Best Laid Plans

I scurry through the bustling shop on a Sunday afternoon, adding a few last-minute additions to the travel shelves and helping a pair of lovely ladies find just the right book on raising an adopted baby.

“This one looks perfect,” says the gal with the long braid slinking down her back as she clutches the book to her chest.

“You’ll love it. I’ve sent many soon-to-be adoptive parents home with it,” I tell them.

The other woman drapes an arm around her and squeezes, then meets my gaze. “Thanks for your time.”

“No problem.”

This is why I love what I do. Books aren’t simply a door to another world. They truly help people. They are wonderful treasures to guide individuals, couples, and families through new life situations, and they’re also the best form of travel I’ve ever known. Because I read, I’ve visited India, I’ve knelt at the feet of kings, I’ve battled dragons, and I’ve learned new words and worlds.

Books led me to the world I’m visiting later today. They’ve made me curious about the landscape of sex, and the cities on the map of pleasure I’ve completely missed. I want to embark on uncharted trails, discover a new country, a place where I’m free to explore. Good thing I have a Sherpa.

As the ladies leave the store, I grab my bag and make my way to the door then remember an order that’s due tomorrow. “Madeline,” I call out. “We’re expecting the new coffee-table books tomorrow morning. Did you—?”

She points to the door like a drill sergeant, searing me with her eyes. “It’s your day off, boss lady. Go.”

“But . . .”

She shakes her head. “I already checked the tracking order, and it’s all set. On its way.”

I breathe a big sigh of relief. “Stop being so damn good at your job.”

She nods solemnly. “I’ll try to steal from the till and rip the pages out of books later. Now go, or I will spread a rumor that you’ve never read The Time Traveler’s Wife and you named the cats Henry and Clare simply from the movie.”

“Lies. Vicious lies.” I make my way to the door, crossing the threshold, then I pop my head back in. “One more thing.”

Madeline crosses her arms and shakes her head. “Goodbye, Arden. It’s called Sunday.”

I heed her advice and step outside, bumping into a woman from the book club—Sara, the patron saint of car blow jobs and spankings.

“Hi, Sara.”

Her laugh lines crinkle when she smiles. “Arden, I was hoping to find you. I need to know what kind of wine goes with the new Jandy Nelson book. “

“Her writing is sublime, isn’t it?”

Sara brings her hands to her chest. “It is absolutely incandescent.”

“It’s like she has access to another dictionary, to a whole new palette of words and colors. Everything is vibrant, and that means you need a sauvignon blanc when you read Jandy Nelson. That wine is bursting with vibrant, fresh flavors.”

Sara’s eyes sparkle. “That sounds perfect. I’m going to spend the afternoon getting lost in a good book with a delicious wine. You’re a wine and book matchmaker.”

I smile and say goodbye as Sara heads into the store. Madeline can handle the rest of Sara’s reading needs. After all, both of these ladies know how to speak for themselves. Madeline talked herself into a weekend job in my store and has refused to leave ever since, going from strength to strength to become the right-hand woman I now can’t be without, adding more responsibility every month. And Sara? Well, Sara craves giving blow jobs on deserted roads and isn’t afraid to ask for it but also enjoys her best life reading award-winning literature, drinking fine vintages, and spending her time with an amazing group of friends.

People are so much more than we see on the surface. David only saw me as a nice, vanilla, bookish girl. But beneath the cover, there’s more to me, and I want to know what’s written on all my pages.

As I walk down the block, I check out my reflection in the window of a black BMW. A peach tank top, a black lacy skirt, and cute sandals. Looks like date attire. I talk sternly back to my reflection. “It’s only an outing. You’ve been on a million of them with Gabe.”

Yet it’s a little different this time, and different isn’t a bad thing, I’m realizing. I like the little bubbles of anticipation that float around inside me. I like the heady feeling under my skin. I enjoy that I’m going to learn something new.

As I turn onto my block, Gabe is pulling up, cutting the engine on his truck. He strides up to me on the sidewalk, that easy grin on his face, the sun glinting off his aviator shades. He takes them off, and I’m speechless for a moment.

Because I know new things about my good friend.

Gabe thinks I should be kissed into blissful oblivion.

So do I.

Gabe likes dirty talk.

I think I might too.

I’ve been talking dirty in my head for longer than I think I knew. I’ve been saying naughty words to myself when I’m alone and imagining the kind of man who’d want to explore my body the way I want to be discovered.

Gabe believes a striptease would be mighty hot.

I feel hot, so damn hot.

My skin heats, and a flush crawls up my chest.

I tell myself it’s from the summer day.

But that’s a lie. Suddenly, I’m thinking about Gabe in a whole new way.

A way I shouldn’t allow.





20





Arden





Keep it light, keep it friendly.

“Hey there, Coach.”

He lifts an eyebrow. “Coach. I like it. Are you ready for a shopping spree, my new sex athlete? Sex-thlete.”

“Do I need my platinum card, Coach?”

“Depends how many orgasms you want.”

“Hmmm. Preferably multiple.” Damn, it is fun to talk about sex so freely with a guy.

“That’s definitely the best kind.” He heads to the passenger door, and I follow. “Let’s find a dolphin for your clitorisaurus.”

A laugh bursts from my throat. “Did you really just say what I think you said?”

He swivels around, wearing a stoic expression. “It’s the scientific term.”

“Then I would presume a cock ring would be used on your cock-o-rex?”

I mentally high-five myself for saying cock so easily. It’s like the word has been set free after saying it out loud last night for one of the first times in my life.