Sexy

by JA Huss

“I’m your boss. I was there to discipline you. Of course I’m going to be watching you!”

  “Well—” I’m speechless for a few seconds. And then the answer I need manifests. “Well, then I guess you’ve got moves, Miss Preston. Because your inner sexy was shining bright last night. I saw it from a mile away.”

  “Player!” she squeals. “God, you are so full of bullshit moves, I cannot even believe it.”

  “Tiffy,” I say, my hands up, palms out, like a hostage negotiator trying to reason with a terrorist. “We made a deal. I promise you, this is business. And if you need me to keep my hands to myself, then I will. Done deal. No fight about that from me. But we both need this, right? You want Cole and I want this job. So don’t walk away mad. Just meet me down in the lobby at noon tomorrow and we’ll start your first lesson.”

  She huffs out a breath of air, shakes her head, turns away, turns back, and finally says, “OK. And you better make things right with Lisa and those girls you fucked over.”

  A few seconds later she’s gone.

  And I’m back to being the guy who fucks girls over just because they want me to fuck them.

  Chapter Fourteen

  I barely slept at all last night. I tossed and turned. Fretted and fussed. I am riddled with guilt. Why did I sleep with him? Why did I make this stupid deal? My poor father, if he finds out. And those girls. They will come back to haunt me, I’m sure of it. There is no way Fletcher Novak can make things right with them. No way.

  I glance down at my watch. It’s ten past noon. He can’t even make things right with me, because he’s already fucking up.

  Calm down, Tiffy.

  I take a deep breath and search the lobby one more time. But nope, I don’t see him. So I grab my phone from my purse and dial Amy’s receptionist, Leslie.

  “Landslide management,” she says in her professional voice.

  “It’s Tiffy. Do you know where I might find Mr. Novak at this hour? He was supposed to meet me and he’s not picking up his phone.”

  “Oh, yes, ma’am. He’s in rehearsals on Friday mornings. Until…” She hesitates. “Well, noon. Technically. But he’s missed a few from what I’ve heard. Maybe they’re staying late?”

  “Where are rehearsals?”

  “The North Tower basement. There’s a key pad to the studio at the end of the west hallway. Your ID should get you in.”

  “Thanks,” I say with a cheerfulness I don’t feel.

  I take a deep breath and head towards my tower and then take the elevator to the basement. There’s a security guard at the entrance to the gym, but he tips his hat at me and says, “Afternoon, Miss Preston,” as I pass by.

  I find the west hallway, and it’s not difficult. I can hear the stripper music a mile away. Goddamn him. How dare he leave me waiting up there? I really need to put an end to this ridiculous deal.

  I swipe my card and pull the door open as my anger builds.

  And then I stop. Dead in my tracks.

  Fletcher Novak is doing some sort of striptease to a girl tied to a pole in the middle of the room.

  “Yeahhhhhhh,” Claudio yells. He’s bound to the next pole over.

  “Claudio!” I yell over the music.

  “Whooooooooo,” he screams again. His eyes are on that other guy. Presumably the gay one Claudio was referring to yesterday.

  “Claudio!” I scream again, but the music cuts off halfway through my outburst, and it echoes in the silence.

  Every head turns to me.

  Six male strippers in various stages of undress. Claudio, who has an open mouth and wide eyes. He might even be blushing. And about fifteen girls, who I can only presume are groupies. Some of them have Landslide uniforms on.

  “What the hell is going on here?”

  “Tiffy,” Claudio says excitedly. “We’re stand-ins for the crowd for tomorrow night’s new act.” And then he does a not-so-subtle head tilt towards the stripper whose crotch is just inches from his face, and waggles his eyebrows.

  “I’ll talk to you later.” I drag my gaze to Fletcher. “Why are you here when you’re supposed to be—”

  “Tiffy,” he says, cutting me off. “Sorry, I got caught up in the heat of the moment and lost track of time.” He smiles sheepishly at me. “What time is it?”

  “Twelve twenty-one,” I snap.

  “OK.” And then he leans down to his captive’s neck and whispers something that makes her laugh.

