The Right Swipe

by Alisha Rai

  “I assumed you would.” There was no way Rhiannon wouldn’t wrestle as much control for herself as she was able to.

  She’d wrestled him in bed for the upper hand too. He didn’t mind it. He’d had no idea this was his kink, but there was something supremely sexy about being with a woman who effortlessly displayed leadership.

  “I like the scenario you proposed, us hanging out and talking about dating, basically an expanded version of the interview we did with Helena. We can keep it purposefully low budget, film it ourselves. We record on my phone. Crush gets first crack at editing, and then you can take over. We both have to agree to the final videos that are released.”

  He settled into his seat. “Interesting. Why your phone? What’s your fear?”

  “It’s not a fear.” She took a sip of her drink. “I want the footage in my control. If my image gets tarnished, my company’s directly affected.”

  He trusted her not to tarnish his image but understood exactly why she might still be suspicious of him. “I’ll have to talk to the team. But I think this should be fine.”

  “Second, we don’t tell anyone that we’ve slept together. That includes our respective employees/employer, or the general public.”

  “That’s absolutely fair,” he agreed instantly. “I don’t talk about my sex life with anyone.”

  Her shoulders relaxed a little, and he leaned forward, interested. “Can I ask you a personal question, though? Related to this?”

  She examined him, then finally gave a short nod.

  “You’re in the public eye. You don’t like bad publicity. I know I’m not the first man you’ve hooked up with off the app. Don’t you ever worry that one of them will recognize you? What if they, I don’t know. Go to a tabloid?”

  “First of all, you make it sound like I have a long string of temporary lovers I’ve met through Crush. I won’t give you the numbers, because I think that’s crass, but it’s not that high, it’s a last resort when I’m feeling particularly itchy. Second, I don’t do shit without thinking about how it’ll affect my business, even the shit I do ostensibly only for me.” She took a sip of her drink. “Like I said, I try to make sure the men I sleep with aren’t assholes—I usually have good radar about that sort of thing—but I know there’s a risk. If someone thinks they can get fifteen minutes of fame and goes to the press crowing about his lay, I am prepared for them.” Her voice went up an octave, as if she were reading lines from a play. “Just because I don’t want to have a relationship doesn’t mean I don’t have needs. You’d never shame a man for casual sex. Crush’s business model is built on empowerment. I’m using my own app exactly as it was intended.” She twisted her wrist. “And so on and so forth.”

  “Impressive. Very good answer.”

  “Business. You can have whatever you want so long as it doesn’t cost you customers.” Her smile was grim. “I learned that the hard way. Now. Where was I?”

  He tipped his glass to her. “Your demands.”

  “Right. You still talk to Annabelle for me.”

  “Obviously.”

  “And one more demand, and this one is personal, and off the record.”

  “I heard you loud and clear, and I meant what I said in your office. You don’t want this to get physical. I get it and respect it. I won’t try to persuade you otherwise.”

  She half laughed. “Your butt persuaded me, Samson.”

  He opened his mouth, then closed it again. “I beg your pardon?”

  “You have a great butt. I was never a butt person, but then you walked away from me.” She pursed her lips. “Let’s be real. I really like your ass, enough to bend another rule or two of mine. And you seem to like parts of me. So we might very well fall back into bed if we spend enough time together. I accept that.”

  “Wait, wait, wait.” He held out his hands, palms out. “This is a one-eighty.”

  “I do those sometimes,” she murmured. “It’s not flip-flopping if you do it for a good reason.”

  “I don’t mind flip-flopping when it comes to sex. You can flip-flop ten more times up to and during the sex act, and that’s fine. I’m mostly confused how this flip-flop came about.”

  She placed her hand over his. It was cold, but he didn’t mind that. She stretched across the table, and he reciprocated. Her eyes were so pretty, a deep, dark brown full of secrets. “Not to be crude. But it really was your butt,” she said softly.

  He bit the inside of his cheek to keep from laughing. He glanced over his shoulder. “It’s that good? I don’t even have to speak?”

