“Yes. Gorgeous,” she declares as she flicks through the display. “Oh yes. Delicious.” She pauses, eyes lighting up. “Oh, my yes. Must have that. I better go try this on right now.”
“Don’t forget to try the new pink one too. You’ll look pretty in pink,” Marley says, chiming in.
“Good idea. Plus, it’ll make me look innocent,” the woman says with a wink.
“God bless pink for that and other reasons. I’ll show you to the dressing rooms,” Marley says.
A few minutes later, the woman emerges, all the lacy teddies draped on her arm. “I’ll take them all. Including this pink one. I’ll have something to wear for the shirt ripping, the panty ripping, the staircase routine, and then for whatever else I decide to add to the naughty mix.”
I beam. “I like the way you think.”
“And I suspect you’ll love the way they make you feel every time you wear them,” Marley says as she rings up the woman.
When the customer leaves You Look Pretty Today, I lock the door behind her, then give Marley a thumbs up. “Well done.”
We close up, arranging displays and making sure the store looks fabulous to passersby in the night.
“That was a great day,” Marley says as she straightens some pink bras. “Business just gets better and better.”
“It sure does,” I say. “And you’ve played a big part in that.”
Marley is a kick-ass employee, so good at her job that I promoted her. She’s funny as hell too, and we take turns blogging now, sharing our respective adventures in lingerie.
Tristan’s original instinct was right—the blog and the social media that goes with it have played a huge part in keeping my shop competitive. We’ve been able to hold our own against Harriet’s, and we’re doing it in a way that would make Mimi proud—with personal service for all our customers, making sure they go home feeling beautiful in what they wear beneath the clothes they show the world.
Marley flashes a naughty little grin. “Well, I do happen to love lingerie as much as my boss does. So thank you for letting me write about it with you.” She’s a kindred spirit, and that’s exactly who I enjoy spending my days with here at the store.
“There’s no one I’d rather share a pen with,” I say.
“And on that note, how about slipping me some of that new La Perla shipment? I have a hot date tonight,” she says, wiggling her eyebrows.
“Ooh. I want details tomorrow. And yes, grab something lacy and lovely.”
“I will, and this guy, I have a good feeling about this one.”
“I can’t wait to hear more.”
And after work, I like spending my evenings with my girlfriends from time to time. They’re my people too, and always will be, so after we close, I head to Gin Joint to catch up with Lola and Amy.
Amy’s bouncing when I arrive, but she usually is. The woman has more energy than all the coffee beans in Columbia.
She’s holding something behind her back, and when she brandishes it, I squeal.
Lola does too, and Lola is not a squealer. “Isn’t it beautiful?” Lola says, going first.
I grab at the book, with its bright-yellow cover and red title. The illustrated couple on the front is perfectly cheeky and adorable.
“Sex and Other Shiny Objects,” Amy declares, handing me my advance copy of the book I contributed to. Immediately, I flip to the back, checking out the “Do and Don’t Try This at Home” guide that I penned for her.
I smile like a loon as I reread the blog posts—the posts that helped me realize I was in love with my best friend. “Ooh, I love this one especially.” I adjust my stance, adopting my librarian pose, and I dive into the revised post I wrote about bathtub sex.
“Let’s talk about bathtub sex again. Yes, my pretties. It is a lie. Your knees hurt, your toes cramp, and your lady parts just might sting for hours. But what’s not a lie is this—bathtub love. Have a soak with your lover. Snuggle together in a tub. Get close. Or better yet—luxuriate in bubbles and have a chat with him or her about your day. After, when you’re all warm and relaxed, make your way to the bedroom. There, just go for the golden ticket. I’m talking the simultaneous prize. It’s rare, and it’s unlikely. But that’s why it’s all the more fun. Make it a quest. Try it several times. Every night. I tried it with the man I love, and let me tell you—it’s spectacular. But then, so is he.”
A shiver runs through me as I remember that night. And, well, all the other nights we’ve chased after the elusive simultaneous finish of the sixty-nine. Some nights we catch it. Sometimes one of us flies first. But every time feels like the best time. Because I’m with him.
