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My phone pinged. He was texting me. Naked!
I’m leaving in an hour for San Francisco. Now I’m hard. Fuck.
Yes, he was. I could actually see his dick getting harder. Because of me. He gripped it, gave it a long stroke. Holy shit, he was so turned on he had to ease the ache. I completely understood. He stopped and typed another text.
When I come back next. You. Me. A bed. All night.
17
EVE
I was emptyingthe filter from the large coffee brewer when the bell above the door jingled. In walked Frank, the mailman. He set my pile of mail–with probably a few bills–on the counter.
“Thanks!” I called as he turned and left, his letter bag slung over his shoulder. He offered a little wave as he shut the door behind him, moving to the architect firm next door.
Ignoring the filter and wet grounds, I flipped through the mail.
Bill. Bill. City flier for winter events. Bill.
“Fuck,” I muttered.
June came over. “No luck with the bank loan?”
I shook my head. Frowned. “The three local banks won’t give me one. I’m guessing it’s my father. The owners all play golf with him. No doubt he told them to turn down my loan.”
Nothing like the good ole’ boys network fucking with me. Why wasn’t my father my champion instead of my business nemesis?
She huffed, then practically growled, “That’s totally wrong.”
“It doesn’t matter that your last name is Hunter and your family’s loaded? That you are?”
I shook my head. “If my father’s involved, then yes, but in his favor. Not mine.”
“Maybe the bank doesn’t know your assets are locked down by Asshole Ex. I didn’t give him enough laxative.”
I couldn’t help but smile at her deviousness.
“They check things. Whatever they are. Or they listen to my dad. Either way, they said no. I’m still waiting to hear from the bigger bank in Missoula. That’s a national chain, so maybe they won’t be so stingy.”
“Take Bridget up on their loan program.”
I shook my head. “No. Absolutely not.”
She tapped her finger on the counter.
“I may have an idea.”
I turned to face her directly. “What is it?”
“Remember, I keep mentioning stripping?”
“I’m not stripping. My parents are losing their shit over me and my little business. Can you imagine them finding out I’m stripping at the Pink Pony out by the highway?”
They’d have me committed.
“So what? You’re an adult. There’s nothing wrong with taking your clothes off for money.”
I heard the hurt tone of her words. “You’re right. I’m sorry. There’s nothing wrong with it at all. Butmestripping is the issue. I can’t dance. I have zero rhythm and if there was a pole involved, I’d end up in the hospital with a head injury.”
