Page 59 of Knocked Up in Alaska

“Him.”

“He told you he didn’t feel that way about you?” Izzy voice was ripe with skepticism.

“Not in words, no. I’ve never told him how I feel about him. We’ve never talked about it. But everything he says to me, the very careful way he treats me speaks volumes. He thinks of me as a friend. A friend who can use some help right now. Not a sexy friend he might want to get naked with. I don’t need him to say it to my face. I’d prefer he not, actually.”

“I disagree. I think talking about this with him is exactly what you should do.”

“Okay, with all due respect to Izzy”—Bridget blew her a kiss before continuing—“I disagree with the ‘talk it out’ strategy. Ford’s in ‘resist Lilah’ mode. I don’t know why,” she added quickly when Lilah opened her mouth to ask the question, “but not because he’s not attracted to you. He’s attracted. I’ve seen the way he looks at you.” For support, she looked to Izzy.

Izzy nodded. “He about sets you on fire every time he glances your way.”

“I’m already on fire. Why doesn’t he make a move?”

“I don’t know,” Bridget repeated, “but he won’t. He’s got all that, like, military discipline. He’s not going to violate his code—however wrongheaded it might be—without extreme provocation. Lilah, I’m sorry, but you’re going to have to torture him until he breaks.”

This sounded bad. Possibly illegal. “I don’t understand what you’re suggesting.”

Bridget smiled like a shark. “Torture him sexually.”

She threw up her hands, accidentally splashing her friends. “I don’t know how to do that. I’m not experienced. As you said before, I’m a freaking virgin mother.”

“Don’t panic, young Lilah. Sexual Jedi Masters Shanahan”—she jerked a thumb at Izzy—“and Shanahan”—she pointed at herself—“are prepared to take you on as our padawan.”

“The force is strong in you,” Izzy said encouragingly.

“No, it’s not. You say, ‘Torture him sexually,’ and I’m at a loss. Do I need rope? Handcuffs? Oh, God. I can’t burn him with candle wax, or spank him, or anything like that. I’m a pacifist.”

“Whoa. Slow down, Mistress Delilah. Geez. I say torture him and she goes straight to bondage.”

“Not that there’s anything wrong with that,” Izzy deadpanned.

“I make no judgments. But how ’bout we baby-step our way to ball-gags and safe words?”

“You’re making fun of me.”

“A little,” Bridget admitted. “But mostly I think it’s sweet how honestly clueless you are about your ability to torture a man to the breaking point with nothing but your own fine self. Lilah, you’re hawt. You’re a hottie. Torture on two feet. Those lips and cheekbones? The long legs? Those big, bodacious ta-tas? Please. Ford doesn’t stand a chance.”

“Bridget, I came on the man, with nobody around but the two of us, and he apologized, jumped up, and left the bedroom so fast I wondered if I dreamed the whole thing. I think he stands a pretty good chance.”

“Against a woman about to pop a baby out any minute. He only survived that night because he knew he couldn’t take advantage of you in your condition—and valid or not, that’s exactly how he would have seen it. Retreat was his only option. But you’re not about to have a baby now. You’re very fair game, and you’re about to play dirty.”

“How?”

Bridget shot Izzy a “you first” look. Izzy tipped her head and patted her chin with her index finger. “You guys mostly interact at The Goose?”

“Mostly, yes.”

“You’re waiting tables, he’s tending bar, sometimes it’s crowded. Sometimes you need to slip past him to get to…whatever?”

“All the time. He might be at a nearby table, taking an order, or behind the bar when I go around him to fill a couple sodas. Normal, everyday stuff.”

“From now own, give him no personal space. You don’t slip past him. You brush up against him. If it’s his back to your front, make sure you achieve breast-to-back contact and some contact with his butt. While you’re at it, you put your hand on his shoulder or hip. Just a brief little hold, like you want it for balance as you squeeze by.”

“Oooh.” Bridget nodded her approval. “You’re good.”

“My sexual Jedi Master skills are honed from years of longing for someone worth rubbing up against.”

“Well, mine are not. Mine are honed from years of rubbing up against the interested, the oblivious, and the unsuspecting,” Bridget said. “So, here’s what else you’re going to do in addition to rubbing up against the man at every opportunity: any time you want to show him appreciation, you’re going to put your lips on him.” She batted her eyelashes. “‘Oh, thank you, Ford, for reaching your big, strong arm up to that high shelf to get me those glasses.’ Kiss his cheek. ‘Thank you for starting my shift a half hour later so I could take Shayla to her well-baby visit.’ Kiss him on the lips. ‘Oh, Ford, you poor thing. I can see that mean old headache just pounding away behind your eyes.’ Kiss his forehead. At least once a day find a reason to get your lips on him. Got it?”

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