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When we have a break in the afternoon, the three of us grab our waters from a nearby table. After Hollis takes a drink, he sets down his bottle, then tips his chin toward the other end of the grounds where Briar’s tent is. “I think I’ll go tell Briar about what I found under the bed this morning that we can do tonight.”
I flash back on the idea we devised, hoping she’ll like it. “You do that, mate.”
Hollis heads off to see the woman I’m already feeling way more than friendly for.
33
INDIANA JONES OF DATING
Hollis
Last night, I offered her sex.
But I need to make it crystal clear that I meant it, too, when I said I’d help her in all the ways, including the boyfriend way. Just like I looked up sex toys yesterday, this morning I researched “things a good boyfriend does.”
I take my responsibilities very seriously. That’s why I don’t want to assume she’ll want to hang out this evening. When I reach her tent, I ask, “Want to know what we found under the bed this morning that we can do tonight?”
“Was it a piggy bank? A creepy doll? A rope?”
“You want to play with creepy dolls, Briar?”
“So that’s the one you think I want to play with?” Her smile is teasing.
“I was trying to be a gentleman,” I say.
“Stop.”
“Stop being a gentleman?”
Her eyes twinkle with mischief. She is feisty and flirty this afternoon, and I am here for it. “Yes. Just stop.”
“Noted. You prefer ungentlemanly,” I say.
I expect her to toss out a rapid-fire reply, but she seems to give my comment some real thought instead, her forehead crinkling. “Actually, I don’t know. But I’m curious if I do.”
I tug at the neckline of my T-shirt. “And I suddenly wish I had the afternoon off to help you figure that out.”
As the sun peeks out from behind a cloud, she lifts a hand over her eyes, shielding them as she holds my gaze. “Me too,” she says, her voice stripped bare.
There’s a pause as the air crackles between us, a heated charge. “You’re tempting,” I say in a low whisper.
“So are you,” she says, then leans a little closer and adds, “And your friend is too.”
It’s like she’s testing how those words sound on her lips. Like she’s figuring out what she wants. The thing is, I’m figuring her out too. I’m putting together the puzzle of Briar.
“Have you always been a hard worker?” I ask.
“What do you mean?”
“I think you work hard, you play by the rules, you try to do the right thing, you’re tough, and you’re strong.” I hold up a finger, giving that last one a little more thought. “No, you’re badass. Like your fitness brand.”
“That’s probably all true. But what are you getting at?” She doesn’t ask defensively—more like she’s truly intrigued.
I’m working through that right now, and I’m almost there. “You’re all about doing things yourself. Taking everything on—your business, your life, your dog, your family…” I glance around, checking to make sure the festivalgoers aren’t eavesdropping. “And your own pleasure.”
She seems to turn that over in her head, then nods. “That’s probably true.”
“But I bet you’d really like it if you don’t have to think at all. If you didn’t have to worry. If you didn’t have to work for it. Maybe you mentioned the ropes for a reason.” So you can surrender.
