That’s good because her dress comes to just above her knees.

  It’s ruby red, and she looks like a jewel. The music shifts from some pop star to some other pop star, and I wrap an arm around her waist as we man the punch table.

  “Are you wearing red lace under that?” I whisper, my voice already husky as I picture unzipping this dress later.

  “Maybe,” she says with a flirty, dirty look. “Or maybe I’m wearing green. To match the shirt I bought you.” She tap-dances her fingers down the forest-green Henley. “Have I mentioned how good you look in this shirt?”

  “Good enough to get me naked later so you can have your way with me?” I ask in a growl.

  “That’s exactly my plan.”

  “You should conduct an experiment to see how quickly you can take it off me. I’ll do the same when it comes to stripping off your dress to see if you’re wearing green.” Around us, the seniors at Barrett’s school dance, laugh, and snap pictures. “But I doubt it. You usually match your undies to your clothes.”

  She wiggles her eyebrows. “Very observant. Also, green is not my color when it comes to lingerie.”

  “Why not?”

  “It makes me look like a leprechaun,” she says, flicking her red hair.

  I run a hand through those strands, tugging her close. “On you, Peyton, the leprechaun look is sexy.”

  She rolls her eyes as someone clears his throat.

  We yank apart to find that someone is my brother.

  “Don’t you know the chaperones aren’t supposed to make out?” he chides us.

  He’s not alone. The guy next to him with olive skin and green eyes shakes his head in amusement. “Adults today. You can’t leave them alone, Bear.”

  Bear. Eli already has a nickname for my brother.

  “Seriously. What does it take to get some punch around here?” Barrett asks.

  “All you have to do is ask nicely. And not slurp,” I say.

  Peyton sticks a hand in the air and waves. “Hello? Introductions, gentlemen.”

  As I ladle some punch, I second her. “Yes, Barrett. Make the intros.”

  After I pour the beverages, we all shake hands and say hello, and then Barrett and Eli head back to their crew, joining Rachel and the rest of them.

  I turn to Peyton. “I suppose I should apologize for constantly putting my hands on you, but I can’t seem to find it in me.”

  “I would never accept such an apology. Because on me is my favorite place for your hands.” She smiles as the music shifts once again. The tune is instantly familiar.

  She grins like she has a secret. Our secret. “I asked them to play this. I’ve always wanted to kiss you again to this song.”

  Cyndi Lauper’s love song fills the gymnasium, and I take Peyton’s hand and bring her to the dance floor.

  And I give her what she wants.

  It’s what I want too.

  And this time is our time.

  For all time.

  34

  PEYTON

  A few months later

  The blog worked for my brother. He sent an ultrasound picture to the family chat the other day. A tiny little peanut that’s growing in Holly.

  Jay: Thought you might like this first shot of the newest Valencia.

  Mom: The lingerie worked!

  Jay: You told mom we bought lingerie from your shop?

  Peyton: Obviously. Also, congratulations!!!!! Was it the leopard print that did the trick?

  Jay: Yes, do you want us to name the baby Leopard Print Valencia?

  Mom: That is a perfect name. Also, I’m so happy for you!

  Peyton: And I hope you have a girl so I can buy her her first bra someday.

  Jay: Can we please not talk about bras yet?

  Peyton: Sure. But mark my words, if you have a girl, I will definitely be taking her underthings shopping. Count on it.

  The blog worked for business too.

  It’s still working.

  Case in point—a determined woman in a trenchcoat who marches into my shop at the end of the day and declares in a posh tone, “I’m looking for a teddy that will make me want to rip off my lover’s shirt.”

  “Are we talking all the buttons flying everywhere?”

  She sweeps her arm out wide. “Ping, ping, ping. Literally everywhere.”

  “Let me show you a few items that I bet you’ll love,” I say, and guide the woman to our new collection of teddies.

  “Yes. Gorgeous,” she declares as she flicks through the display. “Oh yes. Delicious.” She pauses, eyes lighting up. “Oh, my yes. Must have that. I better go try this on right now.”

  “Don’t forget to try the new pink one too. You’ll look pretty in pink,” Marley says, chiming in.

  “Good idea. Plus, it’ll make me look innocent,” the woman says with a wink.

  “God bless pink for that and other reasons. I’ll show you to the dressing rooms,” Marley says.

  A few minutes later, the woman emerges, all the lacy teddies draped on her arm. “I’ll take them all. Including this pink one. I’ll have something to wear for the shirt ripping, the panty ripping, the staircase routine, and then for whatever else I decide to add to the naughty mix.”

  I beam. “I like the way you think.”

  “And I suspect you’ll love the way they make you feel every time you wear them,” Marley says as she rings up the woman.

  When the customer leaves You Look Pretty Today, I lock the door behind her, then give Marley a thumbs up. “Well done.”

  We close up, arranging displays and making sure the store looks fabulous to passersby in the night.

  “That was a great day,” Marley says as she straightens some pink bras. “Business just gets better and better.”

  “It sure does,” I say. “And you’ve played a big part in that.”

