Page 46 of Whatever Lola Wants

“She’s a switch, Grant.” Simon looked his friend square in the face. “A switch who, by her own admission, doesn’t submit. She bottoms.”

“Okay,” Grant said slowly. “She bottoms in a way you can’t work with?”

“Oh, I can work with it,” he replied, the memory of just how much he enjoyed working with it roughening his voice.

“Then I’ll ask again, what’s the problem?”

“I’m a Dom,” Simon said. “I want a submissive. Someone who wants my control. Someone who needs me. What am I going to do with a switch?”

Grant frowned. “You’re leaping ahead here, aren’t you? You spent one night together.”

Simon shook his head. “I need to find someone whose needs are more compatible with mine.”

Grant shrugged. “If you’re not a good fit, then you’re not a good fit. I have to say, though, I thought you fit pretty well.”

Simon shook his head. “Sex isn’t everything.”

“Brother, it’s a helluva lot,” Grant said with a laugh. “But I get you. You can’t fuck all the time, right?”

“Right.” Simon worked up a smile. “Are you and Anna going to the club this weekend?”

Grant shook his head. “Anna’s hip deep in wedding stuff, and she’s got three new clients. She’s been working hard to get up to speed on their accounts so she can spend today and tomorrow looking for a dress.”

Simon’s lips quirked into a smile. “She give you a to-do list?”

Grant scowled. “Who’d have thought getting married was such a hassle? You find a minister, say I do, and eat cake.”

Simon laughed out loud. “What’d she say when you told her that?”

Grant winced and rubbed the side of his head. “She threw a bridal magazine at me.”

“At least it wasn’t an apple,” Simon quipped.

“I’m never going to live that down, am I?”

“Getting hit in the balls with an apple by your woman?” Simon shook his head. “Never.”

“At least she threw it at my head,” Grant grumbled, then he grinned. “Can’t complain though, since I got to beat her ass for it.”

Simon snorted. “Can she sit down yet?”

Grant sighed. “Yeah. I must be mellowing.”

“You lucked out there,” Simon said, envy at his friend’s happiness an ugly little cramp in his gut.

Grant slapped his hands on his thighs as he stood. “You’ll find someone, buddy. Going hunting this weekend?”

Simon nodded. “Yeah, I think I will.”

“Good luck.”

“Thanks.” Simon watched Grant leave, then picked up his pen again. He twirled it through his fingers, trying to drum up some enthusiasm for going to Odyssey this weekend. He conjured up an image of the perfect submissive—head bowed, long hair hanging forward as she knelt at his feet, naked but for his collar.

That was what he wanted. So why did the image keep shifting to a tiny woman with wild platinum hair in a red catsuit with a defiant gleam in her eye?

Goddammit.

Lola didn’t go to Odyssey that weekend. She’d spent most of the afternoon on Friday and all day Saturday looking for wedding dresses with Anna, and after declaring herself too tired to walk another step, Anna had invited herself over for margaritas and Chinese food.

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