Page 27 of Indecent Ventures

I turn into the driveway and see a pickup truck. When I pull in behind it, I notice a bumper sticker that reads,Makes Frequent Stops… At Your Mother’s House. There’s only one person on this planet who would have that bumper sticker. Collin Fitz.

I smile as I think of him. He looked edible last week when I saw him. His hair is longer, and he’s got scruff now that he didn’t have when we met, nor the last time I saw him. I think it was the first time in four years that I wasn’t staring at Carter the whole night. It was Collin occupying my thoughts. Dirty thoughts. I couldn’t help but feel his big, muscular quads. I saw his dick harden at my touch. He’s fighting the mutual attraction, but I know it’s there. I know he’s into me.

He's perfect for me. He’s older, sexy, confirmed to be good in bed—great in bed—and I know he won’t want any kind of relationship. I hate when guys get clingy and want you to have an officialgirlfriendtitle. That’s usually when I bail. Collin would never want that from me. He’s a player. And maybe this time, I’ll be the one to hit-and-run. I wouldn’t mind a little retribution...after a lot of great sex.

Unfortunately, he’s afraid of upsetting Carter. That or the age difference bothers him. He probably doesn’t want to blow his chance at Reagan, though he has none. She’s permanently spoken for. In the small handful of occasions I’ve seen him through the years, I’ve watched him stare longingly at her. I know what It looks like because that’s how I usually stare at Carter.

I enter their code and quietly make my way inside the house. I assume Collin is working in the soon-to-be nursery. I tiptoe upstairs and down the hallway. I can hear both his miter saw running and Imagine Dragons playing.

I’m not prepared for what I see when I peek my head into the room. Collin’s back is to me. He’s in jeans that hug his perfect ass, a light gray wife-beater shirt, a backward baseball cap, and he’s sweating. He’s got a tattoo covering most of the upper half of his left arm, but I can’t make out what it is. His arm muscles are bulging. I’m not sure I realized how muscular he is. He’s fucking hot.

I can feel my breathing pick up and my heart racing. My bathing suit bottoms are soaked, and I haven’t gone near the pool yet.

To make things worse, at some point he turns to the side, lifts the bottom of his shirt, and wipes the sweat from his face. His abs are cut from up above. His pathway to paradise, from his belly button into his jeans, is practically taunting me. It’s like an arrow pointing to where I want to be.

I do what any normal, red-blooded woman would do when seeing this. I remove my bathing suit cover, ball it up, and throw it at him from the doorway.

It lands right on his head and falls down in front of him into his hands. As if in slow motion, he turns his head to me. I’m standing there in my white bikini. I see his lips mouth, “Holy shit.”

I’ve got my hands on my hips, with all the confidence in the world. I know I have a good body. A great body.

We both stand there in a silent stare-down. Neither of us is talking. Neither of us is moving. Neither of us has removed our eyes from the other. You could cut the sexual tension with a knife right now.

He lifts my cover to his nose and takes a deep inhale. He’s staring at me like he’s going to rip my bikini from my body. I’d be okay with it if he did.

“You got anything to say, Fitz?”

He studies my body thoroughly in no rush to respond. He eventually does. “I’m trying to decide which Bond girl you look like right now?”

“What are my options? Maybe I can help.”

I see a small smile form on his lips. “Obviously Halle Barry fromDie Another Day. You’ve got the body.”

“I can live with that.”

“Part of me wants to call you Pussy Galore fromGoldfingerjust because of her name.”

“I understand the appeal. It makes a lot of sense.”

“But their bikinis weren’t white. As aBondpurist, I’m thinking more along the lines of Ursula Andress.”

“FromDr. No?”

“You know your Bond movies. That one is older than both of us.”

“I do know my Bond movies.”

“She’s the OG Bond bikini girl and she wore that famous white bikini. I’m not sure she wore it as well as you, but she wore it well.”

“I guess we have our answer.”

He nods. After several long moments, he asks, “What do you want, Jade?”

Without missing a beat, I respond, “To lick the sweat off your body.”

He momentarily closes his eyes. “We can’t. For a million reasons, we can’t, not the least of which is that they could be home any minute.”

“They won’t be home for hours. I just spoke with her.”

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