Good Girls Don't (8 page)
“I’m all ears,” Amy said, wiggling her brows. “Is it kinky?”
Colette laughed. “Yeah, I guess you could classify it as kinky.”
“Cool. Spill.”
“It’s a married couple in their fifties who don’t want their grown kids knowing where they are this week. They told them they’re vacationing in Florida.”
“But they’re really . . .” Amy prodded.
“Oh, they’re really in Florida, but they’re at a couples resort.”
“Why would they want to hide that?” Amy asked, obviously disappointed the story wasn’t juicier. “Shoot, that’s kind of sweet, and I’m sure their kids would love it.”
“I didn’t tell you the name of the resort,” Colette teased.
“And?”
“Love Beach,” Colette said, then laughed again at her sister’s dropped jaw.
“Get out! The nudie sex-therapy place?” Amy picked up the phone and eyed it with a whole new appreciation. “You know, a lot of our product testers go to that place. Actually, I could use an older couple that takes an occasional walk on the wild side to try out some of my newer items.”
“Oh no you don’t,” Colette warned. “You are not about to start fishing for sex toy testers from my client base. Promise me, Amy.”
“They’d probably like it.”
Colette grinned, but shook her head. “Uh-uh. Don’t go there.”
“All right,” Amy said in a semipout. “But if you change your mind, I really could use an older couple’s opinion on the two-person vibrator.”
“Two-person vibrator? Surely, if you brought that home, I’d remember.”
“Oh, you’d remember, all right. But it hasn’t left the lab yet. The prototype is at the office, but it’s way cool. Or, I should say, way hot. That’s the problem. If they use it with gusto, it melts. Or at least it did for the couple who tried it.”
Colette’s jaw dropped this time.
“Don’t worry, no one got hurt, and I think I’ve got the problem fixed. We’re using a more durable plastic, but it’s a little harder for the male to climax. Before, the vibrating penis ring kind of held on like a turtleneck. Now it fits more like a vise.” She shrugged. “Then again, generally they don’t mind it lasting a bit longer, right?”
“Right,” Colette said. Then, because she couldn’t resist, she added, “How exactly do you bring these issues up at your weekly staff meetings? You’re still the only female on the team, right?”
“There are several teams, depending on products. But I’m the project leader for ours,” Amy said with pride. “So I guess you’d say I run the show. And yeah, they’re all male. What about it?”
“Just picturing you standing in front of a bunch of men and telling them the next topic is the melting vibrator that can be fixed as long as the guy doesn’t mind waiting awhile before he comes. Or something like that.”
“That’s pretty much how I told them,” Amy said, apparently impressed. “In more technical terms, of course.”
“Of course,” Colette said, stifling her laugh.
Amy, however, didn’t hold back. She giggled until she snorted. “Believe it or not,” she said between chuckles, “I’ve never cracked a grin in there. And every guy on the team is older than I am, so it’d be kind of odd if I lost it. Besides, it’s serious stuff.”
“I’ll say. And I bet those men would agree, particularly when it involves a toy melting on their penis.”
Amy held up her palm. “Wait. It gets better. The guy who melted it is one of our models, so he really didn’t mind the warm plastic. Guess he’s used to wet plastic on his part.”
Colette was quite familiar with the models Amy used for her toys. Men who were paid to let the company produce a penis mold from their anatomy. Still, she wondered what kind of guy would take a job as a penis model.
Amy unzipped the bag and withdrew a vibrator as long as her forearm. A very thick, very pink vibrator.
“No way,” Colette said, her mouth going dry.
“Well, I admit, we embellished a little, but he was pretty darn close.”
“The same guy who melted the two-vibrator deal?” Colette asked, still eyeing the oversize toy in her sister’s hands.
“Yep. This is his personal one. Seems like we should have him autograph them or something, huh?”
“And a guy with
all that
melted your toy?”
“Looked like purple butter by the time he and his girlfriend had finished. But they both agreed it got the job done.”
“His girlfriend goes along with his testing sex products?” Colette asked, watching Amy plop the toy, modeled after a real man—
have mercy
—back in her bag.
“Actually, I’m not so sure they’re more than just sex partners, come to think of it. They come in, get the job done in one of our privacy suites, then head their separate ways.”
