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CHAPTER ONE
No one comes between me and my smut.
BLAIR
You’d think working in an adult store would be fun.
I get to sell the best vibrators to women, delighted by the impatience in their eyes. Like they can’t race home fast enough with their new lover. I encourage husbands to play kinky dice with their wives. Nothing says “Happy Anniversary” like a game of cunnilingus. I can tell you the best-tasting lube (pink lemonade, trust me). I know the lingerie that flatters every gorgeous shape and the best book to teach you how to tickle his pickle… if pickles are your thing.
Don’t you worry; I’ll make sure you, my happy, horny customer, get the pleasure you deserve.
But me?
I’m fine.
I’m not having fun.
I’m perfectly content in my celibate misery. I dust glass shelves with nipple clamps, BDSM collars, and blue alien cock sheaths that make me sigh, staring longingly at the toys. My pathetic sigh fills another giant penis-shaped balloon in my pity party of one over Beau Bronson.
Until…
My evil twin schemes an intervention.
“Enough!” Vale tosses a fuchsia bustier at me. “Your sad vag is a virus that’s infecting us all. Put this on. The skirt, too.” She flings the matching satiny garment at my face. “We’re taking you to the club.”
“The Club” is a private sex club.
This lingerie turned sexy streetwear is worth hundreds. Lucky for her, I caught it.
And my twin sister is a giant pain in my lonely ass.
I’m trying to have my eat, pray, love life, minus the praying and the love part.
And yet here she is, trying to bully me into kinky fun.
“I’m not going to the club, you conniving cunt.” I flit my feather duster at her. “Quit trying to make me happy and shit. I’ve told you a zillion times, I’m fine.”
There are no customers in Delta’s. We just closed the store where we work for the day, but apparently, my sister is hell-bent on big plans for the night.
Because Jace, our store’s bouncer or bodyguard? Hell, I don’t know what his official title is. He’s just a mountain range of muscles topped by a sexy face towering behind her. He wants to ruin my life with fun, too.
“You’re going with us, Blair.” Yep, Jace is a pain in my abstinent ass, reminding me, “It’s been four months since Valentine’s, and you need to get back on the horse.”
I stand my ground in a showroom full of high-end sex toys, my glare landing on the shelf featuring the biggest dildos. Pointing to the long, angry pink and brown one, I snap, “The only horse I’m ever riding again is that giant stallion cock.”
Though pony play is not my kink.
No, Beau Bronson is my kink.
Beau Bronson is the cocky, sweet asshole I met in college who stole my heart.
Beau Bronson is the sexiest man who appeared eight years later, like a once-in-a-lifetime sex comet, giving me the hottest and most heart-breaking Valentine’s night of my life.
And…
Beau Bronson is the number one NFL quarterback who won’t stop appearing in my damn FYPs, on the flatscreen, or in my mind when I close my eyes.
And the reason I’m really miserable about it?
