Frisky Business (Chick Flick Club Book 3)

by Lila Monroe

  Don’t get me wrong, Eddie’s great, and we go back a long time, but his misguided rebounding is getting old. Especially tonight.

  Maybe I’m impatient because I don’t even want to be at this bar—a well-known meet market. Two weeks ago, I’d have been in the game, but now, the place has suddenly lost its appeal.

  And as I sit here, nursing a lukewarm beer, I know exactly why: All day I’ve been itching to continue what Eve and I started in the pool house this morning.

  We had a profitable day working side by side, enjoying each other’s company as we checked dogs in and out at the park. But I’m eager to get back to that easy, playful—and naked, don’t forget naked—mood we were in when we woke up in my bed.

  “Hi there,” I hear at my side, and I look up from my beer to see two smiling women. The one who spoke waves vaguely behind her. “There aren’t any free tables, can we sit with you guys?”

  “Sure!” Eddie says, eager as he points at the empty stools. “I’m Eddie and this is Noah.”

  The women take the seats and introduce themselves. I smile halfheartedly and let Eddie take the lead, chatting them up while I play the quiet guy. I don’t even realize how much I’ve zoned out until a hand lands on my arm.

  I look up to see one of the women looking at me. Waiting for my response to . . . something. “I’m sorry,” I say. “It’s noisy in here. What was that?”

  “I asked if you and Eddie want to go to a club where we can dance?”

  I glance at Eddie who is nodding, eager. Damn. The last thing I want to do is go to an even noisier club where the beers cost twice as much and are even warmer. Not to mention the hot crush of bodies. I’m so not feeling it.

  “You know what?” I say, sliding off the stool. “I’ve had a long day and I’m really not up for it.” I smile at the girls, so they know it’s nothing personal.

  “Dude!” Eddie says, disappointed. “Don’t be a buzzkill. You gotta come with us!”

  “Sorry, man.” I put a few bills on the table, anchoring them under my half-empty bottle. “But go have fun. You don’t want me dragging you down.”

  “Oh, come on,” one of the women pouts. “We’ll cheer you up.”

  “Yeah,” the other says, looking at me through her lashes. “Come with us. We’ll make it worth your while.”

  “I’m sure you would,” I say, but I’m not swayed. “Next time. Have fun!”

  I get outside the bar and pull out my phone to send Eve a text: Where are you? Pool boy wants to play.

  She sends me the address of a taco place that isn’t far. I tell her I’m on my way. As I walk the ten or so blocks, I think about how my image of her has done a complete one-eighty since we met. I thought she was an uptight glass-totally-full-at-all-times-type, but now I know better. She’s smart and has a sunny optimism that’s actually . . . nice. She looks for the good in situations and people, but at the same time, she’s nobody’s fool.

  Also, she’s smoking fucking hot and I can’t wait to make her come under me again, and again. It’s no wonder I left Eddie on his own to go meet her.

  But while I want to finish the night with her in my bed, I’m also looking forward to having fun with her. We have an easy chemistry both in and out of the bedroom. I’ve been around long enough to know that’s pretty rare.

  I get to the taco place just as she’s leaving on her own. She looks cute in a pair of capri jeans and a blouse tied over a tank top. Not my regular type, but maybe that’s part of the appeal.

  The best part? She’s smiling at me like she’s really fucking happy to see me.

  “Hey,” I say. “Where are your friends?”

  She rolls her eyes and jerks her thumb over her shoulder toward the pane window. “In there, probably watching us.”

  I glance through the window and sure enough, there are Zoey and Gemma sitting at a high table, both sets of eyes on us. They wave. I wave back.

  I look at Eve. “Want to give them a show?”

  She grins. “Maybe we should. You know, to teach them a lesson for gawking.”

  I grin. “On a scale of one to downright embarrassing, where do you want to land?”

  Her mouth quirks up at the corners. “How about somewhere between ‘makes Grandma blush’ and ‘inappropriate at the workplace’?”