Colette peeked in Amy’s bag at the huge length of plastic penis. “Goodness,” she whispered, amazed at what Amy’s company went through in order to make sex more enjoyable. Then again, her products really were incredible. Not that Colette had tried the two-person ones. Yet. She wondered if Bill . . .
“What about this one?” Amy asked, taking Colette’s thoughts away from melting two-person vibrators and Bill Brannon. For now.
“What?” she asked.
“This one? Married or single?” Amy indicated the other phone in her purse.
Colette noted the trim black cellular. “Married. Supposedly, he’s at a pharmaceuticals conference in New Orleans, or that’s what he told his wife.”
“But where is he?” Amy asked, lifting a curved brow.
“Oh, he’s in New Orleans, but he’s got an eye for Bourbon Street ladies. Evidently, he needs a stripper fix every two months. By the way, if he calls tonight, have him take a tie to the My Alibi satellite office in New Orleans. He knows the address.”
“He’s leaving the tie behind to prove he was there, right?” Amy asked.
Colette nodded. “The satellite office will mail it to his home next week.”
“Sounds like he’s a regular customer.”
“Most of them are,” Colette said. “Once a liar, always a liar.”
Amy tapped the black cellular back into her purse. “I don’t have to stay here, do I? I mean, I can go out and take the phones along in case your clients get any calls, right?”
Colette barely comprehended Amy’s question. Instead, she concentrated on her own statement. Once a liar . . .
She’d lied to Bill.
That tiny spot beneath each ear, the one that burned right before she cried, started to tingle.
“Colette?”
“Yeah.”
“Don’t do it,” Amy warned.
She swallowed past the nagging burn. “Do what?”
“Talk yourself out of it.”
Colette crossed the room and sat at the kitchen table, straightened the frayed edge on a woven bamboo place mat. Amy had given her the mats when she’d first rented the apartment, claiming they were supposed to bring good luck.
Yeah, right.
Amy scooted to the other side of the table, sat down and grasped her sister’s hands. “It’s not like that.”
“Like what?”
“You aren’t lying to him anymore. You gave Erika’s phone to Cassie today.”
“He thinks I live in Tampa. Last time I checked, that’s a lie.”
Amy released her hands and smothered a laugh. “Okay, so don’t talk about where you live.”
“He also thinks I work for a computer-graphics training company.”
“Or where you work,” Amy added.
“Or wait,” Colette said, “here’s a wild thought. I could tell him that his niece is on Tybee Island.”
Amy straightened in her chair. “That would kill her.” Her voice didn’t hold even a hint of anger, but it was filled with concern for her friend. “She doesn’t want to hurt her uncle. She loves him. But she loves Butch too. Come on, you said you would do this for me.”
“That’s before I knew her uncle’s name.”
“It’s one week. After that, when Erika gets back, we can talk with her about telling him the truth. Or not. I just don’t want to ruin her trip by calling her now, or by telling Bill before she has a chance to prepare. You did promise me,” Amy reminded.
Colette ran the corner of the place mat between her thumb and forefinger. “There’s a simple solution to all of this, you know.”
“What’s that?”
“I could call him, tell him I can’t do the dating thing and be done with it.”
“Don’t you dare,” Amy warned. “I’d never forgive myself if you threw this chance away over me. You don’t have to cancel. Just let Cassie do her job with Erika, go out with Bill and have a great time.”
“Besides,” Colette added, still in her own side of the conversation, “you said you have plans. And if you have a date, or if you’d rather not fool with taking care of my clients, I’m sure he’d be willing to postpone.”
“Nice try. I’m going to Cowboys with Brenda from the office, but I’m perfectly capable of taking a phone call or two while we’re there. Geez, I can’t remember the last time I saw you so shook up.” She squeezed Colette’s palms. “I’m beginning to think there’s more to this attempt to stop the date. You’re nervous, aren’t you? It’s Bill. The old friend you knew in high school. And the one who promised to find your G-spot this week, without the aid of toys. Remember?”
“And you’re saying this to keep me from being nervous?”
Amy stood from the table and headed to the refrigerator. She withdrew a bottle of water and took a long swallow. “I’m saying it to let you know you’d be crazy to let this opportunity, and Bill Brannon, pass you by.” She took another sip, then placed the bottle back in the fridge.
