Page 5 of Satisfaction Guaranteed

Thank you for reaching out; it’s nice to meet you. I was forwarded your inquiry from the other night. Care to tell me a little more about what you’re looking for?

Okay, off to a good start. She had been rather vague in her initial email, unsure of how explicit she was supposed to be. It’s not like she’s a total stranger to talking about sex. She’s discussed her needs with her friends before—things she wants to try, things that turn her on. But this? This is entirely different. How exactly does one explain what they want in this scenario?

Yes, hi, hello. I’m a damn near 30-year-old virgin, and I want you to fix that. Can you blow my back out expeditiously? If so, what time works?

Alana chews her thumbnail while she runs through a few options in her mind. The whole bumbling virgin thing probably isn’t a good look. There’s no reason to let her inexperience be known so early. She needs to seem knowledgeable, confident. Sexy. Someone who actually knows what she’s doing. She types out a message.

It’s a little hard for me to say right now. Is it possible for us to discuss in person? Maybe over drinks?

A few minutes later, she gets a response.

Hi, Alana.

I completely understand. We can go at whatever pace you prefer. Are you local? How about we meet in person this Saturday? We can get to know each other a little bit and discuss options.

A small smile tugs at the corner of Alana’s mouth. Okay, yeah. This is fine. He seems professional, a good communicator. Plus, Saturday was her next day off. It’s now or never.

Alana sends back her agreement, and it’s not long before he offers a time and meeting place. Excitement radiates through her chest until she sees the location. She blinks as she re-reads the suggestion. He wants to meet at the bakery?

Oh, she definitely isn’t the favorite of the gods. It could just be a coincidence. Maybe the guy lived close by, and this was the easiest neutral location. Either way, there’s no way she can meet him here, not with the likes of Citlalli and her other coworkers around. She’d never hear the end of it if they saw her. After a quick internet search, Alana shoots back an offer to meet at a random little restaurant that she’s never been to before. A casual spot by the city with reviews that promised good food and decent ambiance.

Thankfully, he doesn’t seem to have a strong preference on the matter.

Sounds good to me, Alana. I’ll see you Saturday at 5 p.m.

Alana’s shoulders sag with a shaky exhale. It’s settled; she was really doing this.

See you then.

As she pockets her phone, something electric forms in her chest, a bright burst of nervous energy she hasn’t felt since the day they handed her the keys to her bakery. This was really happening. She had an appointment to fuck someone. Holy shit. Alana shakes the energy out of her hands, balancing on the pads of her feet. This was obscene. Crazy, really. Never in a thousand years would she have ever predicted doing something like this. Not that there was anything inherently wrong with it—these services exist for a reason, and clearly, they come in popular demand. But she’d be hard-pressed to convince her nineteen-year-old self that she did not, in fact, fall in love with a cute stranger during some Hallmark-worthy meet-cute. That their first time wasn’t going to be a spontaneous rendezvous after making out in the rain or whatever other unrealistic scenario she’s used to seeing in romance films.

No, none of that. No self-doubts.

This was the start of an entirely new journey, one with significantly less risk of an unsatisfactory outcome. She’s crunched the numbers; she’s weighed the variables. Mr. Right isn’t knocking on her door any time soon. If she wants a solid, intimate experience before she ends up with a foot in the grave, this is her chance to have it.

She can do this.

CHAPTER THREE

ALANA

If Alana was brave enough to have sex with a stranger on the internet, perhaps there’s other things she can do to force herself out of her comfort zone. Like having a five minute conversation with one of her cute regulars, for example. With a roll of her shoulders, she tightens her work apron around her waist and begins making her rounds. The afternoon sun sits high, bringing the New Mexico heat with it, and the early-morning crowd fizzles out, minus a few regulars. She greets them first so as not to seem too obvious, making small talk with everyone along the way.

“How is everything?”

“Anything else I can get you?”

“Aw, thanks so much for stopping by!”

She ends up caught in a conversation with an older, talkative woman—a kind spirit, always eager to talk trash about her bum ex-husband, who’s managed to create quite a shitty life for himself after his affair. But, eventually, she gets to Cyrus. The second she does, it’s as if all the nerve she had vanishes like water dripping onto a hot skillet. He’s seated with a laptop perched on the table in front of him, dark eyes brooding at the screen, completely focused on whatever he is working on. There’s a line between his brows. It’s a small feature, yet one Alana feels drawn to, for whatever goddamn reason.

Focus, woman.

Alana says a silent prayer as she approaches Cyrus’ chair. When she does, he looks up from his work, and that steely, concentrated glare immediately softens into something else entirely. He smiles as if he were genuinely happy to see her.

“Hey,” Alana greets him, tucking a short curl behind her ear. “Doing okay over here? How’s the muffin treating you?”

How’s the muffin treating you? She visibly winces at the awkwardness of her own voice.