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“A real one,” he assured her with his own naughty glint.
Oh, this was going to be fun. And maybe, just maybe, it wouldn’t screw up things six ways to Sunday.
Chapter Five
A date.
Emmy didn’t even bother to try to tamp down her giddiness. She felt like a teenager on prom night. Specifically, a teenager on prom night who had a date with the hottest cowboy in Texas. Calen’s hotness wasn’t an exaggeration, neither was her giddiness, but since she was in her thirties, she had to add something else to this mix.
Worry.
With all the kissing Calen and she had been doing, sex was up next on the agenda. No way around it if the kissing continued. But while she was certain the sex would be amazing, it was a risk. Not just because it could ruin their friendship but because they could both get their hearts crushed again. Still, even that terrible possibility didn’t stop her from treating this like the date that it was.
The prep for said date had gone on for hours. The long bubble bath, the careful application of her makeup. Then, the hair, also carefully done. Thankfully, she’d already bought a killer red dress that fit her like a second skin. It was way more risqué than the usual outfits she wore to the Mistletoe Ball, but when she’d bought it, Emmy had thought it would be some nice payback to watch Owen’s tongue hit the floor when he saw her in it. Maybe though, Calen’s tongue would do the same. Not for payback but to add some more flames to an already flaming fire.
Since the giddiness had caused her to get dressed too early, Emmy poured herself some wine and paced across her living room. Not the wisest thing to do in heels that had been designed for looks rather than comfort. Rather than risk blisters, she went to the window and got her own tongue-dropping surprise.
Oh, mercy.
Calen was already there. Stepping out of his truck. And he’d gone forgo head, drown in meimpact, too. Of course, he could have managed that no matter what he wore. She figured he could have especially managed it had he worn nothing at all. But for the ball, he’d gone with a Texas tuxedo. Dark jeans, a black jacket, crisp white shirt, and a black Stetson.
Emmy threw open the door and grinned at him. “You look like Mr. December on one of those hot cowboy calendars.”
He grinned back and skimmed his gaze down her. Yeah, the dress worked. “You look like I’d better get you to the ball before I see if I can change your mind and make this a stay-at-home date.”
Mr. December knew the right thing to say. He touched his mouth to hers, careful not to smear her lipstick, and he slipped a red rose corsage on her wrist.
“Thanks,” she said, returning the kiss and smearing that lipstick after all. But when she eased back, she saw something in his eyes. “Having second thoughts?”
“No.” But then he shook his head. “I don’t want to have second thoughts,” he amended. “They might happen though.”
The disappointment came, tamping down some of her mood. “They might,” she agreed, and then added, “You know how I always have your favorite beer in my fridge, and you have Pepsi for me? Well, that doesn’t stop us from having other stuff in there. Like now, for instance, I have cherry cheesecake in mine.”
The look he gave her wasn’t exactly flat, but it was close. “Is that your way of telling me that you can have your cheesecake and eat it, too?”
“Something like that. Our friendship is the beer and Pepsi. The cheesecake is, well, whatever else our friendship becomes.”
The corner of his mouth lifted in a quick, brief smile. “I just don’t want the beer and Pepsi to get . . . awkward.” He stopped, cursed. “Probably best if I quit speaking in metaphors.”
“Straight talk works,” she assured him.
He nodded. “You’ve texted me three times today. Once with a funny cow video, another time to tell me about the customer who wanted to buy some UFO books, and a third one to let me know you were going to wear smutty underwear tonight. I want to think we can have all three, but I’m not sure we can.”
Emmy had to pick her way through that. He wanted the fun, the job chatter, and the smutty stuff. Heck, so did she, but she wasn’t stupid, and she knew that sex could ruin things between friends.
“Tell you what,” she said. “Let’s just go on this date and see what happens. And tomorrow, I’ll send you three more texts.”
He took hold of her hand, threading his fingers through hers. “What about the smutty underwear? Is that still on the table?”
She winked at him. “Well, for now it’s on me. Swatches of red lace that barely cover anything, hence the smutty label.”
Calen groaned, the sound of a man in sexual agony, but he was laughing when he pulled her to him and brushed a kiss on the top of her head. “All right. This date and we’ll see what happens. That means it’s best if I don’t stand here thinking about your underwear.”
Probably best if she didn’t think about his either, or they wouldn’t make it to the party to test out these dating waters.
She eased back, noted the frown line in the center of his forehead, and rubbed it away. “Am I the reason for the rest of this worry, or is there something else?”
“Something else,” he answered on a sigh. “I haven’t gotten permission yet from the postal service to hand out the letters and packages. They assured me they’re working around the clock until after the holidays, so they could give the okay any minute now. There’ll be some disappointed people if the mail isn’t handed out tonight.”