“I’ve gotta admit, I’ve been thinking the same thing, particularly after this afternoon. He’s still that same sweet Bill, the guy I could talk to forever.” She attempted to hold back her smile, but failed, and it burst free. “But there’s a huge heap of sexual tension that didn’t exist in high school.”
Amy licked the leftover moisture from her lips. “My bet is that it was there all along on his end. You were just so happy to have a great friend back then, you didn’t let yourself see there was more there than meets the eye.”
Colette drew a breath and prepared to tell Amy that there had definitely been more on his end back then, but Amy’s words halted her attempt.
“Didn’t you say he’s picking you up at seven?” She turned and glanced at the digital clock on the microwave.
Colette followed Amy’s gaze. “Is it seven?”
“Ten till,” Amy said.
Ten minutes. “Okay. I can do this, right?”
“Right.” Amy nodded her head for emphasis.
“Then I better head down. He’s supposed to pick me up outside your building.”
“
My
building?”
“I live in Tampa, remember?”
“Right.” Another shrug. “Maybe I’m not as good at this lying business as I thought.”
“Which is precisely why he’s picking me up outside. I didn’t want him to see you try to pull this off.”
Amy straightened her back, crossed her arms beneath her chest. “Am I that bad?”
“Put it this way. You’ll do fine over the telephone, but I wouldn’t want my contacts seeing your face while you’re feeding them a line of bull.”
“Then I must take after you,” Amy said.
Colette laughed. “Yeah, you do.”
“Either way, you need to go.” Amy unfolded her arms and made a shooing motion toward the door. “Chop, chop.”
Nerves writhed like snakes in Colette’s stomach. She stood firmly by the table, her feet refusing to budge. “Do you think I’m making a mistake?”
Amy crossed the room and stood face-to-face with her sister. Placing her palms on Colette’s shoulders, she shook her head. “No. In fact, I believe you are positively
not
making a mistake.”
“So, why do you look like that?”
“Like what?” Amy asked.
“Worried.”
Amy’s dimple deepened with her smile. “I’m not worried. I’m anxious.”
“Anxious for what?” Colette questioned.
“To see my big sister take a chance at finding Mr. Right. Or at least Mr. G-spot.”
“Somehow I don’t think the proper method for finding Mr. Right, or Mr. G-spot, for that matter, includes ly—”
“Nope,” Amy interrupted. “I won’t hear it. Not again. You’re a woman on a mission.” She turned Colette and steered her toward the door. “Now go have fun,” Amy instructed, sounding more the older sis than the younger, as she firmly pushed her out of their apartment.
Colette took a few shaky steps toward the elevator and wished she hadn’t worn stilettos. It seemed the thing to do, since he’d seen her as a practical businesswoman earlier today. She didn’t want him thinking of her as practical tonight. But she hadn’t owned a pair in years. She’d bought these after work this afternoon and still hadn’t broken them in. Which meant the night would probably end with several blisters on her heels.
She frowned. Tripping, or flat-out falling, wouldn’t do much for her sex appeal.
Running her hands across the front of her dress, she experienced a last-minute surge of panic. Should she have worn something this short? This sheer?
This red?
“Amy?”
“You look great,” Amy called from the doorway. “And one more thing.”
“What?” Colette stepped into the elevator and wondered if Amy had changed her opinion. Would she tell her not to go? That she shouldn’t get her hopes up?
Would Amy tell her that now? In time for her to turn tail and haul her butt back inside the apartment?
She held her breath and listened for her sister’s final words.
“I won’t wait up. Lettie.” Amy’s giggle trickled down the hall as the doors slid shut and Colette’s nerves, once again, took control.
W
ith their fifth-floor apartment, a ride down the elevator as the only occupant normally gave Colette a chance to relax and think. Now, however, the creeping of the old machine added to her anxiety, reminding her of the Tower of Terror ride, where the sucker crept its way to the top, then plummeted in a mind-boggling free fall.
Oh boy, was she ever gonna fall! And probably land smack-dab on top of her lying heart.
“Come on, Lettie, get a grip,” she mumbled as the big box slugged its way toward the first floor.
Lettie.
She’d said the name. Out loud. If only to the four walls surrounding her, she’d said it, nonetheless. Amy had said it too, but this time, it hadn’t sounded wrong.