glistening from his workout, if that’s what that was. His hair is damp and has been finger-combed back across the top of his head. I glance down at his package and—“Fletcher!”

“Sorry.” He laughs. “You just look fucking hot today, princess.”

“Don’t call me princess, that’s so stupid.”

He puts his hands up but he’s still grinning.

“And stop looking at me like that. I don’t want to change. I’m not going through with this. But you still have to make things right with those girls and I’ll let you keep your job.”

“Wait,” he says, removing his hand from my cheek. “You’re quitting on me? Why? You did good yesterday, Tiff. I just have one tip today, that’s all. So you put them all in motion with one stranger at the golf course bar, and then once he’s interested, you get up and leave. No funny business. He’s not gonna touch you or kiss you or anything. Because you are a hot commodity. You are too good for this world. You are an angel among mere mortals. A goddess. No one is worthy of your company.”

“I sound like a bitch. I know Cole won’t want me to be a stuck-up snob.”

“Not a snob. Just self-assured.” And then he shakes the bag at me. “Go on, get dressed in that. It’s not as sexy, but it’s far more comfortable.”

“What is it?” I ask, pulling the zipper on the bag to get a peek.

“Golf skort, polo shirt, and golf shoes.” Fletcher beams another smile as he grabs a towel and wipes his face with it.

I prefer him sweaty, I realize, once that sheen is gone.

“If Cole likes the jocks, then a jock you shall be. Now, do you play golf?”

“No,” I say, annoyed. “I can, but I hate golf. It’s stupid.”

“I agree. But today you will talk golf with a man in the course bar and you will like it. Cole likes it, so you like it.”

I sneer my lip. Is that really how this works? I have to pretend to be someone else to snag a man?

But I don’t say anything. Mostly because Fletcher just assumes I will do as I’m told, and he’s already walking away, calling out, “Gonna get a shower. Be done in five.” But also because I really do want to hook Cole.

I look around, find a corner where I can hide in case he comes back before I’m done, and start changing into Cole’s future wife.

Five minutes later I’m transformed, sitting on a wooden bench, braiding my hair when Fletcher comes out of the shower, dripping wet, and wearing nothing but a towel.

He drops his towel like I’m not even there, and turns away and opens a door where he’s got clothes hanging in a closet.

I watch the movement of his muscles. His ass. Those little cut lines that ride his hips. His back as he pushes clothes around on the rack. The hills and valleys of his arms.

“Like what you see?” he asks, still facing away from me.

“I’m not looking at you,” I say, reaching for my phone on the bench. “I’m checking voicemail.”

“I can see you staring, Tiffy, there’s a mirror in here.”

Oh.

“It’s OK. I like your body too. So next time you get naked in front of me, I’ll stare all I want and we’ll be even.”

“There won’t be a next time.”

“Right.” He starts pulling on a pair of tan trousers, neatly creased down the middle of his legs. He doesn’t button them, but instead turns back towards me and shrugs on a crisp, white, button-down shirt that he also leaves hanging open.

He’s got no boxer briefs on this time.

“Going commando?”

“I forgot them. But if you want to go up to my room with me, I’ll be happy to put some on.”

His room is a definite no. I need to stay the hell out of there. He’s just too hot to ignore. And if he makes another play for me, I’m not sure how strong I can be.

You want Cole, I remind myself. You’re doing this for Cole.

Right. I realize that. But Cole does not look like a Greek god just came to life before my eyes. And Fletcher Novak does.

He messes with the collar of his shirt, shrugging his arms around, trying to arrange the fabric over his muscles, and then he starts buttoning it from the bottom up. I stop focusing on his fingers and look up into his eyes. He’s smiling at me. “What?”

“Nothing,” he says, shaking his head a little. He stops buttoning and reaches for a necklace hanging on a hook inside the closet. Dog tags, I realize, as he slips the beaded chain over his neck and tucks it inside his shirt.

“Were you in the military?”

“What?” His smile drops, and then he looks down his shirt to the tags. “Oh. No. These aren’t mine. My gramps was a patriot. Left me one of his tags in the will.”

“Oh.” I’m not sure what to say to that. No mention of gramps in the Wikipedia entry at all.

“You look nice,” Fletcher says, slipping his sunglasses on his head and then rolling up his long white shirtsleeves. “I like the other outfit better, but no one cares what I like, so let’s go.”

We make our way back upstairs to the lobby and then Fletcher guides me out to the valet area with a hand on my upper arm. I feel a little like a prisoner, but his hand is warm and it’s touching my bare skin, so I don’t really mind it.

We stop alongside a large black limo and Fletcher waits for the driver to open the door before motioning me in. “Wow,” I say. “Mr. Moneybags. You always take a limo to the golf course?”

