Page 72 of Flirting with 40

“What’s the secret password then?”

“Thirty-six inches,” I say, knowing that was his rough (and wrong) estimate of the length of my legs last night as he ran his tongue up my inseam. Just the thought of what that tongue did to me has me shifting on my feet.

“While I do think we need to try to measure them again just to be sure, that is not the password.”

“Then why is it crossed off the list?”

“Because sometimes we need to feel accomplished, and after last night,” he says, “I feel accomplished.”

“Slade.” My voice is a warning.

“The code is: Slade is a stud,” he says.

And while I may agree, I let the smile play at the corner of my mouth before giving him what he wants. “Slade is a stud,” I moan the words, playing them up for maximum effect, but nothing happens. The door doesn’t unlock. Nothing. “Slade, I gave you the password, now open the door.”

I can hear his chuckle from the other side. “That’s not the password, I just wanted to hear you say that.”

“Bastard,” I mutter playfully.

“I can’t hear you, what was that?”

“Slade.” I sigh, but it contradicts the smile I can’t stop smiling.

“Fuck you, Heather,” he says.

“What?”

“That’s the password. Fuck you, Heather.”

“I can’t say that.”

“Sure you can. I’m sure you’ve said it a million times in your head. Now you just have to say it out loud.

“Someone might hear me.”

“I won’t open the door until you say it.”

My shoulders sag, and I shake my head while laughing because I know from experience he won’t give up until I say it. “Fuck you, Heather,” I mumble.

“What was that?”

“I said it. Now will you open the door?”

“I couldn’t hear it. You need to say it a little louder.”

“You’re maddening.”

“And you love it.”

And I do. I can’t deny it. Who else would have me shouting passwords through a door?

“Fuck you, Heather,” I say a little bit louder.

As soon as I say it, he yanks the door open, and Slade is standing there in his board shorts and a Henley with the long sleeves pulled up to the elbows. His smile is wide, and his eyes sparkle with mischief as he runs a hand through his hair.

God is he gorgeous.

“Are you happy?” I ask.