Page 59 of Bad For Me (Rock Canyon, Idaho 5)

Everett wasn’t sure what to say to that. “Okay.”

“Okay? That’s it? No questions?”

“Oh, I have plenty.” He stroked her neck with his fingers, and she almost arched and purred like a cat. “But something tells me they would come out all wrong and leave

me sounding like a pervert. And I’m enjoying this open dialogue too much to risk saying something that will offend you.”

“Now I’m wondering what kind of questions you think would offend me.”

“Tough.” Everett brushed her mouth with his. “So how do you feel about hands under the shirt?” His other hand hovered at the bottom of her sweater, and he felt her shiver.

“I’m not sure.”

“Then I’ll just wait until you are.”

Chapter Fourteen

“WHAT THE HELL am I doing here?”

Callie was sitting next to Caroline on Val’s lumpy sofa, surrounded by a room full of women who had obviously started partying long before the party had officially begun a half hour earlier. Val had rented the house to her sister, Ellie, and Jenny Andrews, Mrs. Andrews’s youngest daughter, and the sisters had decided to have the party there because it was closer to town than the Silverton farm.

Although Callie had a feeling that Jenny’s mother would take issue with her eighteen-year-old throwing back shots and “whoo-hooing” like a sorority girl.

“You are keeping your very good friend from murdering her sisters.” Caroline wrapped her arms around Callie’s shoulders and squealed in her ear, “I am so glad you came!”

Callie wasn’t quite as elated as Caroline, but if she’d stayed home by herself, she’d have gone bat-shit crazy. Especially because she couldn’t seem to get the taste of Everett off her lips or the heat of his fingers brushing her skin out of her mind.

The warmth of the room and the twenty bodies in it was making Callie sweat, and she wiped a few beads from her forehead, even as she swore it had nothing to do with her thoughts of Everett.

Suddenly, Ellie came into the room yelling, “What’s up, bitches? Who wants beads?” Dangling from her hands were dozens of multicolored necklaces.

“I thought this was a bachelorette party, not Mardi Gras.”

“Yeah, well, you know Ellie. The wilder the better.” Caroline held out her hand for a necklace as Ellie passed.

Callie shook her head at the beads and would have said more, but just then the bride-to-be plopped next to her on the couch.

“How’s it going?” Val was decked out in a white veil covered with neon-colored condoms. Apparently, it was some kind of weird tradition among the women of Rock Canyon; at least three other women said they’d worn the same tacky veil to their bachelorette parties. They claimed it was good luck, but Callie thought all of it was silly.

“Great.” Callie wasn’t sure what else to say but was saved when another woman screamed from the doorway.

“Look who’s here!”

Becca came into the room in a dress the color of blood, her black-and-red hair swept back into high pigtails. She wore black-and-white striped tights, visible over the tops of her calf-high boots. Callie thought Becca looked awesome.

And Caroline did have a point; she did look a lot like Kat Dennings, right down to the great boobs.

Self-consciously pulling at the front of her sweater, Callie watched as women began to file into the room. They moved the couches and chairs around into a half circle, and people started sharing laps when they ran out of other places to sit. When everyone was quiet, Becca stepped in front.

“Good evening, ladies.” She held the handle of a black bag on wheels and bent down to open it. “Are we ready to get naughty?”

The room cheered, including Val, who’d officially blown out Callie’s eardrum.

Becca spread a tablecloth across the nearby coffee table, and Callie leaned forward, trying to figure out what the design was . . . just before she burst out laughing. Tiny hearts and penises decorated it. Callie wondered where the hell Becca had bought fabric like that; she must have ordered it online.

“First, I’m going to talk about intimate accessories. These are your flavored lubes”—several colored tubes were set across the cloth—“then your massage oils”—metal containers and a pink spikey glove were added—“and finally your tools.”

When Becca finished laying out the items, she described each and its purpose. Callie had assumed she’d be bored, but she found herself tuning into everything Becca said—and picturing Everett more than once.

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