Best Laid Plans Page 7

“Sorry,” she says, backpedaling, sounding as contrite as she did the day I found her by the lake. “Did I offend you?”

  Please, offend me more. Offend me so much you ask me to take you home right now.

  “You’re going to have to try a lot harder to offend me.” I eye the couch. “Why don’t we sit down?”

  That way maybe it won’t be so obvious how much I like her plan. How much this is like a fevered, dirty dream, one I don’t want to wake up from.

  She sits, crossing one bare leg over the other, her polka-dot skirt riding higher to reveal more flesh. I nearly groan out loud—I’ll be able to get my hands on those legs soon. Run my palms up her thighs. Spread her open. Touch her where she wants it most. Taste her. Dear God, the prospect of kissing her all over is frying my brain.

  Maybe it’ll happen tonight? If she wants to conduct this sex symposium over the next week, we’d better get started stat.

  Yes, the situation south of the border is indeed escalating.

  I keep my eyes fixed on her face. “You want to do a little research in the bedroom?”

  She nods, clasping her hands in her lap. “Yes, but I promise it’ll be easy. Very manageable.”

  Yeah, having her naked is something I can absolutely manage easily.

  “Whatever you have in mind works for me.” I take my time, lift my chin, cautious of seeming too keen. “But why do you want to do research?”

  “Good question. The answer is that I’ve only ever had three serious boyfriends, and to be completely frank, none of them were terribly adventuresome.”

  “That’s not going to be a problem with me,” I say quickly. Maybe too quickly. But holy fuck. This is like a pot of gold falling into my fucking lap. Maybe I have a leprechaun looking over me.

  True, I planned to ask her on a date. To give us a go. But I can work with this brand-new twist. It’s a different route, but I bet this path can take us to the same destination.

  And hell, will it ever make the drive so much fucking fun.

  She breathes deeply, like she’s been waiting for a long time to exhale. “Good. I’m glad you don’t mind a little light practice.”

  Light? I was thinking more like hot and heavy, but if that’s the term Arden wants to use, who am I to quibble? “I don’t mind at all. Not one bit.”

  She smiles and leans back against the cushions. “God, I was so nervous.” She runs her hand through her pretty hair, and I follow her every move, thinking I’ll be getting my hands on that hair. She did mention hair-pulling, after all. Fortunately, that’s one of my favorite things to do. And Arden’s hair, all those lush blonde locks, is prime for yanking, tugging, and wrapping around my fist.

  “You don’t have to be nervous. I’m glad you asked me. Better me than anyone else.”

  She drops her hand to my leg, squeezing my thigh, sending a bolt of lust to every corner of my body. “Please. As if I would go to some other guy.”

  “Damn straight. I’m your man.” I tap my chest. “Now, let’s go back to that list. If memory serves, you want to know if you like being taken over the back of the couch, screwing in a pickup truck, making out in an elevator, and having your hair pulled so hard you see stars. Did I get that right?”

  Just saying all that out loud sets my skin on fire. Is it my lucky day or what?

  Twin spots of pink spread wider across her pretty cheeks as she nods. “I’d say you have that down pat. I thought we could probably tackle everything in a week, and maybe a little taste of each one would give me a better idea.”

  “Tasting is always a good idea,” I say, and my voice goes a little raspier, a little huskier.

  Obviously.

  Because hell. The prospect of getting my lips all over her is making my mouth water. I could spend all night tasting her everywhere. Exploring her body with my mouth. Yes, this is definitely my lucky day.

  “I wrote a list, so there are more items, but that’s the general idea. To sample each one.”

  Damn, do I ever want to see that list. Reading it will be like finding buried treasure, opening a chest full of glittering rubies, sapphires, and diamonds. Her pleasure will be a thousand priceless gems.

  “Like when you get a taste at an ice cream parlor,” I say. And a taste leads to a cone. Or a sundae. With a cherry on top, pretty please.

