Page 9 of Bad Love

"Give me your phone.” I grab it from her hand. There’s a little noise of protest low in her throat that distracts me for the briefest second—because that sound does not belong in a business meeting—but I refocus, pull up the page of the product I picked from a list when I got home drunk this morning, and hold itout.

“Behold. The Red RocketII.”

“Holy…”

We stare at the big, red phallustogether.

“Can we change thename?”

“Why?”

“Because sticking a rocket inside your body seems like the worst idea since thezeppelin.”

I don’t try to hold in the chuckle at her dry muttering as I pass the phoneback.

She scrolls through the webpage and writes some shorthand notes in her notebook while Iwatch.

Kendall Sullivan’s a puzzle. A hand of cards that doesn’t make sense but hints at greatness, if you can only coax it into the rightform.

She’s clearly smart. Younger than me, but older than she looks. A strange combination of awkward and pretty. The copper hair that I’m betting is natural slides over the shoulders of her tidy sweater. But her notebook is pure whimsy.Live your dreams?I didn’t know anyone over the age of twelve actually bought thatshit.

"You don't make notes on your phone," Iobserve.

Kendall shakes her head, not lifting her gaze. "Writing things down activates critical pathways in thebrain."

"Know what else activates those pathways?Sex."

Kendall's pen freezes on the page, and I swallow thegrin.

She’s had the upper hand since we slid into thislimo.

I’m taking itback.

“What matters is the build-up. The tease. It’s not about giving someone pleasure. It's making them wantit."

Kendall’s gaze lifts, lingers on my mouth a beat as if my low tone is affecting her in a way that’s not completelyprofessional.

Good. I always sucked at completelyprofessional.

Still, when it comes, her answer is cool. “If you know so much about marketing, I’m surprised you need myhelp.”

I fold my arms over my chest, my shirt stretching tight across my shoulders. "I can sell a good time. But fake cocks aren't my wheelhouse. You’re the sex toy expert." She clicks off her phone and slides it into her backpack. “I’m sorry, you prefer 'alternative penisconnoisseur'?"

A flush creeps up her pale cheeks, but her lips curve at the sametime.

Andshit.

The joke’s on me because her whole face opens up as if someone turned a light on inside her. I’m dumbstruck by the way her skin glows, her eyes dancing. I can’t tell if she’s laughing at me or at herself, which turns the whole experience from silver togold.

The tension in my gut doesn’t release as our laughterfades.

“I shouldn’t tell you this, but it’s my first time." The words slip out. “Selling sex toys, Imean.”

God, she’s awkward. I want to drag her into my arms and tickle her just to see whathappens.

I should be pulling out my phone and hitting Daisy’s number, asking what the hell she’s gotten me into with some novice. But I’m lost in a pair of rapidly darkening hazeleyes.

I can’t be attracted to Kendall Sullivan. She’s the kind of woman I avoid, and it has nothing to do with her looks. It’s because she’s serious and smart and knows what she wants. And what she wants is someone likeher.

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