Page 40 of Sexy

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.