Page 7 of Unleashed

"Jesus Christ, Morgan. You’re twenty-seven! What are you waiting for?"

"The right guy," I said, kicking at the duvet. "I’ve met too many jerks."

"Okay, but what about Slade?"

"The boss's son?" I asked, already knowing where this conversation was headed.

"Yes. Prime real estate. That ass alone?—"

I groaned, rolling my eyes to the ceiling. “Oh God, not this again.”

Erika laughed wickedly. "I’m serious! That man is built like a Greek God. Remember the company picnic? Him shirtless, spiking the volleyball? You were practically drooling."

"I wasn't drooling. You were," I shot back, sitting up in bed. "And as I recall, it wasn’t just his ass you were ogling."

"Whatever he's packing under those shorts?—"

"Erika!" I interrupted with a laugh. "Professional admiration only."

"Sure," she said, her tone dripping with sarcasm. "But if he showed up at your door right now with wine and a box of condoms, you wouldn’t let him in?"

"Absolutely not," I said firmly, though I could feel the heat rising in my cheeks. "We tried to go there once, and it didn’t work."

"Try again. He’s into you, Morgan. And come on, you’d be set for life."

I snorted. "It’s not like that between us. I’m not marrying for money."

"Girl, you are a fool," Erika declared. "What did I teach you about temptation?"

"To flash cleavage for free drinks?"

"Exactly!" she said with a grin in her voice. "What’s wrong with a little temptation?"

Erika adopted a way to get free drinks from hungry men in college after her debacle with Foster Black. He broke her heart,and she grew hard, angry even. She used her looks and body to get what she wanted but I couldn’t be that way. I didn’t have the experiences she did – parents with a horrible divorce and a man she gave her everything to who shit on her. I doubted she would marry… ever.

"You’re insane."

"So, when are you coming out with me again?" she pressed.

"When I have time," I muttered, sinking back into the pillows.

"You had time this weekend, didn’t you?" she asked accusingly. "Bet you’re in those gross flannel pajamas right now."

"I am not," I lied, tugging at the worn waistband.

"Liar!" Erika laughed. "Tell me what you’re wearing, then."

She fucking knew me so damn well.

I fumbled for words. "I… uh…"

"That’s what I thought! Morgan Kincaid, you need to burn those pajamas. They’re bacteria farms."

"They’re cozy," I defended weakly, stroking my fingers over the almost threadbare material.

"They’re disgusting. How long have you had those things? Since college?"

I glanced down at the small hole near the crotch and sighed. "Maybe. But I love them."

---