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Bobby:What could I offer that would change your mind? Sex? Chocolate? Sex? A foot rub? Sex?
Me:Tell me where we’re going on our honeymoon?
I don’t actually want to know; the anticipation is fun, but I love to tease him, and it’s so easy to do.
Bobby:No dice, scrapper. See you in a few.
Me:Love, love, love, love, love, love.
Bobby:Love you too, JC.
Laughing that he got my Jim Carrey reference, I throw the phone to my desk and look back to my screen. I still don’t see the numbers. Instead, I seeTina Cooper Studios. I see lingerie and blushing, and lots of sucking my stomach in and hoping you can’t tell that I was sucking it in in the final product.
At five on the dot, I pack up my desk and run around to hug each of my coworkers. I’ll see a few of them on Saturday, and the ones that I don’t, well, they probably weren’t invited because they’re assholes. I swing out the door at a trot, skip down the single set of stairs, and rush to my car filled with exhilaration and anticipation and nerves.
I’ve never done something sorisquéin my life, and I hope I resemble the girls I Googled for this, rather than a constipated whale. Pulling out of the lot and into the street, I embrace the adrenaline that runs through my veins, and smirk at the gym bag on my back seat.
I snuck Bobby’s old, worn boxing gloves out for this. Stuffed in beside those is a hacked-up Rollin branded tank top, hand wraps, booty shorts that he seems to love, and his MMA hat.
The hat was the trickiest to steal, seeing as he wears it around the clock. The gloves will only be a mild annoyance; he’ll assume they’re around somewhere, then when he can’t find them after a thirty second search, he’ll move on to the next pair and make a note to ask me about them later.
The wraps are everywhere in the gym. Rolls of them sit in drawers the way most people have quarters littered around, and the tank, well, I didn’t cut it up in front of him.
I pull into the on-street parking out front of the studio and sit for a moment as nerves send me jittery. How can I look sexy in underwear if my teeth are chattering from cold and nerves?
Suck it up.
Climbing out before I give in to the temptation to speed away and hide, I grab my bag of filched goods and dash inside. The bell sounds over my head as I step into the air-conditioning, and sending me into a self-loathing funk like nothing I’ve ever experienced before in my life, a stunning blonde woman pokes her head around the partition and smiles at me.
She’s young, maybe even a year or two younger than me, with sleek blonde hair, creamy white skin, bright blue eyes, and an amazing button nose.
She has whales in bikinis singing and dancing in my mind.
Marring her perfection and sending my brows furrowing with curiosity, this woman wears jagged scars that cut across the bridge of her nose toward her temple, another pulling her left eyebrow up and fading into her hairline, and yet another slashing across the side of her neck and ending beneath her hair.
It honestly looks like a bear took a single swipe, then walked away. But despite the severity of her scars, they don’t make her less beautiful. Before them, she would have been the perfect Barbie; stunning and flawless. Now she’s still that same stunning woman, but the scars add an element of danger and sexiness.
She’s Miss Universe, but badass and capable at the same time.
How can I possibly strip down in front of this woman? I was hoping for a balding old lady with a dark moustache to make me feel good about myself. Perhaps a whale in a bikini that dances the hula.
She grins at my inner heartbreak. “What’s that face?”
“What?”
“Your face!” She laughs. “Don’t you dare run. It’ll be fine.”
“I was nervous when I walked in here, but now I feel inadequate. You’re too hot to strip in front of.”
“Oh hush!” She laughs and steps closer. “You must be Kit? I’m Christina – please call me Tina.”
I shake her hand and sob internally. “Christina is definitely the person I spoke to on the phone. I had three seconds to hope that you were the hot assistant, and your old, ugly boss would come out in a sec and send you on a coffee run for the whole time I’d be showing my ass.”
She snickers kindly and looks me up and down. “Stop. This’ll be fun, and you have a nice ass. Did you bring the booty shorts we discussed?”
“I did. And some other stuff.”
“Awesome. This is gonna be fun, so stop freaking out. Let’s go in the back and talk.” She steps past me and flips theopensign toclosedon the front door, then taking my hand, drags me into her dungeon; also known as a perfectly normal room.
