by Lexi Ryan
Yeah, but Reese had seen this movie. Take one dowdy wall-flower, replace glasses with contacts, treat frizzy hair with flat iron, and place in tight, revealing clothes. Insert into the world and watch her blossom. “I don’t think I’m really the type. I’m not like my sister.”
It was a good thing she’d been unemployed for almost an hour and not almost a month. Otherwise, she’d probably be falling at Halie’s feet begging for the job. As it was, she was kicking herself. If she missed even one paycheck, she risked losing her condo.
But she couldn’t pretend to be someone she wasn’t, could she?
“How important do you think the station is to the masquerade ball?” Halie asked. “With a good promotions director, could company like mine could pull off a charity event like that?”
“Absolutely.”
“Fantastic. That would be your first project. Because I’m not interested in working with WJRK anymore. I don’t like that sexist morning show of theirs. I only worked with them this long because of you. I really like you, Reese.”
Reese’s mind was spinning.
“Let me know when you’re ready. Once you enroll in the program, we’ll be happy to welcome you to the SGI team.” She scribbled something on a card and handed it to Reese. “I think that is a fair compensation package.”
Reese looked at the card and blinked. Silence roared in her ears as she realized an ugly truth about herself: She could be bought.
CHAPTER THREE
Reese Regan, aspiring slut.
Reese wiped the steam off her mirror and contemplated the pejorative term. Slut.
Did that mean not having to play the dating game anymore? Did it mean not having to worry if the guy across the table at dinner would be more interested in her cooking skills than her mind? More interested in her housekeeping abilities than her ideas? Did it mean enjoying herself when she was in bed with a man?
If so, she was in. Nothing good ever came of dating, and, frankly, she didn’t care for what the old ritual had to offer. Her cell phone buzzed on her bathroom vanity.
A quick look at the display told her Masey was on the other end. Masey didn’t know about Reese losing her job, so she had to be calling about the date.
“It’s after ten. Don’t you have something better to do than check on my love life?”
Masey laughed. “Sadly, no. I want the dirt.”
Reese held the phone between her shoulder and ear while she pumped lotion into her hand. “Total bust.”
Masey grunted. “Damn. I was hoping to live vicariously through you too. I thought he was a banker.”
“Yep, so he had the whole not-a-bum thing going for him, but he spent the entire dinner quizzing me.”
“About what? Stocks and bonds?”
“Unfortunately, no.” Reese smoothed the lotion over her damp legs and rubbed it in. “Where do I see myself in five years? How many children do I want to have? Do I realize I should have children sooner rather than later if I really care about the well-being of my babies?”
“Nuh-uh!”
“The man actually asked whether or not I had checked in on the health of my ovaries.”
“Dear God,” Masey breathed. “Date from Hell.”
Reese took a gulp of her wine. “That wasn’t a date. It was an interview for the dubious honor of being the man’s wife. He kept telling me how nice it was to be on a date with a good girl.”
“Ew! What did you say?”
“I told him I’m not a good girl, I’m an aspiring slut.”
“Good for you!”
“I would have said anything to end the game of Twenty Inappropriate Questions. And, anyway, it wasn’t a total lie.”
“What do you mean by that?”
Reese pulled the towel from her head and wiped the steam off the mirror. Aspiring slut. Her hair tumbled around her shoulders, a dark mass of wet waves. If there had been a Slutty Reese buried somewhere inside her, maybe Mr. Banker would have seen that and would have bypassed the questions in favor of a different kind of entertainment. Maybe she’d be acting out some delicious fantasy beyond the realm of her limited—and disappointing—sexual experience.
Instead, she’d cut their night short and come home to wash breakfast dishes and climb into her second shower of the day.
She’d also had most of a bottle of her favorite red wine—the likely culprit behind getting a case of the giggles after the day she’d had.
“I wouldn’t mind being a slut.”
“Whatever, Reese.”