When I look up, they’re both staring at me like I’m a goofball.
“You’re so happy it’s ridiculous, and I love it,” Lola says.
“Yes. Yes, I am. Drinks are on me. Especially since business has been oh-so-good, thanks to this blog. Check this out,” I say, as I click over to the comments section, showing them the exchange between Lovey Buns and Sweet ums.
Sweet ums: Thank you, Lingerie Devotee, for revealing the truth about bathtub sex. Like I tell my lovey buns, it’s just not happening.
Lovey Buns: But I’m willing to try again. Practice makes perfect, as they say.
Sweet ums: Bathtub sex is not yoga. It is not a practice.
Lovey Buns: But yoga makes it possible to get into all sorts of positions. Including in the tub, sweet ums.
Sweet ums: No. Not in the tub, lovey buns.
Lovey Buns: Out of the tub then? Maybe when you’re wearing that babydoll nightie?
Sweet ums: That is a pretty number. I do love how you indulge my lingerie habit.
Lovey Buns: And that habit, I will definitely keep practicing.
Sweet ums: And in that case, practice will make perfect.
I close the browser window as my friends nod approvingly at the couple’s exchange. I’m pleased too that everything worked out as it was meant to be for Sweet Ums and Lovey Buns—they are perfect together.
We order a round of Devil’s Teeth, and after we ooh and aah over the book cover again, Lola takes a deep breath, the signal that she’s about to make an announcement. “So...are you ready to hear the latest about you know who?”
“Chris Hemsworth?” I toss out a random name.
“Scott Eastwood?” Amy pitches in.
“Tom Ellis?”
“That hot guy on that new Netflix show you love?”
Lola laughs, shaking her head at each suggestion. Then she draws a deep breath and answers in a foreboding tone. “Lucas.”
“Um, yes,” I deadpan. “I’ve been dying to hear the latest since you had to spend those 24 hours with him.”
“A delicious 24 hours,” Lola adds.
“A wild and naughty 24 hours,” I chime in.
Amy stabs the table with her finger. “I demand a full report now, wild, naughty and delicious.”
Lola straightens her spine. “Here’s the latest with Lucas.”
I sit, enrapt, as she tells us what’s going on with the guy she had a thing for ten years ago, the guy who appeared in her life again a few days ago.
I’m all ears, because I can’t wait to hear what happens next with Lola and the one who got away.
Epilogue
Tristan
Several Months Later
I blindfold her.
“Are you sure I can’t see it?”
“I’m positive,” I tell Peyton as I guide her to the back room of my bar. The cornhole board still claims center stage, but I’ve added shuffleboard too. And another item at her request.
Well, sort of.
I reach for the rubber hatchet I left on the ground.
I’m not letting her throw a metal one. I’m not letting anyone toss a metal one. But the woman has a thing for ax throwing, and I have a thing for making her dreams come true.
“Hold out your hands.”
She stretches them in front of her, and I set the rubber ax in her palms.
“Sort of.” I move behind her and untie the blindfold, letting it fall to the floor.
Her smile fills the room when she sees the target I’ve installed. “It’s ax throwing for my princess lumberjack.”
She dances a little jig as she raises the toy ax made of hard, sharpened rubber over her shoulder and takes aim at the target. As she stares at it, narrowing her eyes, ready to fire, I flash back on our last year together—nights and days, hopes and dreams, love and dinners and breakfasts and coffees.
She moved in with me at the start of the summer, and the timing fit since Barrett was spending more and more time in the college dorms. He started early at NYU, and he’s been living on campus, taking summer classes.
He comes home for dinner a few nights a week, and that’s one of my favorite things in the world—seeing him so often, having dinner with him and Peyton as a family. Sometimes Eli joins us, and Rachel too. Eli’s going to school in the city, so we’ll see if they stay together. For now, Barrett’s happy, and that’s all I care about.
The edge of the ax wedges itself into the corkboard target, and Peyton thrusts her arms in the air. “Victory is mine.”
And I hope she’ll be mine forever as she turns around to find me on one knee.
She gasps, her eyes widening. “Oh my God.”