  “Let the cheeks speak.” She sat back, slipping her hand out from his, but before she could he flipped his over and captured hers.

  She glanced down, and then back up. “It doesn’t mean anything, though. I don’t want anything more than that.” She pinned him with a stern look. “Don’t ask me for a real date, don’t ask me for a future, don’t ask me for anything beyond the time that we spend together. That’s my last demand.”

  He’d let her go if she wanted him to, but she remained passive, letting him hold her. He wanted to hold her more. Exhilaration soared through him. He didn’t care if it was his butt or his personality that had done it. She was willing to give him a second chance.

  Kind of. No dating, no romance, no long-term stuff. He could deal with that. They were back in the same position they’d been in after That Night.

  Except she’d been softer when he’d convinced her to give him a second date That Night. This coolness, this toughness, had been missing then. A stab of regret went through him. A broken piece to spackle.

  So he’d take this time to spackle over some of the damage he’d done. Temporary or not, he could shower her with reliability and kindness. “I’m not looking for anything long term either,” he said. He wasn’t anti-love. He’d had some fairy-tale romances modeled for him. However, the thought of loving someone the way Lulu had loved Aleki or Annabelle had loved Joe—it filled him with anxiety, not anticipation. “I would like to be with you again, on your terms. So we have a deal?”

  Her agreement came slowly, though he’d acquiesced to every request she’d made. “Yes. The contract will be for five meetups, in locations I choose, since I know the city better. Have they uploaded your debacle of a date yet?”

  “Not yet.”

  “Okay, well, we can figure out the release schedule over the next couple of days. It should be fast, within a few days of each other. I’d say back to back, because people do like their binges, but keeping them waiting a little might not be a bad thing. Gives us time to shoot footage and edit and whatnot. Are you okay if this takes off? Goes viral?”

  “Do you think it’ll go viral?”

  “Anything you put on the internet—a tweet, a picture, a video—has the capacity to go viral.”

  A hint of unease moved through him. The last time he’d been in the public eye had been ten years ago, and the internet then wasn’t what it was today.

  It was fine. He simply wouldn’t read the comments. “A lot of attention would be good for Matchmaker. And Crush.”

  “Great. We can start on Wednesday. That gives us a couple days to get the contract ironed out. My legal team should have something over to Matchmaker by tomorrow morning.”

  “A contract?”

  “Of course a contract.” She squinted at him and drained the rest of her drink. “Oh honey, who does business without a contract?”

  “The part about my ass won’t be in it, will it?” he joked.

  Her eyes grew heavy lidded. “Nah. Your ass is off the record.”

  His body tightened. For a second, he could forget they were in a dimly lit hipster bar in Los Angeles. Right now, they were back in Cayucos, in that dimly lit dive bar where they’d first met.

  She pulled out her phone, opened the camera, and set it on the table, propped up against the menu holder, and hit record. “Might as well start now. Hey. I’m Rhiannon Hunter, owner of Crush, and this is Samson Lima, the hotshot former football p
layer for the Portland—” She paused.

  “Brewers,” he supplied.

  She wrinkled her nose. “I’m not much of a sports ball person. Let’s agree to not talk about it too much.”

  Being with someone who didn’t know anything at all about him, his family, and football was a godsend, not a bad thing. “We all have our strengths.”

  “Dating’s not yours, though, right? That’s why we’re here.”

  Samson let his smile turn self-effacing. He was here to be made fun of a little. That was fine. “I used to be good at it. I think? But things have changed, and I could use some help. That’s where you come in, I guess.” Their knees brushed against each other. He let his leg slide between hers. Within view of the camera, they maintained a respectable distance.

  The corner of her lips twitched, but that was her only reaction. “I like this. It’s like pickup artistry, but instead of my teaching you how to manipulate women into bed, I’ll be teaching you how to just . . . be cool.”

  “Bed isn’t my first priority.”

  “What is your first priority?”

  “Uh, I’d like to get through a date without spilling wine in a woman’s lap.”

