“The third shot is Leather and Lace. Jack Daniel’s and peach schnapps. I like the bite of the first and I’ve always loved peaches.”
He leaned in, his mouth almost brushing hers. “And do you choose any of those three?”
She nipped his lower lip. “I drink the fourth shot, Gray. See You in the Morning.”
Well. Hell. While he was still processing that, she up and left him.
* * *
MADELINE AND ASHLEY were waiting for Laney when she finally staggered out of her bungalow the next day. Okay. They were lying in wait and so what if she’d slept until almost noon? She’d been up tossing and turning all night, thanks to Gray’s fantasy bombshell, and it was her vacation, after all. She couldn’t remember the last time she’d slept past 6:00 a.m.
Maddie waved her over to the bar. The bar had a roof made out of palm fronds and swings instead of seats, so you could dig your toes into the sand and knock back margaritas at the same time, which was pure genius.
“Did you do it?” Maddie rocked forward on her swing, almost falling off. “I demand details.”
Ashley handed her a margarita. “That’s not an I just got laid expression. That’s the I tossed and turned all night because he was a dick look.”
“Bummer.” Maddie exhaled and nudged the basket of chips over.
“He wasn’t a dick,” she blurted out, before her brain reasserted control over her mouth.
“Good to know. I’d hate to have to kill somebody.” Ashley’s mouth curved up in a smile. “So why do you look as if your puppy died?”
“I don’t think I’m cut out for this,” Laney sat down cautiously on the empty swing next to Ashley. It wobbled slightly, but didn’t dump her in the sand.
“What makes you say that?” Ashley slurped up the last of her margarita and signaled for a new one. The girl sure could knock them back.
“Because she didn’t have sex last night.” Maddie dug into the chip basket. “That makes at least two of us.”
Ashley shrugged. “Me three, but I could get some if I wanted.”
Maddie threw a chip at her. “Let’s practice our humility, shall we?”
“It’s sex...not rocket science. If you’re interested, you tell the guy. Or, better yet, you show him. Most of them need the dots connected for them and that’s where the drinks menu comes in. You point him toward your fantasy du jour and skip the awkward stage where he’s trying to figure out what you like, and you’re trying to figure out how to politely tell him it takes more for you than a little breast groping and rub-a-dub-dub.”
“Rub-a-dub-dub? Really?” Maddie shook her head. “I don’t think you’re going to be scoring in the man department if that’s how you see things.”
“Their loss.” Ashley accepted her new drink from the bartender then swung back toward Laney. “Do you want to hook up with Gray?”
“Yes,” she answered. Yes, yes, yes.
Ashley studied her over the rim of the glass. “Men aren’t that complicated. Point. Pick. If you think he needs directions or you’d find it fun, ask him to re-create a particular drink with you. Just pretend you’re at improv class and it’s your turn with the bag of props.”
Her new friend was oversimplifying things. Wasn’t she?
“Think of a drink name,” Ashley went on. “Then think of Gray. If the two go together like peanut butter and chocolate, you’ve got your green light to proceed.”
Pick a drink. She could do that. Sex on a beach? The fantasy appealed, but the practicalities of outdoor sex seemed overwhelming. Plus, sand in her girl bits? No, thank you. Up against a wall? Her inner thigh muscles screamed in advance, and she’d have sore spots the size of China from banging against the drywall.
So what did she want?
It wouldn’t exactly be mind-blowing to invite him back to her bungalow for a night of missionary-style sex underneath the covers. Not that comfort sex wasn’t appealing, especially with Gray, but this was her chance to try something new. To be bold and daring and take the new and exciting Laney out for a quick test-drive. After all, if the night turned awkward or embarrassing, she could simply hide in her bungalow until it was time to board the seaplane and leave. She never had to see him again.
Groaning, Laney took a big gulp of her margarita. When had this thing with Gray suddenly become so damn complicated? He’d asked her what she wanted—and what she really wanted was to not be the person who had to come up with the night’s creative sexual agenda. What she wanted was to be taken. To not have to plan, orchestrate or otherwise tell him where to touch and how and for how long. Because she was so sick and tired of that.