I hold open a blue velvet box. “Peyton Marie Valencia, I’ve loved you for a long time, and I’ve been the luckiest guy in the world to have you love me back these last months. You’re the only woman for me, and I want you to be mine always. I love you. I love you. I love you. Please marry me,” I say, echoing the words I shared with her on the street last fall.
I say them without a shred of worry.
Only hope.
Only love.
She sinks to the floor, throws her arms around me, and says, “You don’t have to ask. I’m already yours forever. I love you, and I’ll marry you anytime, any day, anywhere.”
A variation on her words that day too.
I slide the ring on her finger, and her eyes light up as she gazes at the diamond solitaire.
“It’s gorgeous. I do love shiny objects. But not as much as I love you.” She clasps my face and kisses her yes against my lips. Then softly, sweetly, she says, “Thank you for waiting for me.”
I kiss her back. “Thank you for asking me to be your research partner.”
“You’re my permanent research partner now,” she says.
“And we’ll have a lifetime to experiment.”
Another Epilogue
The Lingerie Devotee: Do Try This at a Hotel
Blog entry, My Wedding Night
There’s something special about white lace.
It’s both innocent and sexual at the same time.
And when I wear it, I feel beautiful too.
That’s how I wanted to feel on my wedding night.
No surprise I wore lace, then. White lace bikini panties, white lace garters, and a white lace demi-cup bra. Stockings too. Never forget the stockings.
The lingerie served me well during the ceremony and the reception.
But it served both of us later that night. After all, sometimes the mark of fantastic lingerie is how quickly it comes off.
I believe we set a record.
And we’re going to keep setting them for the rest of our lives.
THE END
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I dart outside and answer the call from my brother. “What’s going on?”
“Not much,” he says, with a laugh that sounds forced.
“Everything is great.”
My hackles go up. “Let me ask again. What’s going on now?”
Rowan clears his throat. “Listen, it’s no biggie. Everything
is cool. I mean, it will be when we get our stuff back, plus the security deposit, which we’re totally going to need. Anyway, I just sent you the email with the details. But there’s one little thing I forgot to tell you before we board this cruise.”
I groan. “Your stuff isn’t in Brooklyn?”
“No. It probably is. I mean, that’d make sense. I’d have to look at the email more closely to know for sure, and I didn’t read it yet because it was super long and annoying and messing with my mojo. But that’s not the point.”
A ship’s horn cuts through the phone line, and I can’t hear a word he’s saying. When the horn ends, he says, “So you don’t mind, do you?
“Mind what?” I ask, my jaw ticking, as the May sunshine dares to peek out from behind a cloud. It should be raining. It should be fucking pouring right now.
“You don’t mind that Luna asked for help too?”
I let out a sigh of relief. “No, that’s fine, of course. It’ll be done faster then,” I say before I connect the dots. But when I do, all the life leaks out of me. I tense, bracing myself for an answer I don’t want. But I have to ask the question. “Who’s helping Luna? Is it her sister?”
Please say no, please say no.
I can hear Rowan smile as he answers. “Yes. Lola will help.”
Lola Dumont.
Lola fucking Dumont.
I lean against the brick wall of the coffee shop wall, picturing the last time I saw the dark-haired beauty at an industry event. She looked like she wanted to toss her champagne at me. Then deliver a scathing rebuttal of all my mistakes.
Hell, there were things I wanted to say to her too.
When her name pops up in my texts a few minutes later, my brain plays a cruel joke by reminding me of three things.
How much fun we had together for that one year when we were nearly inseparable.
How good her lips tasted that night I kissed her.
And how shitty I felt the weekend after.
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Acknowledgments
Big thanks to Lauren Clarke, Jen McCoy, Helen Williams, Kim Bias, Virginia, Lynn, Karen, Tiffany, Janice, Stephanie and more for their eyes. Much love to Helen for the beautiful cover. Thank you to Kelley and Candi and KP and Jenn. Massive smooches to Laurelin Paige for access to her brain and heart. As always, my readers make everything possible.
Also by Lauren Blakely
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Contact
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Sex and Other Shiny Objects (Boyfriend Material Book 2) Page 19