Page 22 of Gimme Some Sugar

“I’m going to remind you that you chose Zen over Starbucks the next time you bitch that there are no hot baristas to flirt with way out here in God’s country,” Carly replied, smoothing over the image of Jackson in her brain. She padded across the sun-warmed planks to the chaises where she and Sloane had been drinking their morning coffee ever since the seal coat on the boards had dried four days ago. “And speaking of coffee, here you go.”

Sloane took the mug Carly offered and blew her a kiss of gratitude. “Mmm, I do miss having a luscious little barista on every corner. And that sizzling hot pastry chef at the new bakery on Main Street? Totally taken.” Sloane’s pout melted away in favor of her bright-idea expression. “Oooh, maybe I’ll have to write my next book about a hero who works in a coffee shop. Do you think Starbucks will let me use their name?”

“Doubtful.” Carly plunked down on the chaise next to Sloane’s and took a long draw from her coffee mug. “Unless your hero wears the Starbucks logo throughout nine-tenths of the book.”

“If I had my way, he’d be naked throughout nine-tenths of the book. Helllllooooo, barista.” She waggled her inky black brows.

“Maybe you could give him a tattoo of the Starbucks logo in a very strategic place.” Carly tucked her feet beneath her, and Sloane lifted one shoulder in a demi-shrug.

“Or maybe I could just get laid and stop obsessing over imaginary baristas.”

Familiar, needful heat seeped downward from Carly’s belly, making itself at home between her thighs. “Either that or you could seduce a hot contractor and have the best of both worlds.” Yeah. Thick, corded muscles, a chest that would make retaining walls green with envy, and a mouth lush enough to make a girl want to—

“Don’t you mean a barista?” Sloane laughed.

Carly snapped to attention, eyes widening. “That’s what I said.”

“Au contraire, my friend.” Sloane paused, leaning in to examine Carly with growing interest. “You’re looking a little flushed over there, sweetheart. Have you got something going on that I should know about, or is it just wishful thinking? That contractor guywaspretty smokin’.”

Carly’s neck prickled. “No! And no.”

Yes, yes, and more yes. Generously drizzled with a reduction sauce of hell yes, and topped with a lovely garnish of oh-by-the-way-I-kissed-him.

Well, that settled that.

“Come on, Carly. It’s okay to admit you’re human. Getting horizontal with a nice, hot bene-friend might be good for you.” Sloane’s lips gave a devilish twist before parting on a dreamy smile. “Unless you’re looking for a swan.”

“Are you even speaking English?” Carly knotted her arms over the chest of her Islanders T-shirt. Despite its raggedy state, she’d become weirdly attached to wearing the damned thing this week. “I don’t understand a word you just said.” Five years of being out of the dating loop and the terminology had gone off the deep end.

Sloane didn’t skip a beat as she turned to Carly with the translation. “A bene-friend is just that—a friend with benefits. Think of it as mutually agreed upon, no-strings-attached sex.”

The thought wasn’t entirely unappealing, but… “The only men I know who reside within a fifty-mile radius are Adrian and Gavin. In other words—”

“No and no,” Sloane said. She was well aware of Carly’s very strict personal rules against mixing business and pleasure, and anyway, they both viewed Adrian like a brother.

Carly’s hair fluttered over her shoulders as she shook her head, and she pulled it back into a thick knot. “Anyway, even if I did have a good candidate, I wouldn’t have the faintest idea how to propose no-strings-attached sex.”

Sloane threw her head back and laughed. “It’s not a contract negotiation. You can be pretty straightforward about it.”

Letting out a sigh, Carly said, “I’ll keep that in mind in case a hot, single, heterosexual guy drops out of the sky and into my lap. Anyway, what about the other thing? The flamingo, or whatever?”

Sloane’s snort carried over the morning breeze wafting through the yard. “Not a flamingo, a swan—you know, white feathers, long neck. Swans are one of the only species that mate for life. So, when you find The One, it’s like he’s your swan.”

Okay, clearly her best friend had lost her marble. “The onewhat? Jesus, Sloane. You’re not making all of this up as you go, are you?”

Sloane flipped her sunglasses to the crown of her head, turning to look Carly in the eye as if this were very serious business. “Not ‘the one,’ as in, littlet, littleo. I’m talking capital letters, sweetheart.TheOne. The guy who makes you feel like you’ve got raw electricity in your veins. The one whose laundry you want to steal because it smells like him. The one who would do anything just to have you, and that you would return the favor for, bar none. The One.”

Carly’s brain zeroed in on the scent of clean soap and freshly cut wood, and she shook her head, wondering where the hell it had come from. “Wow. The only thing I ever noticed about Travis’s laundry was that it was usually all over the floor, and I was married to him for five years. Are you sure about this?”

“Oh, please.” Sloane clucked her tongue in disgust and lowered her mug. “Travis is a swine, not a swan. I’m talking about someone who can curl your toes from halfway across the room, someone you never want to be without. The One is the living embodiment of your happily ever after, honey. Riding off into the sunset is optional.”

“Okay, definitely not Travis.” Carly sighed. “And I don’t think that’s my thing. I barely have time to do my own laundry, much less worry about The One or the ostrich or whatever he’s called.”

“The swan,” Sloane corrected. “So you need a bene-friend, then. Someone to give you a little sugar.”

“I don’tneedanything.” Carly scanned the emerald-green carpet of summer grass flowing out into the yard to meet the grove of trees on either side of the property, while every last inch of her skin tingled at her big, fat lie. The kiss she’d shared with Jackson had been a startling reminder of what she’d been missing by being alone. Not that Travis had ever kissed her like that.

“Look, if I’m past due for a little action between the sheets, you must be in fucking foreclosure over there. The last person you laid lips on was your ex, and that is just a travesty,” Sloane said.

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