“I’m serious. You know, just for a little while. I’m sick of being the girl everyone takes so seriously. I want a little fun.” She picked up her wine glass and took a long sip, closing her eyes as the warmth traveled down her throat, into her chest, and sank in her belly.
“You don’t have to be a slut to have fun. You just need to find the right guy. Maybe he’s right in front of you and you don’t even know it.”
Mark Hawk immediately came to mind. She’d had a chance with him once. She’d wasted the opportunity, thinking she wanted something else, but a little piece of bad boy was exactly what she needed.
She always ended up with the wrong kind of guy…or pining after the guy who didn’t want her.
“Don’t settle for a wild fling when Prince Charming is waiting in the wings.”
She snorted. “I found Prince Charming, remember?”
“Lance was no prince.”
“He was. He was perfect. The dream. Then one day I kissed him and he turned into a frog.” And that summed up her life—a backwards fairytale. She’d fallen hard, moved in with him, and almost destroyed her friendship with Ben.
“God, Lance was such a jerk, but sweetie, he had us all fooled.”
Not Ben, Reese thought. Ben had warned her off Lance, and she’d ignored him. She’d even accused him of being jealous.
“We’ve all been there,” Masey was saying. “But not all men are like that, and you deserve better.”
She closed her eyes. “Thanks, Mase.” Lance had made her believe she didn’t. She laughed too loudly, dressed too awkwardly, spoke too much at this party, not enough at that one. When their time together ended, she eventually realized insults were his way of manipulating her.
But one complaint stayed with her.
She was a disappointment in bed.
She frowned in the mirror now. Definitely not playmate of the month material. Her breasts were too small, her hips too wide, her belly a little too soft. She worked out, enjoyed it. Regular exercise gave her energy to get through long days at the office. But all the power walking and bicep curls in the world couldn’t make her boobs grow, and when she did manage to lose a couple pounds, they came off the parts where she wanted them and didn’t budge in the spots she didn’t.
Maybe it was politically incorrect, but she wanted to be wanted. She wanted a man whose adoration for her was matched only by his primitive sexual hunger.
Rawr.
The doorbell rang, yanking her from her thoughts.
“Masey, I have to go. There’s someone at the door. It’s probably Trisha wanting to know how the date went.”
“Okay, well tell her she sucks at blind dates.”
“Right,” Reese said. “That and never again.”
She ended the call. “Come on in!” She grabbed a thick terrycloth robe from her bathroom door and slid her arms through the puffy sleeves. “It’s open!” The robe was dark brown and tattered. Trish would scowl at it, pitch a fit, and threaten—for the hundredth time—to toss it in the trash.
Reese lived alone. Who did she need to impress?
She was holding her glass of wine with one hand and running a comb through her hair with the other when she heard the front door open. She called down the hall, “Do you think Sex Goddess 101 can teach me how to be a slut?”
The laughter she heard was low and deep. And definitely didn’t belong to her sister.
She peeked into the hall and, sure enough, Ben stood in the warm light of h
er small living room, thumbs tucked in his front pockets, smirking.
Cheeks warm—more from the wine than her mistake—she joined him, comb in one hand, wine in the other. “Sorry, I thought you were Tricia.”
“That explains everything.” He took in her robe, her wet hair, her wine glass. “Bad date?”
“Not a date.” Reese scowled. “And calling it bad would be an exercise in optimism.”
“Care to share?”
“And relive it? Not a chance.” She wandered to the kitchen to top off her wine. She frowned at the empty bottle and reached for another.
“Easy there, Killer.” He was suddenly behind her and putting his hand over hers before she could pull a fresh bottle of red from the rack. “You promised to help with my dad’s party in the morning, remember?”
“I want to be a slut.” She spun around, abandoning her quest for more wine.
