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“Say it,” I demand, not letting him think for one second that he is getting out of this.

“No.”

“You lost the bet. Say it.”

With a defeated sigh, he says the words I so desperately crave. “I’ll buy the limited-edition book set for you.”

“And?” I push.

He glares at me. “And you’re better than me.”

“Perfect.”

Rising to his feet, he offers a hand to me. “Tell me about this new idea you mentioned earlier today.”

He pulls me up with ease. “Oh, my new project? I have to submit my book to my agent soon but ran into a little problem.”

“Which is?”

“I don’t know enough about the source material to complete it.”

His eyebrows pull together. “You love doing research though.”

“I know, but I’m tight on time. It’s due in like two months and it’s a new genre for me.”

The corner of his mouth lifts. “Don’t tell me you haven’t started it.”

I give him a cheeky grin. “Okay. I won’t.”

“Why the delay?”

I press my lips together before I speak. “Because my research requires me to find someone to have sex with, like yesterday, to meet my book deadline.”

His mouth drops open, and I roll my eyes at his reaction. He is definitely no saint. I know about all the women he has been with. There’s been a lot. He’s an undiagnosed whore. Meaning he refuses to acknowledge it.

I, however, am not. I’m not a virgin by any means. I just haven’t had the…right sex? All the men I’ve been with—all five of them—have been very vanilla. My vibrator does a way better job than any of them. She’s consistent too. I decided to go with ‘her’ pronouns since…does that even need to be explained?

Men.

Enough said.

I’m just not impressed by sex. Particularly the sex I’ve had. I just know it can be better.

For research purposes, I’ve been reading exclusively books with smut, rather than my usual young adult. The men in the books I’ve been reading all do the damn thing. Yes, they are written by women. But at some point, the authors had to experience the sex they are describing, right?

There are so many kinks I probably don’t even know I have because I haven’t slept with the right men.

My thoughts are interrupted by a group of giggling girls walking up to us, phone in hand. Already knowing what they want, I sigh and hold out my hand.

“Give me the phone, and I’ll take your picture with him,” I tell them before they can even open their mouths. I know the routine. It’s one of the downfalls of my best friend being a famous running back for the Orlando Thundercats.

While I’m well known for my books, people wouldn’t recognize me when they are out and about. Being an author offers more privacy, which I enjoy immensely.

When Caleb first became popular, people speculated we were dating, but that quickly died down with his constant clubbing and rotation of women. People either believe that we really are best friends or that I’m an imbecile staying with him for his money. Either way, I don’t care as long as no one bothers me.

“Thank you so much!” all the girls gush out. I take their photos and snap a picture with him one by one. He smiles and flirts with each of them, ensuring they feel special.

He has that spark about him. Easy flowing and very open energy. A natural magnet for people. It’s what drew me to him.