Page 39 of Sexy

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-assured.” 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?