  “Yes, that’s exactly what I’m thinking.” She holds up her thumb and forefinger to show a sliver. “Just a little taste is all I need for my research project.”

  “And when would you like this research to start? Since you have some kind of time limit, I’m assuming ASAP?”

  Please say now, please say right fucking now.

  She smiles a little impishly, like she’s up to something naughty, and, hell, is she ever. She has some very naughty secrets up her sleeve. “Tonight?”

  There is a God.

  There is a very good God.

  “That’s one of my favorite words.” I clear my throat, grabbing hold of the tiny bit of logic still circling in my brain. “I assume we should establish some ground rules.”

  She nods vigorously. “Oh, definitely. Like I’ve said, we can pretty much devote a week to it. Anything longer becomes messy, but I honestly think we can accomplish everything in that time. And beyond that, when the seven days end, I think we also agree to stay friends.”

  “I can’t imagine us not being friends.” It’s true, but I’m wondering about other ground rules, like her place or mine, and do we need safe words, but sure—the maintenance of the friendship is key too.

  “Whew. Me too. That’s the most important thing to me. I want you in my life, Gabe.”

  “I want you in mine.” That feels like the truest thing I’ve voiced all night, and it’s freeing, so damn freeing, to admit it, even if it’s in this veiled context.

  “And another would be if at any point something I ask you to try bothers you—”

  I laugh harshly. That might be the most ridiculous thing she’s ever said. Anyone’s ever said. “You don’t have to worry about that.”

  “But I do. I want you to be comfortable, especially because I might ask a lot of questions.” Her voice rises at the end, like she wants permission to quiz me.

  “Bring it on. I love a dirty talker.”

  She laughs, glancing down as if she’s embarrassed. ‘Well, I wasn’t thinking like that, exactly.”

  “Don’t worry. We’ll get you there in the dirty talk department.”

  “And I think, too, you can look at this as a practical class. And I suppose you’re the teacher.”

  I hum happily. “Hands-on classes were always my favorite.”

  She quirks a brow in a question, then shakes her head. “Yes, I suppose it is hands-on.”

  How else would we be practicing if not hands-on? But I don’t say that. If she needs to ease into this, it’s fine by me. “And where do you want to start? You want to get out of here and go to my house or to yours?”

  She furrows her brow. “Do we need to do that?”

  I blink, trying to process what she’s saying, and then it hits me. Duh. I missed the obvious signs. She’s trying to break out of her shell. She doesn’t want to practice sex at home. She wants to try it in an elevator, or my truck, or maybe even right here.

  I glance around, a dirty grin tugging at my lips. “We can start right here if you’d like.”

  “We can?” Her voice is feathery.

  “If that works for you.”

  She draws a quick breath, then another, like she’s gulping for air. “Okay. Let’s do it.”

  Music to my ears.

  Since all good sex practice starts with a kiss, I close my eyes and dip my face closer to hers, inhaling her sweet smell, savoring the closeness of her skin. I inch nearer, ready to kiss her breathless. I didn’t expect we’d move so quickly, but I have no objections to this pace. None at all, as her honey-scented lotion floats into my nostrils, blurring my mind with the possibilities of pleasure.

  But my lips meet nothing but a whoosh of
air. My eyes fly open. She’s standing above me. I blink, trying to sort out why she leaped up so quickly.

  It doesn’t look like she jumped away from me. It looks like maybe she missed I was going in for a kiss.

  She smooths her hands over her skirt, spins around, and parks her hands on the arm of the couch, bending into an L. “Should we start with spanking?”

  “You don’t want to ease into it a little more?”

  “Go big or go home, right?”

  I didn’t think lesson one would be ass-smacking, but I’m a flexible guy. Plus, she has a fantastic rear, so I can handle this curveball. I move behind her and bring my hand to her hip to adjust her position.

  “We can just do all of this with clothes on, right?”

  I stop, the record scratching to a halt. “We can?”

  “I meant to say that. Didn’t I say that? I had so many things I wanted to say.” Her brow pinches as if she’s trying to remember. “That's what I said, right?”

