Rascal (Rascals Book 1)(26)

“I think so,” I told her.

“You’re prepared?” she demanded.

“I don’t know what you mean by prepared.” I sat down at my desk.

“Yes you do,” she said with a laugh. “Are you prepared, down there?”

I wanted to laugh.

“If you’re asking if I’ve gotten a bikini wax, the answer is no.” At least, not since my last one a few weeks ago. Everything was still acceptable down there, and even though he hadn’t gotten up close and personal with it, Emerson hadn’t seemed to have any complaints.

She gasped. “Are you crazy? What if he wants to have sex?”

That wasn’t in question. He was going to want to have sex. I wanted to have sex. We both definitely wanted to have sex.

Doubt began to creep into my mind. Maybe I did need a bikini wax.

“I’ll book one for after work,” I told her.



My regular waxing place was booked solid for the next couple of days, so I found another place online. After all, according to Kelsey, this was an emergency.

“You need wax?” My esthetician was a sturdy looking Russian woman who looked like she took great pleasure in covering women’s delicate parts with hot wax and yanking their hair off.

“Yes.” I gestured towards my crotch area. “All gone.”

She frowned at me.

“No hair,” I tried again. “Straight down.”

“Straight down?” she repeated.

I nodded.

“OK,” she told me. “You take off clothes.”

I half expected her to wait in the corner while I changed, but she stepped out of the room to give me privacy. Ten minutes later I was on my back, knees open, with a surly Russian woman looking right at my privates.

“You ready?” she asked.

The things we do for hot sex.

“Yep,” I said, clutching the side of the table as she spread hot wax on me.

Whoever had invented bikini waxes was my least favorite person at the moment. But it was a necessary evil. I wanted to have sex, didn’t I? And I wanted Emerson’s jaw to drop when we finally got naked in front of each other. That kind of reaction would be worth the pain.

Because there was pain. So much pain.

“Done,” my Russian agent of torture finally said, after I was pretty sure she had removed all of my hair and several layers of skin. “Pay up front.”

Then she was gone.

I sat up, my skin tender, and glanced down.

What. The. Fuck?

She had waxed an arrow down there. I stared at it for a moment, wondering if I should call her back in and have her get rid of it. Then, I thought about how much pain I was already in and decided not to bother. At least now when Emerson and I got naked, he’d know exactly where to go.





11





Alex





It was hard to say which Emerson I liked more. Fake date Emerson in a sexy suit, or real date Emerson in a pair of dark jeans and button-down shirt. There wasn’t any plaid in sight, but he looked incredibly cozy, like the kind of guy a girl just wanted to curl up with in front of a fire. Before stripping him down and having her naughty way with him on a bearskin rug.

“Where are we going?” I asked him as we got in his car.

“You’ll see,” he told me, a twinkle in his eye.

“Am I wearing the right shoes?” I asked, showing him my sexy date heels.

The twinkle in his eyes turned into a smolder.

“They’re the right shoes if you’re trying to tempt me back into my office to finish what we started,” he said huskily.

My skin grew warm underneath my favorite spring dress. One that was light and flowery and came off very, very easily. Good to know that both of our minds were in the same place.

The same naughty place.

Wherever we were going, it wasn’t far. We stayed in the Loop, heading down Michigan Ave. Emerson parked the car, and then before I could even unbuckle my seatbelt, he was crossing around the front of the car to open my door for me. No guy had ever done that for me before. Another first.

“The Chicago Athletic Organization?” I asked as we walked up to the classic old building. “Are you signing me up for professional sports? Because I definitely didn’t wear the right shoes for that,” I joked.

But I was a little confused. What kind of date night was this?

“I think you’ll like what they have inside,” Emerson reassured me as we headed into the building.

He was right. The place was gorgeous, with dramatic architectural elements, like its domed glass ceiling, everything decorated in dark leather and rich, gleaming wood. The building was also home to several restaurants, one of which was called The Game Room.

“Does it actually have games?” I wanted to know as Emerson steered me towards the restaurant, his hand on the small of my back.

“Would I take you some place with false advertising?” he asked, pretending to be offended. “Of course they have games. They have the best games.”

They did. All the classics—to go with the building’s charm—like billiards tables, checkers, chess, shuffleboard, and what looked like a full bocce court. I had never played any of them before, but I was always up for a challenge. And a good time.