BOOKED EVERY NIGHT

I do my best work in the bedroom. This is completely my domain. So it should be no big deal that she asked me to wait here. But something about being in Charlotte’s bedroom is wigging me out.

            Mostly because there’s nearby nudity transpiring mere feet away.

            She’s taking a shower, and no matter how you slice them, New York apartments are approximately thimble size. Let me spell this out—wet, naked, hot woman in a ten-foot radius.

            Got it? Okay. Moving on.

            I pick up a picture frame on her sky blue bureau of the dog her parents have. A fluffy brown summa dog—some of this, some of that. I’m going to focus on this mutt. Zero in on him. Look at his tail. Check out his ears. Yup, this picture is doing the trick. It is helping me not to linger on the naked woman and how well she kisses.

            Or how much I liked it.

            Why the fuck did I like it so much?

            Of course you liked it, idiot. A pretty woman kisses you, and you’re straight—you’d be stupid not to like it. End of story. Doesn’t mean anything. Stop analyzing.

            Especially since she just turned off the shower.

            Maybe she forgot a towel. Maybe she’ll open the door a crack, and ask me to grab one for her.         

            I smack my forehead. Get it together, Holiday.

            I set down the picture, draw a deep inhale and straighten my shoulders. The door creaks open. She steps out of the bathroom wearing only a white fluffy towel wrapped above her breasts.          

            “You might be wondering why I asked you to wait in my bedroom instead of the living room,” she says, in the most matter-of-fact tone.

            I have no clue how she can be talking like we’re having a business transaction when droplets of water slide down her bare legs. But I’m a strong man. I can handle this. I’m not tempted at all by my best friend. Though my dick begs to differ, the traitorous prick.

            “The thought crossed my mind,” I say, as I lean against the bureau, striking a casual pose.

            “Because if you’re my fiancé, you need to be comfortable with me being naked,” she says with a crisp nod.

            Shit, she’s going to do it. She’s going to drop the towel. She’s going to make us practice fucking. I am the luckiest man on the face of the earth.

            Wait. No. I can’t fuck my best friend. I absolutely, positively, can’t screw Charlotte. Even if she tosses the towel on the floor and begs me to.

            I lace my fingers together behind my back, linking these twitchy hands.

            “Okay, so you’re getting naked,” I say, doing my best to imitate her cool-as-a-cucumber tone that is throwing me off big time.

            “No. It’s the idea of me naked,” she corrects.

            I give her a pointed look. “Seems to me it’s both the idea and the reality.”

            “Fine, fine. They’re one and the same, and it’s part of the debrief.”         

            “Is this the exam portion?”

            She walks past me, her arm brushing against mine before she yanks open the top drawer of the bureau. “Yes. This is the practical portion.”

            “And this is because you somehow think we’re going to be required to be naked together in front of Mr. Offerman in order to pull this off? This isn’t like some feats-of-strength style fake engagement where we have to pass certain skill sets in an obstacle course. You know that, right?”

            She nods, as she hunts around in the drawer. “I’m aware of that. I see this as more like the Newlywed game.”

            “And in this version of the game we’re quizzed on how I get used to the idea of you naked and vice versa?”

            Her breath hitches when I say that—vice versa.

            I don’t know what to make of that small gasp, or if it means something about the idea of me au naturel.

            She spins around, and holds up two pairs of panties, one in each hand. “Quick. Do you prefer it when your fiancée wears the black lace thong?” She waggles a scrap of silky-looking fabric that is so hot my face might be engulfed in flames right now because Charlotte owns that? “Or do you prefer her in the white side-string bikini?” She waves the white pair before my eyes, and all I can see is a tiny triangular patch of fabric that’s the slightest bit see-through.

            Forget the flames. I am a fucking inferno right now knowing she owns this too. White panties that reveal pretty much everything.