Page 23 of A Lucky Shot

Or eat you

I’m not picky

You would, would you?

I don’t believe you

You didn’t when you had me in front of you

Ouch

I’m not kidding when I say I will fly your fine ass down here and correct the error of my ways

Say the word

“What are you smiling at?” Libby half shouted.

The bar looked more like a middle-aged meat market than a hot spot for a production wrap party, but Terry, the film’s production coordinator, had hired a killer DJ, and the restaurant had won awards for their sliders.

Cass looked over Libby’s cocktail, some bizarre Caesar with a whole host of bar snacks precariously skewered into it, and turned her phone face down beside her rosé spritzer with a nervous grin. “So, ah, I’ve been texting with Sexy Dimples for a few weeks.”

Libby perked up. “That dude from Vancouver? What happened to keeping that as a onetime thing, no contact, et cetera, et cetera?”

Right. She might have said that.

“He texted me, then all of a sudden I was telling him how good he felt that night and I’m sending him nudes.”

Lots of guys had asked her for nudes. She’d never sent one. But her nipples had tightened when his message popped up on her screen, and at the memories of his hungry look when he’d uncovered her body that night, peeling off all her layers. The thought of that expression on his face again—that she could put that expression on his face again—was too much to resist. It hadn’t even crossed her mind not to let the towel drop and send him photos.

One of her getting out of the shower. Another with her fingers splayed around her breasts. Last night, she’d sent one with the waistband of her sleep shorts tugged down to the side. Then another one with her shorts pooled around her feet.

And not just nudes. Of her eating a bagel on the river pathway. Her eyes crossed at an art exhibit downtown. His appreciative replies to every text had warmed her to her toes.

“And now there are naked photos of you floating around. I thought you looked extra slutty today.”

Cass slapped a hand over the grin that hadn’t faded since the exchange that morning. “He doesn’t seem like the type to share them, does he?”

“He might be. You don’t know him.”

A doubt clouded her stomach, and her smile dimmed. “What was I thinking?”

“You were thinking your kitty needed a little fun.” Libby plucked a pickled asparagus out of her drink and snapped off the tip. “At least I know you’re heading into vacation with a head start on being relaxed. But if you have FaceTime sex with this guy on the beach, I’m tossing you in the ocean.”

“My data plan isn’t good enough to support orgasms via international video calls.”

But sex on the beach with Sexy Dimples? With her knees and elbows cushioned in the warm sand, and his hips slapping against her butt. Heck, it didn’t need to be on the beach. She’d happily jump on a plane back to Vancouver for a weekend. Take him up on his offer to eat with her. Or her. A fresh shiver rolled over her collarbones, and she clamped down on the feeling working its way under her skin.

“To Cancun,” Libby cheered, clicking her glass against Cass’s, shedding a few flakes of batter from the deep-fried crab leg into her rosé, “and good riddance to this clusterfuck.”

“To Cancun,” agreed Cass with a grin, focussing on her friend and fishing out the batter sprinkles from her drink, “Although I’ll miss everyone.”

“Not like we won’t see them on the next project.”

But before the next project, she and Libby—no Jill for this getaway, too busy with a new promotion—would be on a plane for her first real vacation in years. Not a weekend away, not an unplanned break in filming because of bad weather, and not their usual hop-on-a-plane to bum around some new city until they crashed. The last time they’d slept in a hostel, Cass had woken up with a rash and all of Libby’s underwear had been stolen.

So generic beach destination it was. The new cover-up and two-piece bathing suit she’d sewn especially for the trip were already packed in her bags at the door. Though packing had taken longer than she’d planned, thanks to last night’s texting and sweetly spicy exchange that morning. His black hair mussed around his face, partly hidden behind another coffee, eyes narrowed in a flirty stare. The flutter in her chest picked up.

Crap. Here she was, obsessing over another unobtainable man, this one all the way in another province. She could barely afford rent, let alone regular plane tickets. And on the off-chance he was serious about flying her out, fantasizing about Josh would lead to pining at best and plane-hopping booty calls at worst.

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