Page 60 of Misadventures of a Biker

Wearing a grin, I strode toward the bathroom as proud as a peacock. Upon reaching the door, I paused and glanced over my shoulder. “Don’t forget,” I said. “It’s sex on command.”

He exhaled a long, exaggerated breath. “Got any ideas?”

When he found out what I wanted from him, he’d probably forfeit the bet. If not, we’d both have an unbelievable story to tell when it was over.

“Not yet,” I lied. “I’ll have to think about it.”

Chapter Nineteen

Devin

Kate ran through the front door, narrowly escaping the torrential downpour that swept across the parking lot. Appearing relieved that her new hairstyle was spared, she came to my desk and let out a sigh.

Her normally wavy hair was now arrow straight. The few golden highlights she wore had been tastefully increased to give her hair a summery glow without looking fake or unnatural.

“I like the new hair,” I said. “The highlights look great.”

“Thank you.” She flipped the straightened strands over her shoulder and struck a pose as if modeling for a magazine cover. “Simple Beauty Studio nailed it. It’s called twilighting.”

“Whatever it’s called, they did a great job,” I said in agreement.

“Enough about the awesome job they did on my hair.” She leaned against the edge of my desk and raised her perfectly sculpted brows. “Sounds like you and Teddi are getting ready for an exciting night.”

Apparently she knew something I didn’t. It wasn’t surprising. It seemed Kate and Teddi talked as much as Herb and me.

“What are you talking about?” I asked.

She rested her chin against the heel of her palm. “Sex. On. Demand.”

Prior to being surrounded by women on a daily basis, I had no idea they spoke to one another about sex. Unlike men, I assumed they kept their tales to themselves, leaving each other to wonder what they were doing, who they were seeing, and how frequently they were being screwed by their respective other.

I narrowed my gaze. “She told you about that?”

“She tells me everything.”

I swallowed hard. “Everything?”

She wagged her eyebrows. “Everything.”

“You might think she tells you everything, but—”

“You lasted all of thirty seconds,” she said, straight-faced. “It took her longer to clean up the mess than it did for her to bring you to climax.”

Slightly embarrassed, I felt the need to defend myself the best I was able. “She used lotion,” I complained. “Did she tell you that?”

Her gaze narrowed. “What does that have to do with anything?”

“It was some super-slippery secret stash she kept hidden in the bathroom. It gave her a competitive edge.”

“You think she used lotion for a competitive edge?” She looked at me like I was an idiot. “That’s basic hand job etiquette.”

“How the hell am I supposed to know that?” I snapped back. “I’m not versed in the intricacies of hand job delivery.”

“Well, now you know,” she said. “Using lotion is standard operating procedure for a hand job.”

“What if it’s a hand job emergency?” I asked.

She scrunched her nose. “What’s a hand job emergency?”