The Lucky in Love Collection Read online

  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.”

  “And I’m looking forward to swatting your ass.” I rub my hands together, then mime swatting.

  “My, my. Aren’t you eager?”

  I point a thumb at my chest. “Big fan of spanking.”

  “You are?” Her tone is drenched with curiosity.

  “Hell, yeah. If it’s done right, it should feel good for you too.”

  “I hope so,” she whispers, then ever so briefly she nibbles on one side of her lip, telling me that even though she’s never been spanked, she’s probably going to like it a hell of a lot.

  “What do you think about role-playing?” Her eyes are wide and eager as she tosses out the question.

  I think I’m already in love with her list. I’d like to give thanks to the heavens above that she’s a woman of books and learning, that she researched thoroughly and penned this most magnificent agenda. “What sort of role-playing do you have in mind?”

  She taps her chin. “I could pretend that my kitty cat is stuck in a tree and you could play fireman coming over to rescue my—”

  “Pussy?”

  A sheet of mortification slides over her face. “Gabe.”

  “Pussycat?”

  “Gabe!”

  “Fine, fine. Fluffy. I’ll rescue your Fluffy.”

  She swats me. “That’s not much better.”

  “Your furball?”

  She balls her hands and pretend punches me.

  I grab her fists and meet her gaze. “I think we need to add dirty talking to your list.”

  “Do we?” Her voice is a little breathy.

  “You need to be able to say pussy, cock, and dick. Can we get you there without you turning red?” Lightly, I run a finger down her cheek. Touching her feels a little illicit, but I figure I’m allowed some leeway, a
s this can’t be construed as kissing her.

  Clearly.

  And sadly.

  She turns away, lifts her chin, and whispers, “Pussy.”

  “Well done.”

  She squares her shoulders, preparing for a challenge. “Cock.”

  Mine rises to attention. “Look at that. You’re a natural.”

  She turns to meet my eyes, hers a little fiery. “Dick.”

  I whistle my approval. “You’re a master student at dirty words. All you have to do is say ‘Fuck me hard,’ and you’re going to pass this brief lesson with flying colors.”

  She parts her lips, then shakes her head, perhaps a little embarrassed now. “I’ll save that one for another time.”

  That saddens me, but all things considered, it’ll probably save me from hitting inappropriate levels of steel on the erection-o-meter. “Fuck me hard” is pretty much an iron-clad guarantee I’ll go off the arousal charts. I return to her list. “What sort of role-playing interests you?”

  “I have this scene in mind . . .”

  Scene. My ears like the sound of that. “Set the scene.”

  “I was seeing myself as a naughty housewife wearing an apron. Can you picture that? When her man comes home and she opens the door wearing only an apron?”

  I don’t stifle a groan this time. Instead, I let a rumble work its way up my chest and escape my mouth. “Aprons are hot as fuck, especially when there’s nothing under them.”

  “So you want me to open the door wearing heels and an apron with nothing underneath?”

  Now.

  Right now.

  Tomorrow.

  Every second.

  Because that image will be enough to feed an entire album of fantasies, and it can’t happen soon enough. “If that’s your fantasy, Arden, I would be happy to knock on the door. You think you’d like that?”

  A flicker of desire crosses her eyes. “I think so. That’s what I want to find out.”

  “Are you trying to figure out what men want, or are you trying to learn what drives you wild?”

  She licks her lips, stares down at the river. “Both,” she whispers, her voice a little bare, a little nervous.

  She lowers her head and adds Aprons to her list. She glances up at me almost shyly, and all I can think about is her opening the door in an apron that barely covers her breasts, one that exposes the curves of her ass.

  I peek at her list, so I don’t linger too long on the album of sexy apron images my brain has assembled for me like a playlist.

  And the next item isn’t any easier to handle.

  Striptease.

  I shovel a hand through my hair, gritting my teeth.

  This is going to be the toughest game of charades I’ve ever played. “How are you going to do that without removing any clothes?” I rasp out, and my voice practically catches on the grit in my throat.

  “Oh, don’t worry. This one is easy, actually, because we don’t have to touch. I thought maybe I could practice stripping down to a bra and panties.” She lowers her voice to a confessional whisper as my internal temperature rivals the surface of Mercury. “I’ve always wanted to do that. I’ve never had the chance.”

  I groan. “What kind of asshats have you been dating? Wait. Don’t answer that. I don’t want to hear about them. I want to hear about you.”

  “You do?”

  I cup her chin. “Listen to me. You need to be with someone who embraces all that you are. If you want to strip, you need to be with a man you can say that to. If you have no interest in doing a striptease, you need to feel free to say that as well. You need to be you in and out of the bedroom.”

  “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,”