  Marley is a kick-ass employee, so good at her job that I promoted her. She’s funny as hell too, and we take turns blogging now, sharing our respective adventures in lingerie.

  Tristan’s original instinct was right—the blog and the social media that goes with it have played a huge part in keeping my shop competitive. We’ve been able to hold our own against Harriet’s, and we’re doing it in a way that would make Mimi proud—with personal service for all our customers, making sure they go home feeling beautiful in what they wear beneath the clothes they show the world.

  Marley flashes a naughty little grin. “Well, I do happen to love lingerie as much as my boss does. So thank you for letting me write about it with you.” She’s a kindred spirit, and that’s exactly who I enjoy spending my days with here at the store.

  “There’s no one I’d rather share a pen with,” I say.

  “And on that note, how about slipping me some of that new La Perla shipment? I have a hot date tonight,” she says, wiggling her eyebrows.

  “Ooh. I want details tomorrow. And yes, grab something lacy and lovely.”

  “I will, and this guy, I have a good feeling about this one.”

  “I can’t wait to hear more.”

  And after work, I like spending my evenings with my girlfriends from time to time. They’re my people too, and always will be, so after we close, I head to Gin Joint to catch up with Lola and Amy.

  Amy’s bouncing when I arrive, but she usually is. The woman has more energy than all the coffee beans in Columbia.

  She’s holding something behind her back, and when she brandishes it, I squeal.

  Lola does too, and Lola is not a squealer. “Isn’t it beautiful?” Lola says, going first.

  I grab at the book, with its bright-yellow cover and red title. The illustrated couple on the front is perfectly cheeky and adorable.

  “Sex and Other Shiny Objects,” Amy declares, handing me my advance copy of the book I contributed to. Immediately, I flip to the back, checking out the “Do and Don’t Try This at Home” guide that I penned for her.

  I smile like a loon as I reread the blog posts—the posts that helped me realize I was in love with my best friend. “Ooh, I love this one especially.” I adjust my stance, adopting my librarian pose, and I dive into the revised post I wrote about bathtub sex.

  “Let’s talk about bathtub sex again. Yes, my pretties. It is a lie. Your knees hurt, your toes cramp, and your lady parts just might sting for hours. But what’s not a lie is this—bathtub love. Have a soak with your lover. Snuggle together in a tub. Get close. Or better yet—luxuriate in bubbles and have a chat with him or her about your day. After, when you’re all warm and relaxed, make your way to the bedroom. There, just go for the golden ticket. I’m talking the simultaneous prize. It’s rare, and it’s unlikely. But that’s why it’s all the more fun. Make it a quest. Try it several times. Every night. I tried it with the man I love, and let me tell you—it’s spectacular. But then, so is he.”

  A shiver runs through me as I remember that night. And, well, all the other nights we’ve chased after the elusive simultaneous finish of the sixty-nine. Some nights we catch it. Sometimes one of us flies first. But every time feels like the best time. Because I’m with him.

  When I look up, they’re both staring at me like I’m a goofball.

  “You’re so happy it’s ridiculous, and I love it,” Lola says.

  “Yes. Yes, I am. Drinks are on me. Especially since business has been oh-so-good, thanks to this blog. Check this out,” I say, as I click over to the comments section, showing them the exchange between Lovey Buns and Sweet ums.

  Sweet ums: Thank you, Lingerie Devotee, for revealing the truth about bathtub sex. Like I tell my lovey buns, it’s just not happening.

  Lovey Buns: But I’m willing to try again. Practice makes perfect, as they say.

  Sweet ums: Bathtub sex is not yoga. It is not a practice.

  Lovey Buns: But yoga makes it possible to get into all sorts of positions. Including in the tub, sweet ums.

  Sweet ums: No. Not in the tub, lovey buns.

  Lovey Buns: Out of the tub then? Maybe when you’re wearing that babydoll nightie?

  Sweet ums: That is a pretty number. I do love how you indulge my lingerie habit.

  Lovey Buns: And that habit, I will definitely keep practicing.

  Sweet ums: And in that case, practice will make perfect.

  I close the browser window as my friends nod approvingly at the couple’s exchange. I’m pleased too that everything worked out as it was meant to be for Sweet Ums and Lovey Buns—they are perfect together.

  We order a round of Devil’s Teeth, and after we ooh and aah over the book cover again, Lola takes a deep breath, the signal that she’s about to make an announcement. “So...are you ready to hear the latest about you know who?”

  “Chris Hemsworth?” I toss out a random name.

  “Scott Eastwood?” Amy pitches in.

  “Tom Ellis?”

  “That hot guy on that new Netflix show you love?”

  Lola laughs, shaking her head at each suggestion. Then she draws a deep breath and answers in a foreboding tone. “Lucas.”

  “Um, yes,” I deadpan. “I’ve been dying to hear the latest since you had to spend those 24 hours with him.”

  “A delicious 24 hours,” Lola adds.

  “A wild and naughty 24 hours,” I chime in.

  Amy stabs the table with her finger. “I demand a full report now, wild, naughty and delicious.”

