bumped her head on the bottom of the ice compartment, then turned to see Ross standing too close, wearing that appraising look she’d seen him give potential female conquests. A shiver ran through her, but she masked it by rubbing the bump on her head. “Was I in your way?”
“I thought you had a little something on your skirt—dust, maybe,” he said, his wicked expression contradicting his innocent words. He reached past her to close the refrigerator behind her. “I’ve been thinking about your proposal,” he said, standing too close.
“Oh, that.” She felt herself go red. In the stark light of the office kitchen, the idea seemed ridiculous. “I think that second Fuzzy Navel gave me fuzzy brain.” She tried to laugh.
“Tina had the Fuzzy Navel. You had a prickly-pear margarita.”
“Oh, right. See what I mean?”
“I think I can help you, Kara.”
“You already have. You kept my drink straight. Not to mention my skirt dusted. I’ll be just fine.” In fact, she’d already made a plan. She was going to stop by the naughty lingerie store Tina had recommended for something electronic, then rent a sexy video—a tasteful one. She figured the combination of video and vibrator might be complex enough that she could pretend there was someone else arousing her besides her electricity-aided self. That should cancel her sex-equals-marriage equation, or at least reduce the itch for a while. Hopefully, that would be enough.
If it wasn’t, she’d think about finding someone to experiment with. Someone not Ross.
“You’re chickening out?” Ross said, his eyes teasing. “The kiss was too much for you?”
“Not at all. We’re friends, remember? We don’t want to risk that.”
“Yeah, but maybe being friends makes it better. I know what you’re trying to accomplish, so I can help you better than some strange guy would. We could be careful. We could, say, set some ground rules.”
“Ground rules?” Her ears perked at that. He’d obviously spent some time thinking about this.
“I knew you’d like the ground rules part.” He grinned. “So come to my apartment tonight and we’ll have some beer and figure out how to make this safe.”
“I don’t think so,” she said. She was chicken. She wasn’t sure she could handle this, and losing Ross’s friendship would be terrible. Not to mention the tension at work. If the gadgets and videos didn’t work, she’d find someone else.
“You don’t know what you’re missing.”
Her stomach shimmied at the look in his eyes. He was probably right. It would be wonderful to put herself in Ross’s hands…so to speak. She liked him, and she knew he cared about her. There wouldn’t be any of that awkwardness of being strangers.
“I’ll have to take your word for it,” she said. She was definitely chicken.
AFTER WORK, Kara entered Naughty and Nice and marched purposefully to the devices shelves, head high. She was a sexually active woman who had every right to explore new sensations. She faltered a little, though, when the most tasteful vibrator she could find was in a lurid purple box that screamed self-pleasure toy.
To cover her real purpose, she snatched up a few items on her walk to the register—some party napkins with suggestive jokes, a feather boa, some flavored body paints and a package of what turned out to be edible underwear. She kept her head down and prayed the bored girl behind the counter wouldn’t shout out, Price check on the Heavy Duty G-Spot Pleasure Wand.
The clerk didn’t bat an eye, thank God, and Kara rushed out of the store with her purchases in a plain brown bag, feeling as if she’d dodged a bullet.
Next stop, the video store. Pausing in the self-help section she picked out an instructional video featuring a positive-thinking guru, then slipped behind the purple curtain with the Adults Only sign over it. Ignoring the sideways glances of the men browsing—no, lurking—at the racks, she scanned titles that made her blush to her roots, and finally grabbed a tape with a soft-focused photo and no evident body parts.
Making sure only the motivational tape showed, she clutched the tapes close to her chest, pushed through the purple curtain…and ran smack-dab into Ross. The shock made her drop her sex-shop sack, spilling her brightly colored purchases on the carpet.
She stood there frozen for a second and Ross bent to pick up, then hand the items to her one at a time, examining each one. “Looks like you have a busy evening ahead of you,” he said, giving her the vibrator.
“Never you mind,” she said, shoving it into her bag, blushing furiously.
“And what are you renting?” he asked, snatching the tapes from her fingers. He held them high, out of her reach. “Hmm, Firefighters in Flames and Getting What You Want NOW…with Tony Rockwell,” he said, reading the covers. “I can see the firefighters—all those muscles and that big pole—but I had no idea you had a thing for old guys with bad dye jobs,” he said, handing the tapes back.
“Oh, stop it,” she said. “I’m experimenting, okay?”
“I’m kind of hurt you’re going with paraphernalia when I’m offering my fleshly self.”
“I’m exploring…um…options.”
“Flaming firefighters? Please. You are chicken.”
“Am not.” She was so humiliated she just blurted, “Okay, smart guy. You’re on. Let’s go to your place and see about some rules.” What else could she do? He’d dared her and she had her pride. She’d find out what he had mind, at least.
The minute they got to his place, Ross started rushing through the apartment picking up stuff.
“Don’t fuss on my account,” she said. She’d been to his place numerous times and he’d never batted an eye when she had to push stuff off the couch just to make a place to sit. His frantic cleanup now charmed her.
His furniture consisted of funky items he’d scored at yard sales and nostalgia shops, along with things he bought off friends who needed money. He had a fish tank made from an old-fashioned clear gas pump in one corner and a Roy Rogers lamp-end-table ensemble next to an orange Naugahyde sofa.
Only the art was decent—fabulous, actually. Art photography, original oils and several sculptures. His record albums—he collected vinyls of blues artists and had a mint condition turntable—were in orderly racks. Ross had taste, just no concern.
Cords from three video game controllers were tangled in the middle of the floor and the couch cushions were propped against the cocktail table—backrests for gamers, no doubt. “Mind if I put these back?” she asked, picking up a cushion.
“Be my guest. I’ll get us a couple beers.”
She sat down on the recushioned couch and thought about what she might be doing—having sex with Ross. She shivered.
She did want to learn to separate sex from love, and she’d been attracted to Ross from the day they met. She’d always envied the women who knew him as a sexual partner. Then there was the thrill of knowing he wanted her enough to plan ways to convince her to do it.
But