Ben raised a brow. “Well, any more wine and you might—”
“I’m serious. I’m sick of dating. I’m sick of men seeing me as this innocent good girl.” She scowled at him. “Why is it that guys assume that just because a girl dresses…modestly…just because she carries around a few extra pounds on her thighs and doesn’t show her ass, she doesn’t like sex? Why do men assume I’m sweet and innocent?”
Wine sloshed onto the floor, and he took the glass from her hand and set it on the counter. “Who told you that?”
She leaned back against the cool granite. “Just every man I’ve ever had the misfortune to date.”
“And it would be better for them to think you’re…” He trailed off, as if choosing his words carefully. “…a slut?”
She poked him in the chest. “Damn—” Poke. “Straight.” Poke. “I’m reclaiming it.” Poke. Poke. “Men sleep around and they’re manly, studly, freaking yee-haw Alpha Males. Well, that’s fine, but I’m reclaiming slut. What is a slut anyway? A woman who has sex without commitment and”—she gasped dramatically—“enjoys herself. I’m sick of men expecting so much from me and giving so little in return.” She nodded as if the matter was decided. “Starting tomorrow, I’m going to be a slut.”
Ben removed her finger from his chest and stepped closer.
Reese swallowed. The heat coming off his body warmed her exposed skin.
God, he smelled good. When he reached behind her head, she tilted her mouth up to his. She blamed the wine as her gaze drifted to his lips. Bad idea, part of her thought, but another part of her—a dangerous part that remembered just how good those lips felt on hers—didn’t care. That dangerous part wanted to be kissed.
His eyes met hers, then she heard a click as the cabinet behind her head opened and he withdrew a glass.
She released a breath and he stepped back, putting space between them as he turned to the sink and ran the tap.
He handed her the glass, and it felt cool against her burning skin.
“Drink,” he commanded.
She did as he said. When the she drained the glass, he refilled it and handed it back.
When she was halfway through the second glass, he leaned against the wall and crossed his arms over his chest. “Want to tell me what this is all about?”
Reese frowned again. Thought about Mister Your-Eggs-Won’t-Last-Forever. Thought about her unfortunate reunion with Lance. “What I want,” she said, “is a hot and sweaty, never-gonna-be-my-hubby, down and dirty fling.”
With a sigh, he shrugged and tugged his shirt from his waistband. “If I have to.”
She snorted at his exposed abs.
He lifted his palms. “I’m just trying to help a friend.”
She smacked his arm.
He grinned in earnest now. “I’ll take one for the team.”
“I’ll keep that in mind. I just want a guy who… likes sex.”
“That narrows it down,” he muttered.
“I want someone who is more interested in my body than my housekeeping skills.”
“That should eliminate a solid one-percent of the straight male population.”
Reese dropped her eyes to her empty glass of water. “I want to know what it’s like to be wanted. Part of me—a teeny, tiny, stupid part—wishes I could be one of Halie McCormack’s sex goddesses.”
***
Oh, hell. She was wearing a dress. An innocuous little blue thing that hid every damn curve she had and ended just far enough above her knees to hint at soft thighs and an even softer—
“Thanks for picking me up,” Reese said, climbing into Ben’s truck, “but I really could have taken the train.”
“Don’t be ridiculous. We’re going to the same place.”
She frowned and adjusted her skirt as she settled into the seat. “Well, thanks.”
“You need to get rid of that death trap,” he said, forcing his eyes off the sliver of exposed skin above her knees. Her POS sedan sat useless in parking lot of her complex, begging to be put to rest in a scrap pile.
“It’s paid for,” she said, matter-of-fact. “The mechanic is fixing it this weekend. Besides, I use the L most of the time. What do I need with some fancy car?”
Right, and she couldn’t afford a car payment since that asshole ex of hers had convinced her they should buy a condo together. Then he’d left and stuck her with the mortgage.
If she’d take Ben up on his offer to let her live with him, she’d be able to sell the condo and buy a reliable vehicle.
“Well, it works most of the time.”
