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Evie was starting to wonder if she really was drunk. A feeling of desperation was making her behave like an ass, and she knew it, and now this guy was talking to her. This guy who didn’t even look like he could possibly be real.
He looked like he’d stepped off the pages of some business magazine. Perfectly cut suit, expensive watch and shoes. And his haircut had not cost eight dollars.
No, his dark hair was perfection. She wanted to run her fingers through it. Or pull it. That was one of the sex tips she’d read. Some guys were into that.
And now he was talking to her. She wished she were in a business meeting. Then it wouldn’t matter how hot the guy was, she would know what to say. She would know what to do with her hands.
She wouldn’t be so sweaty.
She was beyond competent in every other area of her life and she just didn’t know how to do this.
The damn app needed to be able to flirt for her. Give a command, and it would do her bidding. But that was asking a bit much of artificial intelligence.
Siri, I’d like to get laid…
There are ten horny, sexy men in your area.
Not likely.
“So, what’s in your app?” he asked, leaning on the bar.
“Nothing finalized yet. I mean, I’m not writing all the content, I’m programming it. Though I am taking some things straight from articles. You can create a profile that helps customize your fashion and flirt type. It has…hot spots, to help you find the right kind of guy for you. You know, athletes, businessmen. You can send messages. There’s quick dating tips and…sex tips.”
“Sex tips?”
“Yeah,” she said, putting her hands on her hips. “Sex tips. Fifty of them.”
“Fifty? I’m going to have to hear about those.”
Evie took a deep breath and leaned in a little, ignoring the fact that she wobbled on her heels a bit. Ignoring the fact that she was so nervous she could hardly breathe. She had nothing to lose. Three unsuccessful attempts already and she was starting to feel like a failure.
It was time to lay it all on the line.
“What if I showed you instead?”
Chapter Two
Steps five through eight had effectively been skipped. She’d moved straight to step nine: The Proposition. The only thing after this was Closing the Deal. And that was a thinly-veiled euphemism for “letting him put his penis inside you.” Which was not her desired end result, but, really, this should provoke him to suggest a deal-closing. Which would technically mean she was a rousing success and could go home and put on her flannel pajamas.
In theory.
Her dating history wasn’t super illustrious. One man. She’d been with one man, and they’d hooked up in high school, and back then, her standard for a datable male had been A) breathing and B) not oblivious to her existence. Jason had been both of those things, and so one night they’d sort of ended up sitting at the same table at a popular burger hangout and the rest had been history.
She’d slept with him because it had been The Thing To Do. He’d asked her to prom, he’d brought her a corsage. And he’d gotten a hotel room that had actually been pretty nice. He’d done the expected things, so she’d done the expected things.
And thus it had gone on.
Well, that wasn’t her anymore.
She didn’t need a relationship. She didn’t want one. Hell, she was a woman at the top. A blinking multimillionaire by age twenty-seven, and no one had helped her get there. It was all her.
She was in charge. And she was going to…take charge of this all the way into a stranger’s bedroom. Which felt way edgier and sexier than she’d ever been before. Wasn’t that the way you were supposed to handle break ups?
Whatever. She was done with supposed to. This was how she was handling it.
“You want to show me your sex tips?” he asked. His lips were curved into a half-smile, and rather than looking uncontrollably aroused he looked…amused. That wasn’t what she was going for.
She tucked her hair behind her ear. “Yeah. That’s what I said. You. Me. Sex. Tips.”
