“Don’t take anything off,” she says. “That’s my job.”
My hand drops away from my belt buckle. “How—” I start, and then I realize I don’t quite care how she managed to set up her bus like this.
“Sit on the edge of the table.” One long, slender arm pokes through the curtain, pointing at me.
“Anything you wish, madame.”
Her shoulder follows the arm, displaying a single black strap that I’m well aware is holding up something lacy and irresistible.
I may not have brought enough condoms with me.
Or possibly I’m about to come in my boxers, and this evening will be over before it’s begun.
Bea’s face pokes through the curtain, which she’s holding so that I can still only see her leg, her arm, and her face. Her gaze drifts down below my waistband, and that smile—heavens above, I could drown in that smile.
Completely lose myself in her happiness.
For the first time in my life, I don’t care if I succeed in having sex tonight.
I don’t want tohave sex.
I want to make love.
I want to be so close with Bea that I don’t know where my body ends and hers begins.
I want to laugh with her.
I want to hear her tell stories of her customers and her family and anything she wishes to tell me.
I want to hold her in my sleep. I want to wake up to her sleepy face and marvel at whatever her hair looks like first thing in the morning.
I have somehow fallen head over heels, completely in love with this woman.
And it’s not the terrifying, nauseating idea that one would think it should be, given my history with relationships.
Because she makes it so easy to adore her. So easy to believe she likes me for me. That she understands my faults and finds me worthy as a whole flawed-but-good-intentioned human being.
“You seem almost as excited to see me as I am to see you,” she says.
“There’s no comparison, love. I amfarmore excited.”
“Where’s your phone?”
“Behind the building with Butch.”
“Does anyone know you’re here?”
“Not a soul.”
“If the sex is terrible tonight, are you dumping me?”
“Beatrice. The only way sex with you would be terrible is if—” I cut myself off, tilt my head, and smile broader. “As it turns out, even my wild imagination is unable to come up with a scenario in which neither of us leaves this bus fully satiated tonight, so?—”
“Say that again.”
“My wild imagination?”
“Satiated.”
