Page 42 of Sexy

I slip through the door and thank God for the darkness inside. This is my kind of place. Lodge-y, and dark, and cool.

“Bar?” I ask a waiter at a podium.

“Just off to your left, madam.”

“Thank you,” I call out cheerfully, heading in that direction. I walk down a bustling hallway filled with happy people who like to hit little balls in the summer heat, and then enter the large open bar and restaurant.

“Do you have a reservation, ma’am?” the next waiter asks me.

“For the bar?”

“Oh, no. The bar is always open. Seat yourself.” He smiles and takes his attention to the couple behind me.

OK, Tiffy, I say, looking at the packed room. The sooner you do this, the sooner you can leave. I scan the room, looking for a lonely man who is not fifty, stuffing his face with crab, or gay—thank you, Claudio, for my exceptional gaydar. It’s saved me more than once.

But there is only one guy who qualifies. And he’s sitting at a table, not the bar. I walk slowly past all the filled barstools and find an empty one as close to hot target’s table as I can get.

And this is sorta hot. I mean, hey, if you have to practice flirting with someone, it might as well be him.

“Excuse me,” the man next to me says.

I turn in my seat and give him a look. He’s not bad either. Tall, fit, early thirties. He looks like a lawyer or something. “Yes?” I answer.

“I heard there was a clothing-optional beach here in Tahoe. Do you know where it is?”

Oh, boy. This guy is a loser. Who says that to a girl? “You can try the internet.” I smile sweetly. “Excuse me, I found my friend.”

His mouth opens to say something back, but I turn away, tossing my hair in the process, and walk over to my target.

That guy was OK, but this one. Holy fuck. He’s like Fletcher. A lot like Fletcher. A little older, maybe early thirties. He has well-defined muscles, his hair is a little unruly and he has those bright blue eyes. He’s got a little more scruff on his chin than Fletch, but wow. They are very similar. Similar enough to make me want him more than I should.

“Excuse me,” I say, stopping in front of his table. “I heard there’s a clothing-optional beach around here. Do you know where I can find it?”

He looks up from the newspaper he’s reading with a scowl. “Really?” But then he stops when he sees me, tilts his head, and laughs. “Huh, I was gonna lay into you for such a lame pickup line, but OK. I can take a minute to chat you up about a nude beach if you want.” He winks at me.

I let out a long breath. “Can I sit?”

“Sure. What’s your name, darling?”

God, he sorta sounds like Fletcher too. “Tiffany,” I say, taking a seat across from him. “But my friends call me Tiffy.”

“Yeah?” he says, putting a hand up to stop a waiter. “A drink for the lady? What will it be?”

“Um, how about a Scotch on the rocks?”

“Scotch it is,” he says. “Top shelf.” And then he winks at me. “I’m Walker, Tiffy. Nice to meet you.”

I fidget in my chair. “Nice to meet you as well.” Shit, now what? That was so much easier than I expected.

“What do you do? Here with your husband for a long weekend?”

“Oh, no.” I laugh. “Not married. Not yet anyway. I’m here… well, I work at the Landslide Hotel and Casino and I’m just here to relax today.”

“Got a tee time? Maybe I’ll join you?”

“Oh, no. All done with that. Just need a drink now. What do you do?”

“You played alone?” he asks, ignoring my question.