  “Or asking her if her hair is real?”

  He winced. “It was so beautiful! I meant it as a compliment, I swear. Look, no need to rehash the whole thing for everyone.”

  Amusement danced in Rhi’s eyes. “It’s funny. Especially because you’re this big, tough, handsome man.”

  “I’m a big tough guy who hasn’t dated in a while,” he said simply. “Help me, Obi-Wan. You’re my only hope.”

  She snorted. “A nerd too.”

  For a second, he forgot they were recording. “Should I dial back the nerdiness?”

  “Nah. I am a big fan of dialing exactly nothing back. Be yourself. Try to, like, lead with the most interesting parts of yourself. That’s my only dating advice for anyone, ever. But we can discuss all this later.” She turned the camera off. “I only wanted to see how you’d play on camera.”

  “Didn’t trust me?”

  “Checking to see if your mess of a date really was a fluke or a new stage fright you developed after the CREATE interview. We’ll do proper intros later.” She smiled. “I’m running late. Pay the bill and you can walk me to my car.”

  It was a humid night, the muggy air forcing a trickle of sweat to run down his neck. Or maybe she caused that physiological reaction, he wasn’t sure.

  She’d parked across the street in a parking garage. They rode down to the basement level in silence. He followed her to her car, a new silver Tesla nestled amid a sea of other electric cars.

  His car was a six-year-old SUV sitting in his leased condo’s parking garage. He had the savings to upgrade, but he hated spending a dime more than he had to on a vehicle that got him reliably from A to B. Then again, the bigger car, while good for getting Uncle Joe around, didn’t really fit into this shiny city with cramped parking spots and high gas prices.

  He opened the driver’s-side door before she could. She glanced down. “You do like opening doors for me.”

  He didn’t know what she was talking about at first, and then he recalled. Back on the beach, he’d had to almost lunge ahead of her to get to the bar door, her house door. She’d teased him then. Oh, thank God, I don’t know how I would have opened things without you here. “It’s manners. I open doors for everyone.”

  She braced her arm on the open door and tipped her head up to him. “You can kiss me, by the way. I’ll allow it.”

  His smile was slow and real. This woman was tough and blunt and made no sense, but she was also super adorable.

  He slid his arm around her waist. “Good. I’ve been dying to do that.”

  He didn’t rush it, though, lowering his face to deliver a mere brush of a kiss. It wasn’t their first kiss, but the distance they’d crossed to get to this moment made it feel like it was. Her head tilted, her lower lip dragging over his. “You smell good,” she murmured.

  “So do you.” She smelled like peppermint again, but there was an underlying hint of chocolate mixed in with that. Like the sexiest cool-sweet peppermint patty he’d ever come across. Samson tugged her closer, squeezing the soft flesh above the waistband of her pants.

  A feather light touch drifted up over the side of his face, up to his hair. Her fingers tunneled through the strands, playing over his scalp. He shivered and followed her cues, angling his head, deepening the kiss.

  The first touch of her tongue against him was like dropping a lit match onto dry kindling, both of them turning needy and hungry. He stepped her back, so her car could give them a bracing surface. Her legs parted, and he settled between them. One of her legs slid up the side of his, and he grasped her limb under the knee. It was rude, and they were in a public place, albeit a deserted public place, but he anchored that leg against his hip, the better to keep her open and available to him.

  His other hand slid up her side, under the hem of her shirt, and finally, finally, after months, he rediscovered the joy of her more intimate skin against his. He rubbed his thumb over the small of her back and she made a soft sound into his mouth. She made another noise when he found the clasp of her bra and plucked at it. One hook released. Then another. He slid his forefinger and thumb under the fabric and—

  A car horn had them parting, the noise the equivalent of a bucket of cold water thrown over them. He stepped back and she huffed a small laugh. “That escalated quickly.”

  He winced and resisted the urge to adjust himself. That would be crass. More crass than making out in public? Possibly. “Tell me about it.”