  “Got it,” I say, and I put my arms around her waist to pull her to me. I like the way she’s looking up at me, expectant. Eager. “Hi.”

  Her smile widens. “Hi.”

  I bend down to kiss her. I nibble on her lush bottom lip and then soothe it with my tongue until she opens for me. Her fingers dig into my shoulders. Knowing her friends are watching makes it hotter. Or maybe it’s just her. No, it’s totally her. I can’t wait to get her naked in my bed. Without an audience.

  “Get a room!” some guy says as he’s walking by.

  I grin at her and glance through the window. Zoey is giving me a thumbs up and Gemma is fanning herself. Mission accomplished.

  “Come on,” Eve says, blushing. “That’s enough of a show. Let’s go do something fun.”

  I can think of several fun things, I think, but if she wants to do something out, I’m game for that too. “Oh hey,” I say, looking down the street. “There’s an all-night theater just down here. Want to catch a movie?”

  She looks at me sideways. “What’s playing?”

  “No idea,” I say, twining my fingers into hers as we fall into step.

  “If it’s A Clockwork Orange,” she warns, “we’re going home.”

  “Obviously,” I laugh.

  When we get to the theater, there’s a late showing of Smokey and the Bandit starting in ten minutes. It’s such an old-school guy film that I’m sure Eve is going to put her foot down, but she just smiles. “You’re buying popcorn, though,” she informs me. “With real butter.”

  I spring for extra butter and sodas, too. We take our seats in the back row and share the giant tub of popcorn as we wait for the movie to start. A few people trickle in and take seats around us as we chat about our favorite old movies. Eve’s, predictably, are romance-y films, but she’s seen plenty of classics, too. Soon, the lights go down and the movie begins, but I can’t pay attention to anything on screen. I’m hyper aware of Eve beside me in the dark, her thigh pressed against mine.

  Damn, I want her.

  I reach for some popcorn. My hand bumps into hers. I use the opportunity to rub her fingers with mine. Then my fingers are twined in hers.

  A second later, she’s looking at me.

  A second after that, we’re kissing. The popcorn falls to the floor, spilling all over.

  “Whoops,” Eve whispers, and then her arms are around my neck as she pulls me in for more kisses.

  It’s been a long time since I’ve made out with a girl in the back row of a movie theater, but I don’t remember it being this hot. As I slide my hand under the back of her shirt and feel the warmth of her smooth, bare back, the tiny part of my brain that’s still capable of thought thinks maybe it’s the girl.

  No, it’s definitely the girl.

  17

  EVE

  MONDAY MORNING, I’m at the shelter, scrubbing kennels and humming the theme from Smokey and the Bandit. It’s the day after we saw (but didn’t watch) the movie, and I keep replaying the night in my head. What a night it was!

  We started in the theater, abandoning the buttery popcorn and the movie in favor of making out like teenagers in the back row. Then we moved it back to the house before it got X-rated. It was only after we got home that we noticed the greasy handprints on my blouse. Right over my breasts. Noah-hand-sized greasy handprints.

  We laughed our asses off until Noah lamented that the blouse was ruined. Better to just take off all my clothes.

  So we did. We also took off all of his clothes, and then we—

  “What’s his name?” A voice interrupts my thoughts.

  I turn to see Karen, the senior shelter volunteer, grinning at me. “That smile on your face tells me e
verything I need to know, except his name.”

  I blush, but laugh at the same time. “Noah,” I say. “His name’s Noah.”

  “Very biblical,” she quips. “Eve.”

  I blush even harder because oh yeah, we know each other very biblically.

  “Is it serious?”

  I shake my head. “Just friends.”

  “Right. Friends,” she says with a laugh before she goes to the next kennel to take Chiquita—a chihuahua cross—for a walk.

  Five minutes later, my cell rings: Noah. My goofy smile returns as I tug off my cleaning gloves and answer.

  “Evie!” he says, excited. “I just had the best call. You know that dating app—Perfect Match? They just called me. They somehow found our Dog for a Day website and want to cross-promote with us. I can’t even believe it, this is . . . I just can’t!”

