“Hey!” I grin when I hit to accept the call.
“Hey, bitch!” says my best friend, June. “How’s the book coming along? All done yet?”
We’ve been friends since we were in kindergarten together. More like sisters than friends. And she can smell my BS from a mile away. She reads the grimace on my face and purses her lips.
“Girl, you gotta stop letting that man distract you. Jump his bones already. Get it out of your system.”
Just then, my phone vibrates beside my laptop. I pick it up and thumb the screen to read the message, and I freeze.
“What?” asks June. “Wren? What is it?”
I look up at the screen, biting my lip. “Uh,” I say. “He’s asked me if I want to go for a beer.”
“Well, godspeed, sister,” says June. She does a little salute with her hand that is neither Star Trek nor Scouts. “Be safe, have fun, and make sure you go twice before you let him go once.”
I snort at her, but the familiar little bleep of the call ending sounds, and she’s gone.
It’s probably her presumption that spurs me on, because I don't put much thought into it before I’m on my feet and rifling through my wardrobe, trying to pick out something pretty to wear. Something that isn’t the oversized T-shirt I planned to wear while I streamed junk TV all night, but also doesn’t look like I’ve purposely made a big effort to go across the courtyard to the porch.
I reject every LBD in my wardrobe—of which there are many. I have ample curves, and there is something about an LBD that just sets them off perfectly. As I push the last LBD to the side, I realize I’m consoling myself with the idea that he will get to see me in a LBD when he takes me out. Despite the fact that there’s been no suggestion that he wants to take me out anywhere.
“Get a grip, Wren,” I mutter, just as I happen across a beautiful fashion kimono I picked up in Peru—of all places—and then a denim skirt and a white, loose cami practically fall into my hands. A pair of tan sandals later and I’m admiring myself in the mirror, deciding it looks casual enough to be a casual evening outfit at home, but also accentuates enough curves and brings out enough of my colouring to hopefully turn Lucas’ head.
When I’ve done my no makeup makeup and my “effortless” curly hair is fully diffused and styled, it’s almost an hour later.
SMS: Sorry! I only just saw your message.
Don’t look at me like that. He can’t know I just spent the best part of an hour getting ready for him.
SMS: I’d love a beer. Just need to find some shoes. See you in 5?
I hit send, take a quick look in the mirror, push my shoulders back, pinch my cheeks, and head out across the courtyard.
Chapter Four
Lucas
I’m just on the verge of marching over there like a crazy person to tell her to check her damn phone, when mine rattles on the glass-top table. I pick it up, smile, and head inside for a couple more beers.
“Knock, knock!” she calls, poking her head around the open door.
“Hey, come on through,” I call. “We’ll head out back. I don’t think you’ve seen the gardens, right?”
I know she hasn’t. She’d never have left if she had. I hate to brag, but they’re stunning. Wide open lawns mixed with patches of wild meadow flowers and grasses, merged into an old style hedge maze and some sculpted fountains that have been here way longer than I’ve been alive.
Popping both bottles open, I lead Wren through to the back, flick a switch on the way out of the door, and wallow for a little while in the audible gasp I hear from her when she stands there taking in the beauty of it all bathed in strategically-placed lights.
“Wow, this is…”
“Really something, right?” I ask, handing over her beer and looking out across the garden. There’s a pool, a hot tub, a sauna. Way off in the distance, though we can’t see it in the dark, is a tennis court.
“Really, really something,” she breathes. She looks amazing. She has some flowy top on over a vest and denim skirt, with those strappy gladiator type sandals—but a lot daintier and much sexier on her curvy legs. As I pass her by to open the doors that run along the side of the games room, I get a waft of floral, summery perfume from her.
“You smell good,” I say, unable to stop myself. She smiles, bites her lower lip, and drives me halfway round the twist.
“Thanks.”
“You shoot?” I ask.
“Like hunt?”
“Nope,” I shake my head, pulling the door back to open the entire side of the games room to the cool night air. I hit the lights and the centre light comes on and illuminates the full size pool table. “That.”
“Oh, wow!” She grins, and I instantly know I made the right choice.
“Matter of fact, I got myself out of a sticky situation in Thailand with 8-ball,” she says with an adorably smug grin. I nod for her to go on, so she sets her beer down on the side of the table and rests her ample ass on the edge of it.
“I got my purse stolen in Thailand. Which is an inconvenience at the best of times, but a million times worse when you’re overseas and you can’t get your new cards delivered the next day. I needed cash. I’d noticed this pool place that was always busy, but I hadn’t gone in because I just didn’t have time, right?”
“Aha,” I nod, swigging my beer. The sound of her voice, the way she animates when she speaks about her experiences, all have me rapt.
“So when I was in college I didn’t have many classes in my final year. Creative writing is a lot of research and writing and not a lot of classes. And I already sort of knew by then that I’d be dropping out before finals to pursue the blog. So I shot 8-ball a lot. Anyway, these guys in the pool hall in Thailand let me play with the pocket change I had, and they took one look at me and said I could have a double turn at the start of every game. Which… I may have played into my fluttering my lashes a bit, but I was kinda desperate.”
I laugh. “As if you didn’t already distract them enough, being as beautiful as you are,” I say, and the slight flush on her cheeks delights me.
“Well anyway, I ended up with enough to last me until I got all my documents sorted out.”
“Oh-ho!” I say, and let out a whistle. “A hustler, huh?”
She pushes her shoulders back, which pushes her tits up in a way that instantly dries out my mouth.
“You could say that.”
“So let’s up the stakes,” I say, stepping closer to her. I’m so close I can feel the warmth of her body radiating against my skin.
“How?” she whispers, and her tongue flicks out to wet her perfectly plump lips.
“Strip 8-ball,” I say, with a challenging smirk. “Winner chooses what the other loses.”
Wren
The butterflies that have been flitting around in my tummy all night every time Lucas looks at me suddenly take flight and flutter behind my sternum when he suggests strip 8-ball.
I stare at him, my core suddenly thrumming, nipples pebbled under my kimono, and bite my bottom lip. I’ve noticed him noticing when I do that, and tonight is no exception. I can feel the blush rising up my neck and painting its presence on my cheeks.