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“You look good in it,” Reagan said before snapping a picture with her camera.
Libby smiled, her cheeks flushed from the heat streaming into the truck and a little something more. The causeway connecting the city to the beach took them by the gated man-made islands sitting on Biscayne Bay where the famous and ultra-rich lived in secluded privacy.
“I made a sculpture garden in there last year,” Reagan said, pointing out the window to the waterfront mansions beyond the gates.
“For whom?” she asked, curiosity piqued.
“Confidential,” Reagan replied with a lopsided grin, “but it was a rather dramatic scene of partially nude nymphs skipping out from a wooded patch and playing around a pond. Probably the biggest pain in the ass I’ve ever worked on.”
Libby listened with interest as Reagan described the process of making and transporting large ceramic structures.
She was so passionate it was impossible not to get wrapped up in her story. When they transitioned into the topic of business, Libby’s comfort zone, the time spent in tra c flew by.By the time they’d found somewhere to park a few blocks from the water, Libby was convinced Reagan needed a few business classes and a marketing department. It started making sense why she agreed to the admittedly hair-brained scheme. Money was the key to catapulting Reagan to the next level.
Libby was busy feeding the parking meter while Reagan gazed at the palm tree lined road and pastel colored Art Deco buildings behind them. When Reagan didn’t move after
Libby announced she’d bought them the two-hour maximum, Libby wandered over to her.
“Are you have some kind of déjà vu moment?” Libby asked, shielding her face from the noonday sun and wishing she’d thought of a hat. Sunglasses weren’t enough.
“Composing a cute pic in my mind’s eye,” she replied before jumping in her truck and changing its direction in the parking spot.
Reagan lowered the tailgate and gestured toward the truck bed. “Madam,” she said, o ering her hand.
Libby glanced at her dubiously but took her hand along with a gentle push on her lower back. Reagan jumped on with practiced ease. How many girls had she wooed with her style and confidence?
“Now what?” Libby asked, her hands on her hips.
Reagan’s response was to plop down and rest her back against the tinted glass of the back window. “Trust me. It’s gonna be cavity-inducing.”
“Where am I supposed to—”
When Reagan parted her denim covered legs, it became obvious where she was supposed to sit. Happy that she was so hot her blush blended in with her already flushed face, Libby spun around before performing a graceful plié and sitting between Reagan’s parted thighs.
“Ready?” she asked, aiming her phone at them.
Libby looked at the image of them together before she took the picture. If she didn’t know the photo was staged, she’d believe the couple staring back of them, sun-kissed and smiling, was completely legit.
After a few snaps with the tell-tale Miami Beach setting behind them, Reagan surprised Libby by kissing her on the cheek. When she flinched, Reagan pulled away.
“I’m sorry, I didn’t mean to—”
“No, no, please.” She shook her head, mortified at her reaction. “I just wasn’t expecting it. You surprised me.
That’s a good idea. We need some images to sell the romance,” she added in a rush as she fought back the fluster.
Reagan craned her neck to get a better look at her face.
“Are you sure? I don’t want to make you feel uncomfortable at all. We can skip—”
“Please,” she interrupted softly. “I promise.” She smiled, before taking the phone from her hands and snapping her own picture. This time, Libby’s lips were on Reagan’s cheek.
After a few lovey-dovey poses, Reagan had a new idea.
“Let’s do some without the glasses on.” She pulled o her own shades as she spoke. “Let’s make the most of those gorgeous green eyes.”
Libby smiled. No one ever noticed her eyes. They were so dark they often looked brown without closer inspection.
When did she even get a good look at them?