  I close my eyes as I struggle to catch up. “What?”

  He exhales loudly and explains. “They want to do like a speed dating thing, but matching people up with their dog matches—like if a guy says he’s into Labradors on the app, he gets matched up with another Lab-lover. Same with, like, pugs or whatever. They want to raise awareness for adopting shelter dogs, while having a fun dating event at the same time. Everyone wins!”

  The idea sinks in. “That sounds amazing!”

  “Right?” he says. “I think they’ll need every dog at the shelter. Just think of all the exposure. And of course, this will give my new biz a boost.”

  “This is so awesome!” I say, his excitement contagious. “I’ll need to clear it with Diane, but I’m sure she’ll be on board. I’ll go talk to her right now.”

  I end the call and seek out my boss to sell her on the idea. But it’s going to be a no-brainer. The event is going to be epic!

  I rush over to Diane’s office, but I’ve barely even told her the plan before she cuts me off.

  “No.”

  Her one word makes my heart drop into my stomach “What?”

  She sighs. “Eve, I appreciate that you and your friend want to help, but this has disaster written all over it. The logistics, plus we’d need to call in every volunteer, plus the safety and liability of having the dogs out there with non-vetted people . . . I’m sorry, but it wouldn’t work.”

  “I’m sure all our volunteers would be on board,” I argue. “Maybe Perfect Match could do a donation to help with insurance or even hiring some helpers.”

  She frowns. “Then we’re muddying the waters with our non-profit status.”

  “OK, so maybe not a donation, but they can pay to hire some—”

  “Eve,” she cuts in. “I said no. I am not going to exploit the animals for a corporate publicity stunt.”

  “But the exposure for the shelter will help with adopt—” The look she delivers makes me clamp my lips shut.

  “There was a shelter out in Oakland who did a promotion with the A’s baseball team and it turned into a nightmare,” Diane tells me, softening. “The animals were stressed, a kid got bit, and the legal troubles and bad publicity—from an event that was supposed to create good publicity—nearly shut them down permanently. We’re not doing it.”

  I exhale, defeated. “I understand.”

  I leave her office, not sure how I’m going to break the news to Noah. He was so excited! Not only for the shelter but because it would be an amazing career opportunity for him. Perfect Match is one of the biggest dating apps out there. Even I know that approaching him to work together is a very big deal.

  I immerse myself in cleaning, not even looking at my phone until the end of my shift. He’s texted me through the day with more ideas, and as I scroll through, I’m getting more and more anxious.

  But I have to tell him. We make plans to meet up for pizza.

  When I walk into the restaurant, he’s in a booth, grinning at me. I’ve seen him happy, playful, and even in a post-orgasmic afterglow, but I’ve never seen him so exuberantly joyful. He’s like a kid who’s just learned he’s going to Disney. It kills me that I’m going to have to crush his spirit.

  I’ve barely slid into the booth across from him before he starts telling me more about the event and how big Perfect Match wants it to be. How excited they are. How it’s the perfect partnership. He’s talking a mile a minute and every word makes me feel worse and worse.

  “Noah,” I try to interrupt.

  “. . . could end up turning into a huge contract for me and springboard my—”

  “Noah!” I say, louder than intended, but it works to stop him from talking. I take a deep breath. Let it out. Then say, “It’s not going to work.”

  He leans back. “What?”

  I shake my head. “Diane said no.”

  He stares at me for a long moment. “What do you mean?”

  “She shut me down,” I explain.

  He frowns. “Maybe you didn’t pitch it the right way.”

  “I did,” I assure him. “I tried all the angles.”

  “It’s the perfect cross-promotion,” he says. “She must not understand. I don’t think you—”

  “Noah!” I say, frustrated. “I did. I tried and tried. She’s dead set against a corporate event like that.”

  “You must not have tried hard enough,” he argues.

  “ I just told you I tried as hard as I could. She wasn’t having it. I’m sorry,” I offer. “We’ll just have to think of something else.”

