“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.