  She blew out a breath, the tendrils against her cheeks vibrating. “I gotta go, or I’ll be late for this meeting.”

  He almost missed her next words because she reached behind her to secure her bra clasp, arching her back.

  “Keep an eye out for that contract.”

  The contract. Business. Right. He dragged his gaze away from her round breasts. “Will do.”

  She scowled at him. “Stop grinning. I could one-eighty on the sex again by the next time we meet.”

  “But you’d follow through on the business side,” he pointed out. “Which means I’d see you, even if I didn’t get to kiss you, and I like seeing you too.”

  She shook her head. “That Lima Charm thing isn’t a joke, is it.”

  She was getting inside her car, so she missed his smile momentarily slipping. It was back in place by the time she rolled down her window. “I’ll be in touch.”

  He tapped the corner of his mouth. “You may want to check your lipstick before you go to your meeting.”

  Instead of looking in the mirror, she smirked. “You may want to do the same. You got some sparkle on ya there.”

  He examined his finger, which did indeed have some pink glittery residue. His smile grew. “I’ll see you soon, Rhiannon.”

  She peered up at him. “Rhi.”

  He’d call her whatever she wanted, and he couldn’t deny that he liked the intimacy of a nickname. “See you soon, Rhi.”

  Chapter Twelve

  It’s okay to forgive him and trust him a little, but be careful.

  Rhiannon ran her thumb over her phone screen in her pocket as the hotel’s elevator took her up seventy floors to the rooftop bar, Katrina’s text burning a hole in her pocket. Katrina was distracted by her new kitten, but she had taken the time to weigh in on this whole campaign when they’d video chatted on Monday, after Rhiannon had met with Samson.

  While her best friend had been happy Rhiannon had gotten her closure, she’d been concerned about this new development, even without Rhiannon breathing a word about his butt. Or that kiss.

  I don’t want you hurt again, Katrina had fretted.

  Rhiannon had reassured her she wouldn’t make that mistake again anytime soon. Why, she’d barely obsessed over how good that kiss had been, pressed up against her car. Barely.

  And it had been a stupendous kiss. She wanted more.
She’d get more. All with her feelings in check.

  Rhiannon stepped out of the elevator and zipped up her hoodie. It was her favorite, the cerulean one that hugged all her curves tight. They might be filming this on her phone, but that didn’t mean she couldn’t look great.

  The stern bouncer checked her ID and allowed her to pass through the hallway to the open rooftop. It was fairly quiet, given that it was a Wednesday. Suzie had made arrangements beforehand, and the hotel was accustomed to various parties using it for a backdrop. The establishment had set up a prominent sign that filming would be taking place and patrons might be on camera.

  It took her about three seconds to find Samson’s huge frame leaning against a railing. It was good that he had his head turned in profile, looking out at the twinkling city lights. That gave her a chance to at least try to suppress the little jump of excitement in her belly before he saw her.

  She crossed over to him, passing the cabanas and Ping-Pong tables. This rooftop bar she’d chosen was a cool combo of sophisticated and kitsch. Most importantly, though, it had one of the most stunning views of downtown L.A.

  Samson spotted her when she was about four feet away, and his beaming grin almost made her stumble. He was so clearly happy to see her. That had been the first thing she’d liked about him, that night in Cayucos. In a world that played it cool and cynical, his obvious interest had been a breath of fresh air.

  Be careful.

  “Hey,” he said, and waved the waitress down. He’d dressed casually in jeans and a light sweater, the knit clinging to his biceps.

  Rhiannon rested her elbow on the railing and looked out over the city, the distance all the way down dizzying. Fondness for her adopted hometown lifted her mood. Weeknight or not, the never-ending traffic was bustling. “Hi. Did you have any trouble finding the place?”

  “Nah, I walked.”

  She lifted an eyebrow. “Walked?”

  A dimple popped into his cheek. “Yes, I walked. It was barely a mile, it would have taken me longer to hitch a ride.”

  “Weird.”

  “No one in this city likes to walk. I miss it.”