“We get to call the British Beast, Raz,” Alec gushed, and Libby shook her head.
“Bye, boys! We’ll talk soon,” she said, then ended the call. She stared at the screen and studied the boys’ smiling faces until it switched back to power-saving mode and went dark.
“They sound like good lads,” Raz said, his voice floating in the darkened cab of the SUV.
“They are.”
The shift from despising this man, to finding him endearing, to hating him, to swinging back to sort of liking him was giving her emotional whiplash. And that didn’t even count the number of times she’d wanted to climb him like a tree and kiss the arrogant smirk right off his face. And don’t even ask about what her chakras wanted—especially the one that manifested sexual energy. That sacral chakra had quite a dirty little mind.
“Kind of funny how we each have twins for siblings,” Raz offered, glancing away, which gave her a second to pull herself together.
Was he trying to connect? One minute, he was a colossal jerk. The next, simply a guy who was an older brother.
Libby dropped her phone into her bag, then something caught her eye. She studied the darkened house. Had something moved in there?
“Should we go inside?” she asked, ignoring the shadows.
Raz stared ahead, avoiding eye contact. “Can I ask you something first?”
She fidgeted with her jade bracelet. “Sure.”
“What were your brothers talking about? Did you have a job interview today?”
“The other opportunity?” she answered, recalling the first gong episode in her gong-a-licious day.
“Yeah,” he said, leaning into the seat.
She closed her eyes and released a slow breath. Something was calming about sitting in the darkness that made her want to tell Raz everything. Or perhaps it wasn’t only the darkness.
“I had an interview with who I thought were venture capitalists looking to fund a fitness venture. I put together a business plan for a yoga center, but the whole thing turned out to be a sham.”
“A sham?” he repeated.
“Three rich douchebags named Derrick put an ad on social media pretending to be venture capitalists. They weren’t looking to invest in anything. They did it as a joke to meet women.”
“That’s awful,” he growled.
“Don’t worry. I let them have it.”
He chuckled. “I bet you did. If it was anything like what happened tonight, I’m sure they’re shaking in their douchebag boots.”
Was this man sympathizing with her?
She chanced a look at him and didn’t find him smirking or sneering. “They actually mentioned you, Raz.”
He sat up. “Me?”
“Well, the fight. The worst Derrick, Derrick Dawson, said he was going to bet twenty thousand dollars on the Snake.”
“What a wanker! Now, I really despise these prats. You point out this Derrick, and I’ll give him a good jab in the solar plexus,” Raz teased, and it was oddly sweet.
“I need you to know that I’m not usually a vindictive person. My chi—my energy—has been off since…” she trailed off.
“Since that day at the gym,” he supplied.
“Yes.”
He nodded as if he were turning something over in his head. “Can I ask you another question?”
“Shoot.”
“What’s this O you keep going on about?”
She shifted in the seat. “It’s the big O.”
He cocked his head to the side.
Why was this so hard to say? She was a grown woman, entirely in charge of her sexuality. She cleared her throat. “Orgasm!” she exclaimed, her voice echoing through the car like she’d called out into the depths of the freaking Grand Canyon.
Orgasm, orgasm, orgasm, orgasm!
Raz’s jaw hung open. “That O? You haven’t had one of those in seventy-five days?”
She crossed, then uncrossed her legs. “That’s right.”
“That explains the vibrators,” he said under his breath.
She threw up her hands. “It’s not for lack of trying, but they’ve been useless. Even the Rainbow Screamer. That one used to work like a dream, but it won’t get me there anymore. You know, the one your sister likes.”
He waved her off. “Let’s not mention my sister and sex toys in the same sentence. But…”
“What?” she pressed.
“One of the cops mentioned his girlfriend had one. He said she loves it,” Raz added.
“And I loved mine, too,” Libby gushed. “I loved every one of them until you broke me.”
Take it down a notch, you unbalanced chi-monster.
“You’re sure it was me who did this to you?”
“I know it was. I felt the shift in my chi. It was like somebody threw it in the clothes dryer’s tumble cycle. And then there’s my long-lost O. I’ve tried to get it back. I’ve used dildos, vibrators, my fingers, and my toes.”
“Your toes?” he exclaimed.
“Yeah, I’m super flexible,” she replied, then lifted her leg and tucked it behind her neck. “See.”
“Bloody hell! You are.” He pulled at the collar of his hoodie. “Have you tried anything besides sex toys?”
“You mean actual sex?” she answered, lowering her leg.
He cleared his throat. “Yeah.”
She deflated into the seat. “I’ve had tons of sex over the last seventy-five days.”
His eyebrows rocketed to his hairline. “You’ve had tons of sex?”
She shot back up and exhaled an irritated breath. “You’re not one of those, are you?”
“One of what?”
“A judgmental hypocrite. A guy who believes it’s totally fine for a man to sow his wild oats and enjoy pleasure. But if a woman engages in the same behavior, you look down your smug nose at her.”
“My nose isn’t smug, and I’m all for women owning their sexuality,” he answered, gripping the steering wheel like he was ready to rip it clear off the console.
She looked him over. “Then why are you making that face?”
“I’m not making a face, plum,” he snarled.
There he was, calling her plum again.
“You are,” she corrected. “You look like you either want to punch someone in the nose or desperately need to get to a toilet to take care of a terrible case of raging diarrhea.”
“I do not bloody look like a man with raging diarrhea,” he grunted as a vein pulsed on his forehead.
She shrugged. “Now, you sound like one, too.”
“Plum, you might kill me,” he muttered. A slice of silence wove its way through the darkened vehicle before Raz cut through the quiet. “But none of the blokes you were with could—”
“Get me off?” she supplied. There was no reason to beat around the bush. Yes, Raz was a Brit, but this wasn’t Victorian England. “Nope, none of them could get the job done.”
The hint of that cocky boxer returned with a coy twist of his lips. “Maybe you’re picking the wrong guys.”
He was fishing—trying to figure her out.
She tucked an errant lock of her hair behind her ear. “It doesn’t work like that for me. It doesn’t matter who I sleep with.”