  Lola straightens her spine. “Here’s the latest with Lucas.”

  I sit, enrapt, as she tells us what’s going on with the guy she had a thing for ten years ago, the guy who appeared in her life again a few days ago.

  I’m all ears, because I can’t wait to hear what happens next with Lola and the one who got away.

  EPILOGUE

  Tristan

  Several Months Later

  I blindfold her.

  “Are you sure I can’t see it?”

  “I’m positive,” I tell Peyton as I guide her to the back room of my bar. The cornhole board still claims center stage, but I’ve added shuffleboard too. And another item at her request.

  Well, sort of.

  I reach for the rubber hatchet I left on the ground.

  I’m not letting her throw a metal one. I’m not letting anyone toss a metal one. But the woman has a thing for ax throwing, and I have a thing for making her dreams come true.

  “Hold out your hands.”

  She stretches them in front of her, and I set the rubber ax in her palms.

  “Is this what I think it is?” she asks with delight.

  “Sort of.” I move behind her and untie the blindfold, letting it fall to the floor.

  Her smile fills the room when she sees the target I’ve installed. “It’s ax throwing for my princess lumberjack.”

  She dances a little jig as she raises the toy ax made of hard, sharpened rubber over her shoulder and takes aim at the target. As she stares at it, narrowing her eyes, ready to fire, I flash back on our last year together—nights and days, hopes and dreams, love and dinners and breakfasts and coffees.

  She moved in with me at the start of the summer, and the timing fit since Barrett was spending more and more time in the college dorms. He started early at NYU, and he’s been living on campus, taking summer classes.

  He comes home for dinner a few nights a week, and that’s one of my favorite things in the world—seeing him so often, having dinner with him and Peyton as a family. Sometimes Eli joins us, and Rachel too. Eli’s going to school in the city, so we’ll see if they stay together. For now, Barrett’s happy, and that’s all I care about.

  The edge of the ax wedges itself into the corkboard target, and Peyton thrusts her arms in the air. “Victory is mine.”

  And I hope she’ll be mine forever as she turns around to find me on one knee.

  She gasps, her eyes widening. “Oh my God.”

  I hold open a blue velvet box. “Peyton Marie Valencia, I’ve loved you for a long time, and I’ve been the luckiest guy in the world to have you love me back these last months. You’re the only woman for me, and I want you to be mine always. I love you. I love you. I love you. Please marry me,” I say, echoing the words I shared with her on the street last fall.

  I say them without a shred of worry.

  Only hope.

  Only love.

  She sinks to the floor, throws her arms around me, and says, “You don’t have to ask. I’m already yours forever. I love you, and I’ll marry you anytime, any day, anywhere.”

  A variation on her words that day too.

  I slide the ring on her finger, and her eyes light up as she gazes at the diamond solitaire.

  “It’s gorgeous. I do love shiny objects. But not as much as I love you.” She clasps my face and kisses her yes against my lips. Then softly, sweetly, she says, “Thank you for waiting for me.”

  I kiss her back. “Thank you for asking me to be your research partner.”

  “You’re my permanent research partner now,” she says.

  “And we’ll have a lifetime to experiment.”

  ANOTHER EPILOGUE

  The Lingerie Devotee: Do Try This at a Hotel

  Blog entry, My Wedding Night

  There’s something special about white lace.

  It’s both innocent and sexual at the same time.

  And when I wear it, I feel beautiful too.

  That’s how I wanted to feel on my wedding night.

  No surprise I wore lace, then. White lace bikini panties, white lace garters, and a white lace demi-cup bra. Stockings too. Never forget the stockings.

  The lingerie served me well during the ceremony and the reception.

  But it served both of us later that night. After all, sometimes the mark of fantastic lingerie is how quickly it comes off.

  I believe we set a record.

  And we’re going to keep setting them for the rest of our lives.

  THE END

  Eager to know about Lola and the guy who got away? Then be sure to grab ONE NIGHT STAND-IN! It’s a sexy, emotional, enemies to lovers, second chance romance.

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  DEAR SEXY EX-BOYFRIEND

  Let me just say -- none of this was supposed to happen.

  I didn't expect the letter to go viral. I didn't think anyone would figure out who Dear Sexy Ex was. And I especially never thought he would find out about it.

  Yeah, bit of a miscalculation there.

  But see, I need the money to fund my brand new venture. And Dear Sexy Ex, well, it turns out he needs me to save his business.

  By becoming his fake fiancée.

  Yup, that's the pickle I find myself in -- pretending to be madly in love with the charming, brilliant, and utterly infuriating man known as Dear Sexy Ex.

  Only, it's not an act. And he can never know.

  PROLOGUE

  Summer

  Dear Past Me,

  In about twenty-four hours, you’re going to have a spectacularly brilliant idea.

  One that will make all the sense in the world at the time because it’ll solve a big, hairy problem. And you love ideas that solve big, hairy problems. Like in sixth grade when you decided to sell origami door-to-door to raise money for the soccer team’s travel. (Who knew there was such a big demand for folded frogs in suburban New York when you were in middle school? You did!)