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“Well, you do dress like my grandma, but that hasn’t stopped him from wanting you.”
I throw my straw wrapper at her. “This coming from Peg Bundy.”
She throws it back. “Underneath, you got the goods. Use that instead of your softer side of Sears getup.”
Right. She’s right.
Could I seduce Nash?
I bet if we have sex one more time, it will get him out of my system. We can end things on better terms. But my clothes and lingerie won’t do it. My very boring lingerie. My even worse clothes.
My lingerie wouldn’t seduce anyone. I’m going to have to be more creative.
That night, after closing, I race upstairs while he walks the dogs. I light candles, I hide the television remote, and I tear off my clothes.
When he comes in, I’m sitting on the couch wearing one of his shirts and reading a book.
One of his eyebrows shoots up when he looks at me. “What are you doing?”
I set the book on the table and look over the top of my reading glasses. “I’m testing a theory.”
“What theory is that?”
“You said I can’t learn life from books.” His eyes narrow. “I want to try something I learned in a book.” I glance at the book on the table and look back at him, waiting for him to notice the Kamasutra book’s title.
Chapter Eight
Nash
THE SIGHT OF HER WEARINGone of my button-up shirts makes me want to beat my chest and swing from a vine. Her hair’s up in a messy bun, her glasses are perched precariously on her nose, and she’s blinking at me a little too innocently.
“What did you learn in a book?” I glance at the title, hoping it’s not a cookbook. I have a high fire insurance deductible.
Holy shit. It’s not a cookbook. She’s reading erotic literature on my couch while half-dressed and one hundred percent sexy. Every available brain cell I have just died and all I can think of is the ways she tastes.
She rises to her knees and brings the book up to her chest. “It says here there are thirty kinds of kissing.”
