Page 27 of The Stud Next Door (Frisky Business 3)
“Erotic body painting,” Caleb says, his expression a little too casual for comfort. It doesn’t help that he’s currently juggling Ben Wa balls, and has been doing so for the past hour.
I roll my eyes. “Okay . . . next.”
“You could just stay in. Cook dinner. Watch a movie,” Wolfie grumbles, ever the homebody.
“Jessa and I spend all of our time at home. I want to do something she’s going to remember.” Preferably with a happy little smile on her lips when she thinks of it. Of me.
But all I get is a shrug in response.
I groan, leaning against the stockroom door. “Guys, you know I’m out of practice. I need serious ideas.”
I wish Hayes weren’t conveniently absent, or else I’d hound him instead. Or have him ask Rosie, his grandmother. Or even Maren. They’re all romantics, so they’d have this figured out in no time at all.
“Oh shit. I’ve got it,” Caleb says, dropping all of the balls with a clatter to snap his fingers like some corny cartoon character. He digs into his back pocket and pulls out two small postcards. “Fuck yeah, this is the best idea ever. You’re welcome.”
I take the postcards, hoping against all hope that Caleb will for once prove to be useful. “‘Spice Up Your Sex Life,’” I read with a frown. “‘A workshop for curious couples.’ Dude, no.”
“Why? It’s the first class of our workshop series. It’s gonna be dope.”
“Because this is a first date, you lunatic.”
“Then what about the other one?”
Lifting the second card, I raise an eyebrow at the words I’m reading. BLOW-JOB BASICS. The glare I shoot Caleb could turn him to stone. “Do you wanna die?”
He lifts his hands in surrender. “You asked me. If you don’t want advice from the modern-day Casanova, don’t ask him.”
I roll my eyes. Fucking hopeless.
I fold the cards in half and stuff them into my pocket. The last thing I need is to add any more fuel to the burning sexual desire I feel for Jessa. Out of sight, out of mind.
Before I leave the shop, I shoot Jessa a text asking her to meet me at the house. I text back and forth with her for a bit about dress code and logistics without giving away too much of the plan. When I get home, she’s already sitting on my front porch, wearing a dark purple dress and a simple pair of black flats.
“Hey,” she calls over the hum of cicadas with a smile and a short wave.
“Hey,” I say, walking up the steps. “You look incredible.”
My low voice probably gives away exactly how attracted to her I am. Don’t get me wrong, she even looks incredible in yoga pants and a T-shirt with spit-up down the front. But this outfit has my heart fluttering like a caged butterfly.
Jessa cocks her head, her hair tumbling over one shoulder like a chocolate fountain. “Thank you.”
When I get closer to let her inside, I note the dark lipstick accentuating her already plush lips. She smiles when she catches me staring. The girl is hot as hell, and I’m pretty sure she knows it.
I grin back, swinging the door open and bowing my head like some sort of Victorian dandy making way for a queen. The gesture earns me a lilting laugh that echoes down the hallway of my home. Tonight is going to be fun.
“This is what I’m thinking. We head back down Lakeshore Drive toward the shop, and have dinner and drinks at this upscale little patio bistro down the block. Then when we’re done, we can take a walk down to the lakefront and watch the sunset. What do you think?”
“Sure, sounds like fun to me.” She grins, leaning over one of the dining room chairs, her cleavage peeking out of the top of her dress. Hot damn. “You’ve got the whole night planned out, don’t you? For once, you don’t need my help,” she teases.
“Untrue. How about this . . . you’re in charge of what we order,” I say, splaying my hands on the table like we’re making a very serious business deal.
Jessa purses her lips and pretends to ponder this for a moment. “Works for me,” she says with a shrug, that mischievous smile sparkling through her eyes.
With a smile, I empty the contents of my pockets out on the table. “Can you give me five minutes so I can change, and then we can—”
“What’s that?” She points to the postcards I just tossed on the table between us.
Shit.
“Oh, ah, yeah . . . Frisky Business has this new initiative where we’re offering classes to the public. Sex education, more or less. I’m not really involved; it’s Caleb’s project.”
“Wow,” Jessa murmurs, picking up the postcards and scanning them.
I’m still scrambling for something else to say when she lifts one card, flipping it toward me.
