Katie takes the whip, sets the hat on her head, and tosses me a saucy smirk. “How do I look? Like an adventurer escaping from doom in the nick of time?”
More like Indiana Jones’s very naughty sister. “It looks like maybe you’re a little bit kinky,” I say, my voice dropping to a rumble. I’m not a kinky fucker, but I am a game-for-anything guy, so if kink is Katie’s thing, I’m up for it.
Katie gives a light snap of the whip, her eyes twinkling with possibilities. “Maybe I am.”
Her coy tone lights up my skin.
I just wish we didn’t seem to have the worst timing in the world. Reconnecting with her on her foiled wedding night seems like Fate’s way of saying we’re all wrong for each other.
And yet, I’m not going to end this night any sooner than I have to. She’s still the best company I’ve ever had, even when she’s suffered the worst day ever.
Daisy finishes with her customer and returns to us, parking her hands on her hips and staring at me. “And what about you, handsome? You’re not going to let Ms. Indiana Jones in a white dress be the only one looking fabulous, are you?”
Katie shoots me a challenging stare. “Yeah. C’mon, Taylor. What are you going to wear? How about a letterman jacket? You could be a football star.”
She sounds so happy again, so sassy. It’s a great sound, and I feel like a million bucks for restoring her faith in, well, in fun for a night.
I shake my head. “That’s a bit on the nose, don’t you think?”
“Maybe I think you’d look cute in it,” she says.
Is she putting me on? “Cute?” I echo with a raised brow. “I’d look cute?”
Daisy sets a hand on my shoulder. “Take the compliment and tuck it away. Enjoy it.”
“Fine. I’ll be cute,” I say, faking indignation.
Katie gives me a so there look. “Yes. You’re cute. But . . .” She studies me seriously, tapping her chin. “I’m thinking you could be a fireman.”
Interesting choice. “Does someone have a thing for firemen?”
“Who doesn’t?” Katie asks.
Daisy points two thumbs at her ample bosom. “I’d love a man to rescue me.” She spins on her silver shoes, and props to her for pulling off those heels at work. “And, handsome, now you have no choice but to be a fireman. I hope you have a good hose.”
Katie’s lips part into an O as she catches my gaze. “I hope you do too.”
I crack up, loving that she’s ventured so far into the flirty zone. My good-time superhero would do this for a damsel in distress—make her laugh. Help her flirt.
“I’ll take a fireman helmet,” I tell the shop owner.
“And what about turnouts and suspenders? I hope you’re going to take that polo off and run around shirtless for the rest of the night,” Daisy suggests.
Mischief sparks in Katie’s eyes. “You have to do what Daisy says.”
Five minutes later, my jeans and shirt are tucked in a plastic bag, and I’m decked out like a fireman about to do a striptease. I emerge from the dressing room, shirtless, as if I’m ready to work the pole, and I don’t mean the kind you’d find in a firehouse.
I spin in a circle for Katie, and she wolf whistles. “You look fabulous, Harlan. This is celebrating being left at the altar in style.”
Daisy’s eyes widen, and she sets a hand on Katie’s arm. “You were, sweetheart?”
“I was,” Katie says, even and cool, then points to me, nibbling on the corner of her lips. “But he found me at the bowling alley bar. And now here I am, playing dress-up.”
Daisy smiles, shaking her head, then beckons for Katie to come closer. “Girl, you know the best way to get over a man?” the drag queen asks.
“Tell me,” Katie says, her tone dripping with interest.
Daisy points at me, circles her finger in my direction. “Get under another one. Like this handsome piece over here.”
6
Katie
What’s the protocol for jilted brides on what to do or say on their should-have-been wedding night?
Someone should write that manners guidebook.
Is it okay for me to feel a little flirty, a little dirty when my heart’s been so recently stomped on?
Daisy certainly seems to think so, and who am I to argue with her?
Heck, if I were developing a yoga class for this situation, I’d call it How to Shavasana when you’ve been Dumped on Your Asana.
And pose number one would be . . . on your back.
Just like Daisy suggested.
With her confidence and tell-it-like-it-is-ness, she seems to be exactly the type of woman you’d bank on.
Come to think of it, I’m not sure I’ve ever received better advice.
As soon as she voices those wicked words, I’m positive that’s exactly what I need. A hot, toe-curling, no-strings-attached roll in the hay.