He raises his sunglasses and smiles. “It’s your car, Tiffy. I just told them it was for you.”

“Oh.” I giggle. “Well, you definitely get points for resourcefulness. So tell me, what exactly am I supposed to do at this bar?”

“Just initiate conversation. Play along, some small talk. And then use your tricks to make him see you as sexy.”

“You said you’d give me a new one.” I can’t wait to hear this.

“OK,” Fletcher says, turning his body towards me and leaning in a little. He smells like soap, but it’s manly soap. I inhale him in and then stare at his lips as he talks, getting a little lost in how lush they are. I picture him licking me on the roof. The feeling of his hair as it dragged along my inner thighs. The way his eyes looked when he glanced up between my legs.

“Got it?” Fletcher asks.

“What?”

“It’s easy, right? So now you have that to try too.”

Holy shit. I just missed the whole tip. I look out the window as we roll along the mountain road towards the golf course and wonder what it might’ve been. Well, if it’s anything like lick your lips, I think I can improvise.

“So when’s the next time Cole will be in town?”

“Oh. I don’t know. They need him in San Fran right now. So he might not come back.”

“Then I guess we’ll have to go to him, then.”

“Why?” I turn to look at him again and try not to notice the way his tongue presses against the back of his front teeth when he’s being playful.

Why is he being playful right now?

“You have to practice. If you really want him, that is.”

“I do. And that’s what we’re doing here today, right? Practice. And anyway, I don’t want you grading my performance with Cole. It’s weird.”

“You’re gonna have to sign a waiver for that, you know.”

“What?” I just blink at him.

“Satisfaction guaranteed was the promise, Tiffy. How can I guarantee you satisfaction if I’m not there to see how you perform?”

Did he just say perform?

“So when we get back to the hotel I’ll have you signing that if you don’t want to have a date with Cole under my eye.”

“God, this is so weird. How the hell did I let you talk me into this?”

“Oh, good, we’re here. OK, Tiff, just go in there, kid, and do your thing. You look around the bar, choose one guy sitting alone, and go right up and talk to him. Got it?”

“Wait, where are you gonna be?” Suddenly the thought of him watching me isn’t so bad. It’s better than walking into a strange place by myself with the intent of hitting on a stranger.

“I’m right behind you, princess. But we don’t want to appear to walk in together.”

“Right.” I take a deep breath. “Are you sure I need this? I mean—”

“Tiffy, you want Cole, right?”

“Right,” I say. It comes out a little weak.

“OK, so just hit it out of the park, babe. Little bit of lips, little bit of tongue, and then finish it up with the toe-leg combo.”

Toe-leg what? Holy fuck. I really did miss something when I was daydreaming in the car.

“Got it?” Fletcher is leaning into me, holding onto my biceps, like he’s some coach asking me to go win one for the team.

“OK, got it.” I just need to get out of this car before I realize everything I’ve done since I met Fletcher Novak is completely nuts.

The driver opens my door and I slip out into the bright summer sunshine. I shield my eyes and Fletcher calls out, “Over to the left, Tiffy. Go get him!”

I look around nervously to see if anyone is watching, and yeah. Like forty-seven bazillion people are in this parking lot looking at me right now. I cup a hand over my eyes to hide my face, and power-walk my way over to what looks like a clubhouse.

I slip through the door and thank God for the darkness inside. This is my kind of place. Lodge-y, and dark, and cool.

“Bar?” I ask a waiter at a podium.

“Just off to your left, madam.”

“Thank you,” I call out cheerfully, heading in that direction. I walk down a bustling hallway filled with happy people who like to hit little balls in the summer heat, and then enter the large open bar and restaurant.

“Do you have a reservation, ma’am?” the next waiter asks me.

“For the bar?”

“Oh, no. The bar is always open. Seat yourself.” He smiles and takes his attention to the couple behind me.

OK, Tiffy, I say, looking at the packed room. The sooner you do this, the sooner you can leave. I scan the room, looking for a lonely man who is not fifty, stuffing his face with crab, or gay—thank you, Claudio, for my exceptional gaydar. It’s saved me more than once.

But there is only one guy who qualifies. And he’s sitting at a table, not the bar. I walk slowly past all the filled barstools and find an empty one as close to hot target’s table as I can get.

And this is sorta hot. I mean, hey, if you have to practice flirting with someone, it might as well be him.

“Excuse me,” the man next to me says.

I turn in my seat and give him a look. He’s not bad either. Tall, fit, early thirties. He looks like a lawyer or something. “Yes?” I answer.

“I heard there was a clothing-optional beach here in Tahoe. Do you know where it is?”

Oh, boy. This guy is a loser. Who says that to a girl? “You can try the internet.” I smile sweetly. “Excuse me, I found my friend.”