He turned back to her and quirked a brow. “Most of the time? That puts my mind at ease, Reese. Here I was worried it might break down on you in the middle of rush hour on I-90, but now that I know it works most of the time, I’ll put it from my mind.”
“You worry too much, but you don’t need to. Everything’s going to work out.” Her eyes widened as she spotted two cups of coffee on the console. “Is one of those for me?”
Her dark hair was pulled into a high ponytail, exposing the smooth skin of her neck and reminding him of the freshly-bathed, wine-flushed Reese he’d found in her apartment last night. He couldn’t stop picturing the way her robe had started to slip off her shoulders, or the way she’d looked at him—if only for a moment—when he’d stepped close.
He couldn’t stop wondering what the fuck was wrong with him.
Ben forced his gaze away from her as she sipped the coffee. But she made soft little moans of pleasure with each sip, and he had to squeeze the steering wheel to keep from staring, to keep his brain from imagining those moans in a completely different context. “I assume you’ve moved past your drunken I want to be a slut plans.”
“Oh, I haven’t moved past it,” she said. “I just know better sober than to believe I can do it. I’m not sex goddess material.”
He snorted. Was she really so naïve?
She shrugged. “Life goes on.”
“Thanks for doing this,” he said gruffly, changing the topic to something safer.
She reached over and squeezed his thigh, just above his knee, and left her hand there. “I’m happy to. I owe a lot to your parents.”
He pulled onto the road, heading north of the city to his parents’ house. Months ago, he’d asked Reese to help him with preparations for his dad’s retirement party. She was good at that kind of thing after all. But now all he could think was if he put the party together by himself, he wouldn’t be sitting here wanting her so damn much.
She squeezed one more time before pulling her hand away, and his cock strained uncomfortably against the fly of his jeans.
“When’s everyone supposed to get there?” she asked.
He cleared his throat. “Noon. Are Trish and Sydney going to make it?”
Reese frowned and leaned back in her seat. “Yes,” she grumbled. “God, I really don’t want to talk to my sister right now, but it will be good to see Sydney. Do you know she’s playing piano in the high school jazz band?”
“You mentioned it. Like twelve times.”
“She’s in eighth grade.
Forgive me for being a proud aunt.”
Ben shot her a look before returning his focus to the road. “Why don’t you want to talk to Trish? Because of the date?”
“The date was terrible,” she said, “but she meant well. But I can’t believe she told Halie McCormack—” She cut herself off and her eyes went wide.
“What’d she tell her? They’re friends, right?”
“She just—” She shook her head again, and from the corner of his eye, he could see her cheeks flushing. “She’s the one who made Halie think I need Sex Goddess 101.”
Ben narrowed his gaze. “You’re not telling me something.”
“It’s personal,” Reese grumbled behind her coffee.
He grunted. “Never stopped you from sharing before.”
“It’s embarrassing. But maybe everything happens for a reason. Something good might come of it.”
“Come on, Reese. It’s me. Your buddy. The guy who saved you from what probably would have been a nasty hangover yesterday. The pal who came to your rescue when your car wouldn’t start again.”
“You don’t want to know.”
“I really do,” he promised. “Anyway, I’m a little hurt that you’d trust Trish with this information and not me.”
She shook her head again, cheeks crimson.
As he pulled onto the interstate, he dropped it. For now.
***
Satisfaction filled Reese as she looked around the party. The guests had arrived in droves to celebrate the long and successful career of Thaddeus Hawk, owner and founder of Hawk Construction. The coolers were brimming with drinks, the tables were filled with food, and the Hawk brothers were working the grills.
“It’s so nice to see you, sweetie,” Caroline Hawk said, pulling Reese into her large, soft body for a hug. “When you were dating that bad man, we did not see you nearly enough.”
“That bad man” was what Caroline had called Lance.
Reese made a face. “I’m sorry about that.” Lance hadn’t believed it appropriate for Reese to spend so much time with another man’s family, even if they had treated her like one of their own for so many years. Had she really been so stupid?