  I let out a long, aggravated sigh. “I’ll meet you—”

  “No, no, no,” Fletcher says, jogging away from the girl tied to the pole in nothing but skimpy panties. “We’re done. I was just playing around with her. Come on, I gotta change and then we can go.”

  He takes my hand and I don’t even bother trying to pull away, because he’s practically dragging me down a hallway.

  “You can’t mention that I’m mentoring you, Tiff. It’s weird, ya know?”

  Boy, do I ever. “About that—” And then I stop because he just ushered me into a men’s locker room. There are hot guys everywhere I look.

  “Pay no attention to them, Tiff. I have a private dressing room back here.”

  I blush my way past one, two, three, four, five, six naked men and one, two, three four half-naked men, and then let him swoop me behind a closed door.

  Jesus. This job cannot be real.

  Fletcher whistles and looks me up and down. “You look hot, princess. Like smoking.”

  “Oh.” I blush again. I’m wearing tan slacks that hug my curvy hips, a pale pink sleeveless silk blouse with a little flutter of fabric near the neck, and some crystal-encrusted pink Louboutins that I wore to my cousin’s wedding in May. “Thanks.” I think I look pretty hot too. I thought about what Fletcher said. About becoming the girl Cole wants. But this is me. The me not in a suit, at least. And I don’t think Cole is that shallow. So I’m not going to change my ways to win him.

  “I love it, babe. Fuck, yeah, you’re hot in that fancy shit.” He reaches into a closet and pulls out a garment bag. “But you said Cole was a yacht guy and dates golf pros. So we’re gonna have to… adapt a little.” He smiles as he thrusts the garment bag towards me.

  “What’s this?”

  “Your outfit for today’s practice lesson.”

  “I’m not—”

  “Not me, relax. We’re going to the golf course to hang out in the bar. Obviously, you will be alone and I’ll be watching from afar, otherwise I’d cramp your style. This is your first chance to try out your tips on a stranger.”

  “But I only have the lips thing, Fletcher. And I had Cole interested in that yesterday.” Jesus Christ, do I hear myself? I came here to tell him it’s off.

  “Relax,” he says, placing his sweaty hand on my cheek. It should repulse me. He’s sticky. And he smells.

  But I like it. His whole body is glistening from his workout, if that’s what that was. His hair is damp and has been finger-combed back across the top of his head. I glance down at his package and—“Fletcher!”

  “Sorry.” He laughs. “You just look fucking hot today, princess.”

  “Don’t call me princess, that’s so stupid.”

  He puts his hands up but he’s still grinning.

  “And stop looking at me like that. I don’t want to change. I’m not going through with this. But you still have to make things right with those girls and I’ll let you keep your job.”

  “Wait,” he says, removing his hand from my cheek. “You’re quitting on me? Why? You did good yesterday, Tiff. I just have one tip today, that’s all. So you put them all in motion with one stranger at the golf course bar, and then once he’s interested, you get up and leave. No funny business. He’s not gonna touch you or kiss you or anything. Because you are a hot commodity. You are too good for this world. You are an angel among mere mortals. A goddess. No one is worthy of your company.”

  “I sound like a bitch. I know Cole won’t want me to be a stuck-up snob.”

  “Not a snob. Just self-assur
ed.” And then he shakes the bag at me. “Go on, get dressed in that. It’s not as sexy, but it’s far more comfortable.”

  “What is it?” I ask, pulling the zipper on the bag to get a peek.

  “Golf skort, polo shirt, and golf shoes.” Fletcher beams another smile as he grabs a towel and wipes his face with it.

  I prefer him sweaty, I realize, once that sheen is gone.

  “If Cole likes the jocks, then a jock you shall be. Now, do you play golf?”

  “No,” I say, annoyed. “I can, but I hate golf. It’s stupid.”

  “I agree. But today you will talk golf with a man in the course bar and you will like it. Cole likes it, so you like it.”

  I sneer my lip. Is that really how this works? I have to pretend to be someone else to snag a man?

  But I don’t say anything. Mostly because Fletcher just assumes I will do as I’m told, and he’s already walking away, calling out, “Gonna get a shower. Be done in five.” But also because I really do want to hook Cole.

