“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 this 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.
“Excuse me,” I say, stopping in front of his table. “I heard there’s a clothing-optional beach around here. Do you know where I can find it?”
He looks up from the newspaper he’s reading with a scowl. “Really?” But then he stops when he sees me, tilts his head, and laughs. “Huh, I was gonna lay into you for such a lame pickup line, but OK. I can take a minute to chat you up about a nude beach if you want.” He winks at me.
I let out a long breath. “Can I sit?”
“Sure. What’s your name, darling?”
God, he sorta sounds like Fletcher too. “Tiffany,” I say, taking a seat across from him. “But my friends call me Tiffy.”
“Yeah?” he says, putting a hand up to stop a waiter. “A drink for the lady? What will it be?”
“Um, how about a Scotch on the rocks?”
“Scotch it is,” he says. “Top shelf.” And then he winks at me. “I’m Walker, Tiffy. Nice to meet you.”
I fidget in my chair. “Nice to meet you as well.” Shit, now what? That was so much easier than I expected.
“What do you do? Here with your husband for a long weekend?”
“Oh, no.” I laugh. “Not married. Not yet anyway. I’m here… well, I work at the Landslide Hotel and Casino and I’m just here to relax today.”
“Got a tee time? Maybe I’ll join you?”
“Oh, no. All done with that. Just need a drink now. What do you do?”
“You played alone?” he asks, ignoring my question.
“No, um, I was on a date, but it didn’t go well. So I left him on the course and came in here to wind down before I have to ride back to the hotel with him.”
“My lucky day then.” He smiles big and lifts his drink, just as mine is delivered. “Cheers,” he says.
I clink his glass and take a long sip of alcohol. Shit, I’m nervous. Now what? The obvious stuff is out of the way. On to the tips, I guess. Tongue, bite lip, play with lip, and something called the toe-leg combo.
“Tiffy?”
“Yes?” I ask, coming back to the present.
“Daydreaming?” He laughs.
“What’d I miss?”
“What do you do at the hotel?”
“Oh, I, ah—” Shit. I can’t tell him I’m Tiffy Preston. This is not a great example of making good decisions. “I’m a dancer.”
What the fuck? How did that come out of my mouth?
“Dancer,” he says, his eyes lighting up. “What kind of dancer?”
“Well, err, you know, like a showgirl.”
“Wow,” he says, sipping his drink while giving me a coy look. “I’m gonna have to come see you perform.”