Nobody Does It Better
Lauren Blakely
His Prologue
Shaw
Some women are just forbidden. Like . . . oh, just off the top of my head . . . say, my sister’s lifelong best friend. Forbidden, as in if I touch her, it’s sayonara favorite-body-part.
Do I kid?
No, and I don’t want to test my sister’s resolve, so I stay far, far away from lovely Vanessa. Sweet Vanessa. Vanessa who wants the real deal. Keep your dirty hands off my best friend Vanessa.
Hey, that’s what my sister said.
Look, I’m not scared of my sister.
But I do respect her. I was raised right. I was taught respect, honor, and duty. And above all . . . family comes first. When Perri told me years ago she’d have my balls in a sling if I put my ladies’-man paws anywhere near her bestie, I listened, because I happen to like the boys a helluva lot.
Honestly, though, I followed her guidelines not just for the sake of my intact nuts. I did it because she asked. If it’s important to Perri that my dirty hands stay far, far away from Vanessa, I can abide by that.
I can resist sexy, alluring, flirty Vanessa.
Witty, clever, oh, look, there’s mistletoe above us Vanessa.
Oh, did I say that?
Well, Vanessa did, and I’ll never forget that Christmas party when we were home from college.
But I swear, it was only a kiss. A sweet, tantalizing, drive-my-body-insane-with-wanting-more kiss. I’ve mostly stayed away, and that’s not been easy, so give a man some points for stellar restraint.
Especially since I’ve had it bad for Vanessa for years.
As in decades.
But sometimes, over the decades, you slip a little bit when you want something. You bend to the left, to the right, and you steal another kiss. Fine, fine. There was one more time—a year ago, when we were at Vanessa’s bowling alley for a New Year’s Eve party, lifting glasses and toasting to the new year.
It wasn’t like we got it on right there on the bowling ball return.
(It was beside the dartboard.)
And it was a chaste New Year’s kiss.
Too chaste for me.
When I was home alone in bed, though, nothing was innocent that night. In my mind, it was one hot, sexy, filthy kiss that made us both rip off clothes.
Except, even then, those words—balls in a sling—echoed.
I listened. I’ll keep listening. After all, it’s only lust I feel, right?
I can set that aside, no problem.
Until the weekend before my sister’s wedding . . .
Her Prologue
Vanessa
Is there any sadder adjective to describe a man you’re jonesing for than off-limits?
Okay, fine. There might be a few worse qualities in a guy, like woefully dumb, boring AF, and, say, rude to his mama.
Also, dislikes dogs.
For the record, no dog-disliker is getting under my skirt.
But let’s say you really dig a guy. The last thing you want is for him to be unavailable.
That’s the trouble with Shaw. That’s always been the trouble with him, ever since I crushed hard on the guy way back in seventh grade.
I fell for him because he cracked me up.
Like that time in history class, when we were studying the English monarchy and he raised his hand and asked in an intensely curious voice, “Excuse me, Mr. Wabash. Which king of England invented fractions?”
Mr. Wabash turned from the board, his white chalk suspended mid-stroke, his brow furrowed, and said, “I’m not sure that was a king of England.”
Shaw leaned back in his chair, a naughty grin creeping across his thirteen-year-old face, and coolly quipped, “It was Henry the Fourth.”
I chuckled.
Maybe I laughed loudly.
Fine, I snorted.
We were both sent to the school office, where he proceeded to fire off round after round of jokes in a murmur as we waited side by side for the principal.
How did the Vikings send secret messages?
By Norse code.
Why should you never trust an atom?
Because they make everything up.
They were corny jokes, but hey, that was comedy gold in seventh grade.
The principal called us into his chambers and folded his hands the way annoyed adults do. He reprimanded Shaw for disturbing the class and rebuked me for laughing too loud.
He sent us back to class with a warning.
I was so glad Shaw was only eleven months older than his sister, putting the three of us in the same grade in school.
He kept up his cute jester routine all through high school, during college when he became more of a sexy jester to me, and even now, as I’m pushing thirty. Like when he juggled five rawhide bones at his parents’ house a few months ago. Their dog was quite taken with his skills.
Or when he performed a comedy act at the fireman talent show last year. Though, in all honesty, I spent most of his routine focusing on his V line rather than his punch line.
He was shirtless. I had no choice.
Big surprise that somewhere along the way, I fell for him.
For his humor, for his heart, and for his big, strong body.
That’s the problem.
He’s fall-for-able, and I’m not the only woman who’s noticed.
The ladies love him, and he seems to love them too.