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“Did he get too rough and demanding?”
I look up. “No. He was actually very gentle.” Which still surprises me. I wouldn’t have pegged Sterling for a gentle lover. I pictured him as someone that likes the rougher side of sex. I don’t know why I felt that way, but I did. And I have to admit, the thought of a demanding Sterling in bed has my girly bits tingling. I adjust in my seat at the mental image of him forcing me to do things I’ve never done before.
Liv scoots her chair closer to me and grabs my hand.
“You asked me if I thought you were insane for letting a stranger into your house, someone who I assume you let have free reign of your body?” She waits for my confirmation, and I give her a nod. “I would have to say yes.”
I go to pull my hand away. I was worried she would feel that way, but I knew she’d be right. I don’t make it far as she squeezes it tighter in her grip.
“Wait, I’m not finished. I do think what you’re doing is crazy, but I think it could be a good crazy. I think you should pursue this, but also stay cautious. The guy seems legit, but in the end you don’t know him, and until you do, keep one eye open. I want to see you happy, and I’ve seen a spark in your eye over the last week that I’ve never seen before.”
Tears prick my eyes at the sincerity in her voice. She knows everything about me, all the heartache I’ve been through, and my secret wish of finding a man that I can love and will love me wholeheartedly in return.
I pull her in for a hug and murmur at her ear, “Love you, Liv.”
She pulls back, just as the timer goes off on the oven.
“Love you too, Pop. Now, let’s go get some chips and dip and tackle my dress issue before I decide to wear a burlap sack.”
Later that afternoon, I walk through my front door with a stack of mail in hand. I set it, my purse, and my keys down on the kitchen counter and pull a bottled water from the fridge. I’m glad to be home. As much as I love Liv and want her to have the best wedding ever, she’s driving me crazy with the whole dress issue. I get it. She deserves it, but damn, the woman is picky as hell. We had to have looked through ten different magazines and about fifty different websites, and absolutely nothing caught her eye. We finally decided to call it quits and hoped the next time we’d have better luck.
Capping my bottle of water, I set it down and walk down the hallway to my room. I get halfway there when I hear my phone ring, which is still in the kitchen. Without stopping, I turn on my heel and backtrack. My feet move fast and my heart rate spikes thinking it could be Sterling. When I grab it from the counter, I’m shocked at the number displayed on the screen. In the year I’ve worked at Silver Technologies, Asher has never called me after hours before. I have his number programmed in my phone for emergencies and such, and he has mine, but he’s never used it.
“Hello?”
Crap. Did my voice just squeak?
“Hello, Poppy.”
Damn. He even sounds sexy over the phone. It’s smooth and gruff. The deep timber of it sends a shiver down my spine. I’ve talked with him over the intercom at work, but this feels different. I’m in my personal space right now. Up until our dinner the other night, I’ve never been able to imagine Asher in any other setting other than the office. But now, images of him sitting on a leather couch with his feet propped up on a coffee table, maybe with a glass of whiskey in his other hand, comes to mind. The image morphs into something more as I see myself walking over to him, his eyes glued to the sway of my hips, until I’m standing between his legs. He reaches up…
“… pair of cowgirl boots?”
I’m so engrossed in my ridiculous thoughts that I didn’t realize he was talking.
“I-I’m sorry. What?” I stutter.
“Am I interrupting something?”
“No!” I blurt out, and then feel stupid at my outburst. I take a deep breath and try to calm my racing heart. That damn image did a number on my brain. “No,” I say more calmly. “I’m sorry. I was just thinking about something else.”
“Care to enlighten me?”
I almost drop the phone. I will definitely not be enlightening him.
“No, thanks.”
I swear I hear him chuckle on the other end of the line before he says, “I was asking if you own a pair of cowgirl boots.”
I’m caught off guard by his question and have to think about it for a minute. Cowgirl boots? He really called to ask me if I own a pair of cowgirl boots?”
“Uhh…nooo.” I reply, drawing out the word.
“You can’t go to Texas without cowgirl boots, Poppy. It’s mandatory. Especially if you’re wanting to explore.”
I slap my forehead when I realize what he’s talking about. Texas, you idiot.
“Oh, well, I guess I better get a pair then.” I can’t keep the silly grin off my face at the thought of boot scootin’ in a pair of boots, knee-high skirt, and a plaid button-down. A thought occurs to me. “Wait. Do you own a pair?”
