Foreplay

 Instead, I agreed. “It is nice. A little pampering      now and then doesn’t hurt.”

 “Well, if you someday become Mrs. Hunter      Montgomery, I’m sure he’ll make you get lots of pampering.”

 I merely smiled. It had never been about Hunter’s      money. It was him. His family. How perfect they all were. I wanted that.

 I needed it.

 And yet I couldn’t forget one steamy kiss from a      bartender. It frightened me a little. Made me think there might be a little bit      of my mother in me after all. She always did like the bad boys. Men that led her      into trouble. That had been my father before he got his act straight and joined      the Marines. After Daddy, there was no saving her.

 But I wasn’t my mother. I would not follow in her      footsteps. I would not repeat her mistakes. I had enough nightmares to live with      already. I refused to add to them.

 There was no saving my mother, but I would save      me.

 Wow,”      Georgia breathed two hours later when she returned to our suite to find Emerson      and me raiding—collectively—our closets for the perfect ensemble. We had already      gone through mine and moved on to Emerson’s and Georgia’s after Em announced      mine a supreme failure.

 Georgia dropped down on her bed, tossing her      backpack to the floor. Her velvety brown eyes scanned my hair. “You look      amazing!”

 “Right?” Emerson nodded, preening like a proud      mama, not unjustified. She was responsible for dragging me to the salon in the      first place. She had made the appointments and wouldn’t take no for an answer      until I agreed to go. “Now we need the right outfit.”

 I held up a blue and yellow checkered skirt that      Emerson had just forced into my hands. “Help me, Georgie. Even if I could fit      into Em’s clothes, they’re not me. I can’t pull it off.” I looked back at      Emerson, who was now pulling out a tiny orange tank top from her drawer. My eyes      widened helplessly. “Please. Just let me wear something from my closet.”

 Emerson waved the scrap of orange at me.

 “I’ll freeze in that! It’s microscopic!”

 “We didn’t get your hair looking sea siren worthy      just so you can wear something that you would wear to class on any given      day!”

 Georgia held up a hand, staying the battle that was      about to be waged if the militant light in Emerson’s eyes indicated anything.      Together, we watched as Georgia moved to her closet and started pushing hangers.      “I have the perfect thing.”

 Hope hammered in my heart. Georgia’s wardrobe      screamed understated elegance. Everything looked expensive and sexy without      appearing over the top.

 Turning, she brandished a gray cashmere sweater      that was form-fitting. I touched it reverently, reveling in the lush softness      against my fingertips. “Oh,” I breathed. “Are you sure? It will probably reek of      bar afterward. And what if someone spills something on it?” I was sure it cost      more than I could ever afford to spend.

 “Try it on,” she insisted, pushing it toward me and      shaking her head, dismissing my protests.

 “With a decent bra,” Emerson inserted.

 I looked at her blankly.

 “Something with underwire that gives you a little      push.” She motioned to her own perky B cups.

 I shook my head. “What I’m wearing is fine—”

 “Here.” Georgia opened a drawer, pulling out a pink      bra. Slamming the drawer shut, she waved it at me. “We’re both a C.”

 Sighing, I turned my back and pulled my top over my      head. Unfastening my bra, I slipped on the pink one, hooking it behind me and      marveling at the silk against my skin.

 Facing forward, I stared at my reflection in the      mirror hanging on the closet door. The bra did wondrous things to what I had      always considered fairly unremarkable br**sts. Not that I had ever considered      them much at all.

 “Oh, my.” Emerson assessed me with wide eyes,      nodding in approval. I resisted the urge to cover myself with both hands. “Good      thing I’m not lacking in self-confidence ’cause those cupcakes are enough to      give me a complex.”

 I laughed weakly. “As if.”

 “Now try it on with the sweater,” Georgia      encouraged.

 I slipped the incredibly soft cashmere over my head      and smoothed it down my torso. It fit like a glove.

 “Yes!” Emerson clapped her hands once. “He won’t      resist you in that. And you can borrow my black boots. At least we’re the same      shoe size.”

 “Those knee-high leather ones?”

 “Yes.” She nodded sagely, the light catching in her      fresh magenta highlights. “Also known as f**k-me boots.”