  “I feel like I’d have remembered that,” I say flatly.

  “Oh.” Her face is crestfallen. “That’s what I meant with the sample part. The ‘just a taste’ part.”

  My shoulders sag. My libido has been kicked in the nuts. “That’s what you meant?”

  She stands up straight, smiling like she’s proud of herself. “I think the best part of this is we don’t have to get naked. All I want is to test out some options here and there. A little biting, a little spanking, and we don’t even have to take off our clothes for that. Since we’re friends, we can basically act, and that way we won’t technically cross any lines.”

  Kill. Me. Now.

  I’m playing Fifty Shades of Blue Balls.

  And I’m already halfway there.

  15

  Gabe

  I like to think I’ve seen nearly everything.

  I’ve pulled mangled bodies out of cars that have crashed on the highway. I’ve witnessed hearts restarting in the back of ambulances as sirens blared. I’ve been called to some wild scenes at homes, featuring apples and broomsticks that have been stuck in openings where neither fruit nor cleaning supplies belong.

  But this?

  My best friend asking me to play sex charades?

  This is the very definition of being thrown for one hell of a loop the loop. Here I was, sliding into the evening with one thing in mind: finding the best opening to let the woman know how I feel.

  And while I was strutting down Feelings Street, she’s swept in front of me, cut me off, and taken a sharp left down Let’s Act It Out Lane.

  I clear my throat. Drag my hand through my hair. Try to sort out my thoughts. “So we’re basically doing wrestling moves?”

  “Exactly!” She nods enthusiastically, her smile spreading. Clearly, this project is important to her and delights her. I ought to find a way to share that excitement. But it’s admittedly a little hard.

  Oh, wait. It’s my dick that’s still hard. Overeager fucker needs to back off. “Kind of like dance moves? Like we’re going to a dance class?”

  “Yes. Like we’re rehearsing scenes. Think about us as actors on stage. They’re not really fencing, but they’re going through the motions. Like stage fighting.”

  “Or stage fucking?”

  “Yes, not real fucking.”

  I deflate. Fully this time. This is my unlucky day.

  “Because that would be weird. How weird would it be if I asked you to do that?” She laughs, amused, it seems, at the sheer incredulity of someone ever suggesting that. More like sheer fucking awesomeness.

  “Ha. So weird. I mean, right? Who does that?” I echo, like I can’t believe anyone would ever do that.

  “Exactly.” Her face seems to light up with relief. “You hear about that happening. A friend asks her friend to help her learn the ropes, but it never works out if you actually go through with it. How could it? How could you practice with somebody and not develop feelings for them?”

  I part my lips to speak but clamp them shut. Because I already have feelings for her. They’re developed. Past tense. So I answer by way of a shrug.

  “Plus, what would happen to our friendship? And, of course, you want to be free to date,” she says, as if she’s offering me my greatest dreams on a platter—more dating with women who aren’t her.

  I’d like to issue a correction: I want to be free to date you. Except Arden’s not even thinking along those lines, so I’m going to need to regroup and devise a different strategy to get her to see me that way. But one fact needs to be stated loud and clear. “I don’t need to date right now.”

  She takes a step back, surprise in her features. “You don’t?”

  I shake my head. “I’m not interested in dating. Also, I can manage a week without it, thank you very much.”

  “You sure?”

  “Well, it’ll be hard. But I can manage.”

  “But I still think it would be unfair of me to limit you. Besides, we’re basically going to walk through some naughty scenarios, like a few tutorials. You can guide me, and then I’ll have the knowledge I need to make better choices.”

  She sounds like she’s talking about teen pregnancy. Better choices. Knowledge. “You make it sound like a PSA. ‘The more you know . . .’”

  She laughs. “That’s because I’m totally inexperienced in this area. As an example, I’ve never made love outside.”

  My jaw drops. “You’ve never ordered the sex alfresco?”

  She raises a hand like she’s taking an oath. “Never have I ever.”