  I look around, find a corner where I can hide in case he comes back before I’m done, and start changing into Cole’s future wife.

  Five minutes later I’m transformed, sitting on a wooden bench, braiding my hair when Fletcher comes out of the shower, dripping wet, and wearing nothing but a towel.

  He drops his towel like I’m not even there, and turns away and opens a door where he’s got clothes hanging in a closet.

  I watch the movement of his muscles. His ass. Those little cut lines that ride his hips. His back as he pushes clothes around on the rack. The hills and valleys of his arms.

  “Like what you see?” he asks, still facing away from me.

  “I’m not looking at you,” I say, reaching for my phone on the bench. “I’m checking voicemail.”

  “I can see you staring, Tiffy, there’s a mirror in here.”

  Oh.

  “It’s OK. I like your body too. So next time you get naked in front of me, I’ll stare all I want and we’ll be even.”

  “There won’t be a next time.”

  “Right.” He starts pulling on a pair of tan trousers, neatly creased down the middle of his legs. He doesn’t button them, but instead turns back towards me and shrugs on a crisp, white, button-down shirt that he also leaves hanging open.

  He’s got no boxer briefs on this time.

  “Going commando?”

  “I forgot them. But if you want to go up to my room with me, I’ll be happy to put some on.”

  His room is a definite no. I need to stay the hell out of there. He’s just too hot to ignore. And if he makes another play for me, I’m not sure how strong I can be.

  You want Cole, I remind myself. You’re doing this for Cole.

  Right. I realize that. But Cole does not look like a Greek god just came to life before my eyes. And Fletcher Novak does.

  He messes with the collar of his shirt, shrugging his arms around, trying to arrange the fabric over his muscles, and then he starts buttoning it from the bottom up. I stop focusing on his fingers and look up into his eyes. He’s smiling at me. “What?”

  “Nothing,” he says, shaking his head a little. He stops buttoning and reaches for a necklace hanging on a hook inside the closet. Dog tags, I realize, as he slips the beaded chain over his neck and tucks it inside his shirt.

  “Were you in the military?”

  “What?” His smile drops, and then he looks down his shirt to the tags. “Oh. No. These aren’t mine. My gramps was a patriot. Left me one of his tags in the will.”

  “Oh.” I’m not sure what to say to that. No mention of gramps in the Wikipedia entry at all.

  “You look nice,” Fletcher says, slipping his sunglasses on his head and then rolling up his long white shirtsleeves. “I like the other outfit better, but no one cares what I like, so let’s go.”

  We make our way back upstairs to the lobby and then Fletcher guides me out to the valet area with a hand on my upper arm. I feel a little like a prisoner, but his hand is warm and it’s touching my bare skin, so I don’t really mind it.

  We stop alongside a large black limo and Fletcher waits for the driver to open the door before motioning me in. “Wow,” I say. “Mr. Moneybags. You always take a limo to the golf course?”

  He raises his sunglasses and smiles. “It’s your car, Tiffy. I just told them it was for you.”

  “Oh.” I giggle. “Well, you definitely get points for resourcefulness. So tell me, what exactly am I supposed to do at this bar?”

  “Just initiate conversation. Play along, some small talk. And then use your tricks to make him see you as sexy.”

  “You said you’d give me a new one.” I can’t wait to hear this.

  “OK,” Fletcher says, turning his body towards me and leaning in a little. He smells like soap, but it’s manly soap. I inhale him in and then stare at his lips as he talks, getting a little lost in how lush they are. I picture him licking me on the roof. The feeling of his hair as it dragged along my inner thighs. The way his eyes looked when he glanced up between my legs.

  “Got it?” Fletcher asks.

  “What?”

  “It’s easy, right? So now you have that to try too.”

  Holy shit. I just missed the whole tip. I look out the window as we roll along the mountain road towards the golf course and wonder what it might’ve been. Well, if it’s anything like lick your lips, I think I can improvise.

  “So when’s the next time Cole will be in town?”

  “Oh. I don’t know. They need him in San Fran right now. So he might not come back.”

  “Then I guess we’ll have to go to him, then.”