 I smiled wryly. “Well. There won’t be any of that      going on.”

 “Probably not.” Emerson smirked. “Especially when      you can’t even say it.”

 “I can say it,” I protested, staring at Em’s smug      expression. Georgia looked hard-pressed not to laugh.

 Still, the word stuck in my throat. In reality, I      couldn’t say it. It was just too, too . . . bad.

 Emerson burst out laughing. “Maybe after this      bartender is through with you, you’ll be able to say it.”

 “Maybe,” I allowed. “But I won’t be doing it. At least not with him.”

 “Hmm.” Emerson turned and started digging for shoes      in her narrow closet space. “Are you sure? Nothing wrong with your first time      being with someone who knows what he’s doing.”

 “No. I want my first time to be with Hunter.”

 “Of course you do.” Georgia nodded. “It should be      with someone you love.”

 “Says the girl who’s only ever been with the one      boyfriend.”

 “So? What’s wrong with that?” Georgia squared her      shoulders. “He’s the only guy I’ve ever loved.”

 “Well. How do you know you’re not missing out on      something better?”

 A funny look came over Georgia’s face. I had never      really seen her angry before, but I thought this was close to it. Splotches of      color broke out across her clear complexion. “There is more to a relationship      than just sex.”

 “Yes, but a relationship sure is better when the      sex is good.”

 Georgia angled her head. “And just how would you      know? How many relationships have you been in?”

 Seeing this going nowhere but ugly, I intervened.      “So, Georgia, can you come out with us tonight?”

 She dragged her gaze off Emerson. “No. Harris’s      father is in town on business and we’re supposed to have dinner with him.”

 Emerson faked an exaggerated yawn, and Georgia      tossed a pillow at her.

 “Maybe you guys could meet us out afterward?” I      suggested.

 “Mulvaney’s isn’t really Harris’s scene      . . . ”

 At this, Em made a snorting sound. Georgia shot her      a glare. Emerson shrugged and turned her attention back to the contents of      Georgia’s closet.

 Georgia continued. “But we’ll try to make it.”

 “That’d be great,” I said lamely, hating these rare      moments of tension between them. As different as the three of us were, we had      always made it work. Ever since we’d met each other at freshman orientation,      laughing, not too discreetly, when we were assigned to an upperclassman who      insisted on starting our campus tour with a song she wrote.

 “Well, don’t be too late. You’re going to miss all      the excitement when hottie bartender sets eyes on Pepper.”

 I smiled, but it felt more like a grimace on my      face. “His name is Reece,” I reminded her, but they weren’t listening. Both of      them converged on the various cosmetic bags accumulated on Emerson’s desk,      sharing ideas for what type of makeup I should wear.

Chapter 10

Our group found a spot near the pool tables, a choice location with a direct view of the bar.

“He’s working tonight,” I called over the music into Emerson’s ear. Come to think of it, he’d worked every night I’d ever been there. I could only think how tedious that must be. Pouring beer night after night. I shook off the thoughts. His life ambitions weren’t supposed to matter to me. I wasn’t looking for anything deep and lasting with him. Just like he would never consider anything deep and lasting with me. It was a bracing reminder as my gaze narrowed in on him at the bar. This was just a hookup. Assuming, of course, anything happened at all.

“Is that your man, Pepper?” Suzanne whistled approvingly between her teeth. “Nice. He’s like sex on a stick. Didn’t know you had it in you.”

I didn’t bother pointing out that he wasn’t my man. Call it a base urge to claim him for myself.

Right now several girls were lined up in front of him to order drinks. I’d noticed that before. That most of the girls went to his drink line. And yet he seemed all business. Pouring drinks and taking money with easy efficiency, not talking for too long to anyone. I wondered when exactly he was supposed to hook up with all the girls he was rumored to hook up with.

“Well. How you gonna play it?” Emerson called in my ear, eyeing the bar as if she were scoping out a point of entry.

I shook my head. “He hasn’t seen me yet.”

“Well. You haven’t gone up to the bar.”

“I thought I should wait for him to notice me maybe.”

“That could take a while. This place is slammed.”

“What do you suggest then?”

“You know me. I’m direct.” She looked me over and then looked back at the bar. “I’d get myself in front of him looking all hot ASAP.”