His mouth opens to say something back, but I turn away, tossing my hair in the process, and walk over to my target.

That guy was OK, but this one. Holy fuck. He’s like Fletcher. A lot like Fletcher. A little older, maybe early thirties. He has well-defined muscles, his hair is a little unruly and he has those bright blue eyes. He’s got a little more scruff on his chin than Fletch, but wow. They are very similar. Similar enough to make me want him more than I should.

“Excuse me,” I say, stopping in front of his table. “I heard there’s a clothing-optional beach around here. Do you know where I can find it?”

He looks up from the newspaper he’s reading with a scowl. “Really?” But then he stops when he sees me, tilts his head, and laughs. “Huh, I was gonna lay into you for such a lame pickup line, but OK. I can take a minute to chat you up about a nude beach if you want.” He winks at me.

I let out a long breath. “Can I sit?”

“Sure. What’s your name, darling?”

God, he sorta sounds like Fletcher too. “Tiffany,” I say, taking a seat across from him. “But my friends call me Tiffy.”

“Yeah?” he says, putting a hand up to stop a waiter. “A drink for the lady? What will it be?”

“Um, how about a Scotch on the rocks?”

“Scotch it is,” he says. “Top shelf.” And then he winks at me. “I’m Walker, Tiffy. Nice to meet you.”

I fidget in my chair. “Nice to meet you as well.” Shit, now what? That was so much easier than I expected.

“What do you do? Here with your husband for a long weekend?”

“Oh, no.” I laugh. “Not married. Not yet anyway. I’m here… well, I work at the Landslide Hotel and Casino and I’m just here to relax today.”

“Got a tee time? Maybe I’ll join you?”

“Oh, no. All done with that. Just need a drink now. What do you do?”

“You played alone?” he asks, ignoring my question.

“No, um, I was on a date, but it didn’t go well. So I left him on the course and came in here to wind down before I have to ride back to the hotel with him.”

“My lucky day then.” He smiles big and lifts his drink, just as mine is delivered. “Cheers,” he says.

I clink his glass and take a long sip of alcohol. Shit, I’m nervous. Now what? The obvious stuff is out of the way. On to the tips, I guess. Tongue, bite lip, play with lip, and something called the toe-leg combo.

“Tiffy?”

“Yes?” I ask, coming back to the present.

“Daydreaming?” He laughs.

“What’d I miss?”

“What do you do at the hotel?”

“Oh, I, ah—” Shit. I can’t tell him I’m Tiffy Preston. This is not a great example of making good decisions. “I’m a dancer.”

What the fuck? How did that come out of my mouth?

“Dancer,” he says, his eyes lighting up. “What kind of dancer?”

“Well, err, you know, like a showgirl.”

“Wow,” he says, sipping his drink while giving me a coy look. “I’m gonna have to come see you perform.”

“You really should. Tomorrow night.” I laugh at that, knowing full well Fletcher’s show is on tomorrow night.

He lets out a chuckle that sounds a little bit like a growl. “It’s a date.”

“Shit, I was kidding.” I say, laughing.

And then he reaches up and scratches his scruffy chin. My eyes immediately dart to his fingers, and then his lips. Lips, Tiffy, I tell myself. Do the mouth thing.

I take another sip of my drink, letting the sticky liquid cling to my lips, and then my tongue darts out and sweeps a small drop into my mouth.

His eyes are fixated on me. So I improvise. Because hell, I’m on a roll here. He’s right where I want him. “So what are you doing here alone?”

“Stood up,” he says.

“What? No way. You? Who would stand you up?”

“You’d be surprised.” He grins, taking a sip of his beer. “So I figured I’d wait around and see if my luck changes, and sure enough, here you are.”

OK, Tiffy. Concentrate. Toe-leg combo. What the fuck can that mean? Why didn’t I listen to Fletch in the car? I run all the possibilities through my head and only come up with one thing. Footsie? Is that still a thing?

I have no idea. But it’s as good a move as any. So I slip my shoe off under the table, cross my legs, and start swinging them. I hit his leg after a few tries and look up to see him smiling at me.

“What are you doing?” he asks with an air of amusement.

“Sorry, I didn’t mean to bump your leg. So, what do you do?” I ask again.

“I’m… an investor.”

“Oh, nice. My father does that too. What do you invest in?”

“The usual. Stock, bonds.” He nods in the general direction of the bar. “And now golf courses.” He stares at me. Hard. And then I feel something touching my leg. His foot is bare too. And it’s rubbing up and down my calf in long, slow caresses. He has a look of amusement on his face and the whole thing makes me draw in some air with surprise. It’s almost like he’s using Fletcher’s moves against me.