Page 132 of Plays Well With Others

“What’s wrong?”

“Just that I have to record this date. Can I tell you how happy I’ll be when this recording is over? I can’t wait to date you camera-free.”

“Same here, but I don’t regret a thing about our un-dates.”

Reaching across the table, I run a thumb along her jaw. “I don’t either.”

I do the responsible thing and shoot a few minutes of how to take the woman you love out to dinner. How to romance her. How to make her feel like she’s the only one.

Finally, I turn off the camera and hand her the gift bag. “So, I got you this mug. I was going to give it to you Monday night at the date I canceled. I had this whole thing planned where I’d ask you to keep seeing me with this mug.”

She opens the bag, and takes out the custom-ordered cup that saysThe Doctor Is In. “I was going to say I thought you could keep it at my house to use whenever,” I tell her, and while that would have been a nice way to ask her to be mine, flying to Los Angeles to ask her out was worlds better.

She holds it close to her chest. “Ah. It’s the commemorative every-night-is-a-sleepover mug.”

I crack up. This woman. She just fucking gets me, and she always has. She nibbles on the corner of her lips before she says, “I got something for you too.”

She reaches into her purse and takes out a red plastic spatula, tied with a bow.

And I laugh even harder as I take the gift and mime spanking her. “This is absolutely my lucky spatula. And I see it’s a two-fer,” I say, fingering the silky ribbon. “I can tie you up and spank you.”

“Yes. Yes, you can. I was going to give it to you on Monday night and see if you wanted to keep doing this.”

I guess our timing wasn’t so off, after all. “I’m going to use it on you every single night,” I say in a husky tone, lowering my voice. “Because you are my dirty girl.”

She shrugs coquettishly. “You bet I am.”

We eat and laugh and talk and touch, and when I’ve paid the bill, she meets my gaze and says contentedly, “I think I like restaurants now.”

“No. You just like me,” I say.

“That’s true.”

When we leave, I can’t wait to finally get her alone. I’m frisky as we’re heading up the stairs of her place, my hand sliding down her back, over her ass. As she unlocks the door, I kiss her neck, a rumble working its way up my chest.

When the door slams shut, we’re off to the races, touching and kissing, unzipping and stumbling to the couch. I pull up her dress to her waist and yank off her blue lace panties. She undoes my jeans and straddles me. We had the talk at dinner. We’ve both been tested. So for the first time, she sinks onto me.

Bare.

I groan in bliss. In joy. In exuberance. In ecstasy. But not in fucking jocundity.

Sometimes the word of the day should be a much simpler one. One you can use easily in a sentence. Maybe even while you’re doing two things at once, like talking and loving.

So I do as I thrust up, saying, “I’m so happy when I’m with you.”

She moans as she grinds down on me. “You makemehappy.”

Those are my four favorite words of the day. Or, really, of all my days.

45

THE FRIEND ZONE IS THE BEST ZONE

Rachel

“Welcome to the first episode of Heartbreakers and Matchmakers. I am your host, Monroe Blackstone.”

We’re in the podcast studio the next week, along with Monroe’s cohosts, who he introduces next. “And this is Jack and Vanessa Larkin. They’re—wait for it—happily married.”

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