  “Why?” I turn to look at him again and try not to notice the way his tongue presses against the back of his front teeth when he’s being playful.

  Why is he being playful right now?

  “You have to practice. If you really want him, that is.”

  “I do. And that’s what we’re doing here today, right? Practice. And anyway, I don’t want you grading my performance with Cole. It’s weird.”

  “You’re gonna have to sign a waiver for that, you know.”

  “What?” I just blink at him.

  “Satisfaction guaranteed was the promise, Tiffy. How can I guarantee you satisfaction if I’m not there to see how you perform?”

  Did he just say perform?

  “So when we get back to the hotel I’ll have you signing that if you don’t want to have a date with Cole under my eye.”

  “God, this is so weird. How the hell did I let you talk me into this?”

  “Oh, good, we’re here. OK, Tiff, just go in there, kid, and do your thing. You look around the bar, choose one guy sitting alone, and go right up and talk to him. Got it?”

  “Wait, where are you gonna be?” Suddenly the thought of him watching me isn’t so bad. It’s better than walking into a strange place by myself with the intent of hitting on a stranger.

  “I’m right behind you, princess. But we don’t want to appear to walk in together.”

  “Right.” I take a deep breath. “Are you sure I need this? I mean—”

  “Tiffy, you want Cole, right?”

  “Right,” I say. It comes out a little weak.

  “OK, so just hit it out of the park, babe. Little bit of lips, little bit of tongue, and then finish it up with the toe-leg combo.”

  Toe-leg what? Holy fuck. I really did miss something when I was daydreaming in the car.

  “Got it?” Fletcher is leaning into me, holding onto my biceps, like he’s some coach asking me to go win one for the team.

  “OK, got it.” I just need to get out of this car before I realize everything I’ve done since I met Fletcher Novak is completely nuts.

  The driver opens my door and I slip out into the bright summer sunshine. I shield my eyes and Fletcher calls out, “Over to the left, Tiffy. Go get him!”

  I look around nervously to see if anyone is watching, and yeah. Like forty-seven bazillion people are in thi
s parking lot looking at me right now. I cup a hand over my eyes to hide my face, and power-walk my way over to what looks like a clubhouse.

  I slip through the door and thank God for the darkness inside. This is my kind of place. Lodge-y, and dark, and cool.

  “Bar?” I ask a waiter at a podium.

  “Just off to your left, madam.”

  “Thank you,” I call out cheerfully, heading in that direction. I walk down a bustling hallway filled with happy people who like to hit little balls in the summer heat, and then enter the large open bar and restaurant.

  “Do you have a reservation, ma’am?” the next waiter asks me.

  “For the bar?”

  “Oh, no. The bar is always open. Seat yourself.” He smiles and takes his attention to the couple behind me.

  OK, Tiffy, I say, looking at the packed room. The sooner you do this, the sooner you can leave. I scan the room, looking for a lonely man who is not fifty, stuffing his face with crab, or gay—thank you, Claudio, for my exceptional gaydar. It’s saved me more than once.

  But there is only one guy who qualifies. And he’s sitting at a table, not the bar. I walk slowly past all the filled barstools and find an empty one as close to hot target’s table as I can get.

  And this is sorta hot. I mean, hey, if you have to practice flirting with someone, it might as well be him.

  “Excuse me,” the man next to me says.

  I turn in my seat and give him a look. He’s not bad either. Tall, fit, early thirties. He looks like a lawyer or something. “Yes?” I answer.

  “I heard there was a clothing-optional beach here in Tahoe. Do you know where it is?”

  Oh, boy. This guy is a loser. Who says that to a girl? “You can try the internet.” I smile sweetly. “Excuse me, I found my friend.”

  His mouth opens to say something back, but I turn away, tossing my hair in the process, and walk over to my target.

  That guy was OK, but this one. Holy fuck. He’s like Fletcher. A lot like Fletcher. A little older, maybe early thirties. He has well-defined muscles, his hair is a little unruly and he has those bright blue eyes. He’s got a little more scruff on his chin than Fletch, but wow. They are very similar. Similar enough to make me want him more than I should.