  I affect a big frown. “You’re making me so sad right now.”

  “You’ll take pity on me and help me test some new things?” She bats her eyes.

  I drape an arm around her and tug her close, sliding into my best playful and friendly voice. “I will definitely take pity on you, my friend. But you do know you can’t practice having sex outside with clothes on, right?”

  Laughing, she rises on tiptoe and plants a chaste kiss on my cheek, which I like far too much. “I know that. But we can test other things. And by simply testing, rather than actually practicing, we won’t ruin our friendship.”

  Yep. This is going to be a tougher road than I thought. I need to buy some time to figure out how the hell to manage this new twist. “Let’s start with talking instead of spanking. How does that sound?”

  “I guess spanking wasn’t the best way to start?” She fiddles with her watch, which makes me think she’s nervous about the whole thing. And I’m not interested in making her nervous. I don’t want her to feel awkward. The fact is, it takes some serious ovaries to ask for help in the boudoir. Now that I know what kind of lesson she’s after, I don’t think that launching right in is the best technique, after all.

  “Spanking is a world-class favorite activity, and I guarantee you’re going to love it. But let’s start by getting out of here so we can discuss your ideas.”

  There. That’ll help me to course correct.

  She points to her purse. “Like the list I made?”

  “I would very much like to see it.”

  “Good. There’s a lot on it, and it’ll help if I bounce ideas off a man. I’ve discussed plenty of these things with Perri and Vanessa, but I want to get a guy’s opinion.”

  “I’m your guy.”

  She steps closer, squeezes my shoulder, and whispers sweetly, “Yes, you are.”

  I’m her guy.

  The guy she turned to.

  I might not be the guy she wants for more.

  Yet.

  But the fact that she came to me for help tells me something important—she trusts me. That’s a start. A very important start, and one I can build on.

  But first, I’m dying to know what the hell is on this naughty list.

  16

  Gabe

  Lucky Falls is true to its name.

  At least the falls part. The town is edged by a cluster of springs that cascade their way into a gentle river, the kind that sashays and slinks through the
town, winding its way under bridges and past shops and markets.

  After we say goodbye to our friends, Arden slides into the front seat of my truck, and we shift seamlessly to small talk about Vanessa’s event, as if we both know instinctively that this topic’s easier for the brief drive. When we reach the river, we park and walk down to the water’s edge, finding a smooth boulder. We sit.

  Arden kicks off her sandals, her toes dipping into the cool, clear water that gurgles downstream.

  The glow of the moon illuminates her face. I do my best to mask my disappointment. Because in a parallel universe I could see us sitting here on this rock and talking about other possibilities, about first kisses, where they might lead to.

  Time for the main course of conversation. “All right. Let’s dive into this.”

  She fishes into her bag for the sheet of paper, spreads it open, and goes into all-business mode. “I researched some books. Wrote down the items that most intrigued me. Here is my list. Do you want me to read it to you?”

  Let’s torture myself some more. “Have at it.”

  She clears her throat. “Nibbling and biting. We start with little nips and they’d probably lead to bites. Is that how the biting progression works?”

  My body hums at the prospect. What I wouldn’t give to drag my teeth along that sweet flesh of her neck. To bite into her like a piece of ripe fruit, and savor the taste . . . “I believe that’s a fair description.”

  “And it’s fun? Do you think it’s fun?”

  “Is pizza the greatest food ever invented? Is beer proof of the evidence of God? Is Tom Cruise shorter than me?”

  She cracks up. “I feel like that last one doesn’t quite belong.”

  “Honey, he’s so much shorter than me. I went from yes, to hell yes, to hell-to-the-mother-fucking yes.” I figure the only way to survive the absolute torture of being her at-an-arm’s-length sex tutor is to keep it light and make jokes.

  “Fine. I’ll just add three check marks next to biting, then.” Snagging a pen from her purse, she marks the item off on her list. “Definitely a keeper.” She peers at the next option. “Spanking. We’ve already talked about that.”