Best Laid Plans

“I just want to figure out who that me is in the bedroom.”

I want to thank her for letting me help. Because, nudity or not, this is a fucking gift.

She twirls a strand of her blonde hair and inhales. “Would it make you uncomfortable if I stripped to my bra and panties?”

No, that would make me rock fucking hard.

I tap my chin as if seriously considering it. “No. I don’t believe that would make me uncomfortable at all,” I somehow say with a straight face—and a straight dick too. Pointing straight up at the fucking sky.

“Good.” She checks that item on her list then chuckles.

“What’s so funny?”

“I was just remembering this time a customer asked me for a recommendation for a wine to go with the new Reese Witherspoon book club pick. Then she asked me what drink went with JoJo Moyes. Finally, she said, all offhand and casual, ‘And what do you think goes with a striptease?’”

I laugh. “Very clever. She was trying to hide her true request. And what did you tell her?”

She raises a brow, her eyes twinkling. “A sparkling white, of course.”

The way she says it, a little flirty, a little playful, tells me Arden is definitely game for stripping and, it seems, game for this whole damn experience.

“What else is on that little treasure map?” I peer at the list and spot the next item. “Whoa. Sex in an elevator?”

I definitely don’t want to mime that.

“Sorry, that’s misleading. I wrote that down as something to do in the future. It could be kissing in an elevator. But look, you don’t actually have to give me a kiss. That’s totally unfair to ask. We can do that thing where maybe you push me against the wall, grab my wrists, and lift them over my head?” Her voice is a little husky, a little smoky, and that sound tells me she likes the idea more than a little.

That’s why “treasure map” is precisely right—this is the path to all her secret desires. Even if we’re not acting them out all the way, maybe this list will guide me to winning her all the way over.

I tap the paper. “If we do that thing where I push you against the wall, grab your wrists, and lift them above your head, you really should be kissed into blissful oblivion.”

I let my gaze linger on her, cataloging her reaction, the way a little murmur seems to escape her lips and how her eyes dance. “Blissful oblivion sounds nice.”

I swipe a strand of hair off her neck. “You should feel blissful oblivion.”

“I should?”

“Do you know what it feels like? To have sex so good you get lost in it?” My body vibrates with lust, and I clench my fists to remind myself not to touch her.

“I’m not sure.”

“I bet you’d look stunning in that state.”

Her lips part the slightest bit, like an invitation. “Would I?”

Our gazes lock. “You would.”

She casts her eyes down, kicks her toes in the water, and gazes downstream, perhaps clearing her thoughts too.

Needing to cool down, I cut the tension. “If I’m understanding this correctly, you’re enlisting me to do sex charades for a week?”

Her laughter fills the night air. “Sure, we’ll be mimes.”

“Sex mimes.” I shake my head in disbelief. “I just signed up to be a sex mime for seven days. Next thing I know, you’re going to tell me you require dry-humping services.”

Her eyes widen, flickering with excitement that’s dangerously attractive. “Is that something you want to do?”

Yes and no and yes. I don’t want to dry hump her. I want to fuck her for real. I want to tear her clothes off and get inside her. But dry humping isn’t child’s play. It can be crazy hot if it’s done right.

“It’s not my list, honey.” I scan the paper, pointing at Talk openly about sex. “I'd say we’re pretty much already checking off that one.”

She smiles. “It seems we are. Gold star?”

“Gold star and an A-plus.” I check out the final items, stopping at one in particular. “That’s bold.”

Mutual masturbation.

She answers at the speed of light. “Again, that’s one for me for later. This is only a wish list.”

Yeah, all my wishes.

I nudge her with my elbow, raise an eyebrow salaciously. “I would say that’s the very definition of a wish list.”

She laughs nervously, her pen slicing across the page, crossing it out. “I should cross that off.”

I wrap my hand around the pen and ask gently, “Have you ever?”

She shakes her head.

“Do you want to?”

She looks up at me. “Do I?”

“Do you?”

“Is it hot?”

“So fucking hot.”

Her voice is breathy. “It sounds hot.”

“Let me know if you change your mind.”

“I will.”

It requires a moment, maybe several, but I tear my gaze away from her, returning to the list. “Hmm. We’re missing something.”

“We are?”

“There’s an item that ought to be on here.” I tell her what it is.

She beams as if I’ve just revealed that I planted a tree that grows money and diamonds in her backyard. “Yes, that’s a great idea.”

She grabs her pen and adds it to the list. “In fact, do you want to do that tomorrow?”

“It’s a date.”

And in some ways, I suppose it is. And perhaps I’ve achieved what I set out to do tonight—snag a date with my favorite person. We’re taking a detour, but I’m game to see where this unexpected fork in the road leads.





17





Arden





It’s the crack of dawn.

The sun blasts brightly through the windows, and I trudge to the door to answer the knock, rubbing my eyes, still bleary with sleep.

Perri and Vanessa stand on my porch, freshly scrubbed, with matching ponytails. Morning witches.

Perri parks her hands on her hips and stares down her nose at me. “Hello? Did you forget it's Morning Pilates day?"

I groan. “Otherwise known as International Torture Day. Tell me again why Pilates exists?”

Vanessa stands next to her, head cocked, wagging her finger at me. She pokes my belly. “If you think Pilates is torture, you should try a Zumba class.”

I shudder. “Even the name is terrifying,”