  “That’s the problem with you,” he says. “You’re too nice. You probably backed off too soon. She would have gone for it if you’d been more assertive.”

  “I’m too nice?” I repeat, disbelieving. “Well, you’re being kind of an asshole. How’s that for assertive?”

  He stares at me like it’s the last thing he expected me to say. Good.

  “Do you have any idea what this event could mean for my consulting business?” he asks. “I’ve been trying for months to get a big client like this to notice me.”

  “I know,” I say, feeling crappy. “But it’s not happening. I wanted it to work, Noah.”

  “I already told Perfect Match we’re on board. It’s a done deal!” he says. “What am I supposed to do now?”

  “You already said yes?” I can’t believe him. “You should never have told them it was a go before you even talked to me.”

  “Maybe because I thought you would come through when I needed you!” Noah shoots back.

  I gasp, but before I can reply, he gets to his feet. “You know what? I need to go figure this out, how I’m going to break it to them. See you later,” he says, and then he stalks out of the restaurant, leaving me at the table alone.

  I stare after him in disbelief. What just happened?

  “Are you ready to order?” the waitress asks.

  I snap back. “Umm, no, sorry. I have to go.”

  I grab my stuff and bail out of there, heading back home. When I get there, I’m relieved and also disappointed to find it quiet and dark, greeted only by Hans and Leia. Wherever he went, Noah isn’t back yet.

  Or, he’s going a really long way to avoiding me.

  I take a shower and then return to the living room and settle in on the couch. I scoop the dogs up and turn on the TV. I manage a whole three minutes before I look at my phone.

  Noah hasn’t texted to apologize. I glance through the kitchen window toward the pool house. I can’t tell if he’s in there. Probably. Stewing about how I ruined everything for him. Jerk.

  I almost text him, but don’t. I’d just regret it. After all, he’s the one who just walked out on me. For something I have zero control over! So, I sit there and stare blankly at the TV for another hour, until the front door opens. Hans jumps down off the couch, but Leia snuggles into my thigh with a snort.

  I try to keep my eyes trained on the TV, but I can’t. I turn and look at Noah as he comes into the living room, a giant pizza box in his hand.

  And an apologetic look on his face.

  I wonder if he’s going to try and wheedle his way out o
f this one, but instead of giving me a line, Noah just puts the box down on the coffee table and looks me in the eye.

  “I fucked up, didn’t I?”

  I exhale. “You think?”

  “I’m sorry, Eve.” He comes over and sits down on the couch beside me. “I was way out of line before.”

  I nod. “Yes, you were.”

  “I lashed out at you when I was frustrated and angry at myself for getting ahead of things. I . . . I’m really sorry. Forgive me?” He smiles up at me, his puppy-dog eyes even bigger and more endearing than Leia’s.

  “That depends,” I say, melting a little.

  “On?”

  I nod toward the box. “Is there bacon on that pizza?”

  He grins. “Double bacon. And extra cheese.”

  I pretend like I’m thinking about it, but we both know there’s no contest.

  I’m a sucker for pizza and a sincere apology. “OK,” I tell him with a smile. “You’re forgiven.”

  He looks relieved. “I broke the news to Perfect Match. I told them it wasn’t going to work this time, but that maybe we could figure something out down the road. I don’t want to lose that connection.”

  I nod as I chew.

  “I’m really sorry I lashed out. It’s just hard, you know?” he admits. “I’m still trying to get things off the ground with my consultancy. I feel like I’m always hustling for clients, trying to go that extra mile. And when I thought about landing this promotion . . . It felt like everything was falling into place.”

  His vulnerability squeezes my heart. “Noah, you’ll get there,” I insist. “Just look at what you’ve done with Dog for a Day! It’s because of your hard work that Perfect Match approached you after what—just a few weeks of being operational? You have amazing ideas and instincts, not to mention great insight into what makes people tick.”

  “You really think so?” he asks.

  “I do,” I grin. “And I’m a dog person, so you know I can be trusted.”