The Play Mate (Roommates, #2)

EvieText property © Nôvel(D)ra/ma.Org.

My heart beat hot and fast and loud. Grabbing life by the balls would do that to a girl.

I was standing right on the edge of something huge, and just needed the tiniest shove to jump in headfirst-if I was going to go through with this crazy plan.

“Come on, Evie,” my best friend said, cheering me on. “Let him butter your croissant.” Maggie giggled into her cloth napkin while I rolled my eyes.

“I’m not doing the nasty with some random stranger.”

I had bigger goals in mind, loftier goals that involved indulging in carnal pleasures with the one man I’d always desired.

Maggie rolled her eyes. “I know. You’ve set your sights on Smith.”

It was the twenty-first century. A woman could take what she wanted sexually without feeling cheap or abused. And I wasn’t some shy adolescent girl anymore. I was confident enough to admit what I wanted and go after it. This was going to be my gift to myself. A box to check off my bucket list before it was finally time to move on from my secret fantasies.

Smith Hamilton was my older brother’s best friend. And come tomorrow night, he wouldn’t know what hit him.

The feminist inside me beat on her chest and let out a battle cry.

I was doing this.

I would make Smith my bitch.

And zero fucks would be given.

I swirled the ruby-colored wine in my glass, a smile uncurling on my lips. “He’s intelligent, well-educated, sinfully gorgeous, and unlike most guys our age, I’m betting he knows what he’s doing in bed.”

Maggie’s glossy pink lips pulled into a smirk. “He is hot. I’ll give you that.”

It was our last night in the quaint French village where we’d hiked, sampled local wine, and gorged ourselves on crusty bread and soft cheese. Tomorrow we’d hop on a train to Paris. From there, Maggie would be flying home to start her new job, and I’d be enacting Plan: Fuck Smith’s Brains Out.

Maggie and I had been backpacking our way through Europe for the past two weeks after graduating from college. To say we’d been sheltered at the all-girls school we’d attended would have been the understatement of the century. Now we wanted to sample all that life had to offer, and we were off to a pretty good start. I’d danced under the moonlight in Tuscany, dined on escargot in a French village, and risked my life climbing into the back of a motorbike taxi in Budapest. I’d seen world-famous landmarks and met local people. The one thing I hadn’t done was achieve a non-self-assisted orgasm. Awkward, I know. But I had just the man in mind to change all that.

Nodding, I took another sip of my wine. Smith was hot. And tall. And sinfully sexy. I had to cross my legs to stifle the pressure building there.

I let out a sigh. No. This was just about sex. I wouldn’t allow myself to pore over his every amazing quality, though there were many.

Even when I’d been an annoying little girl and he and my brother were teenagers, he’d been kind to me. While my brother had no problem yelling at me to get out of his room and slamming the door, Smith would drop to his knees so we were eye level and pat my head, saying if I left them alone for a little while, he’d come look at my pet frog later. He was always nice to me. Even when I probably didn’t deserve it.

My doting parents and strict upbringing ensured that I was firmly on the straight-and-narrow path, and honestly, I did what was expected of me and never deviated. At the time, I’d thought it was the right thing to do, but now I was having major regrets. I didn’t want to play by anyone else’s rules anymore. I wanted to live my life my way. And that meant having the hot tryst I’d never been brave enough to pursue. I was almost giddy at the thought.

“Are you sure you want to do this with Smith?” Maggie asked, drawing me back to the present.

Ah, Smith. I let out a happy sigh. He was the thing all my teenage fantasies were made of. He was smart, sweet, and attractive. And he had this whole wounded alpha-male thing going on. He hid it well; most people would never know. But he was adopted as an older child, and I knew that his years spent in foster care longing for a forever family had shaped the man he was today. I was sure he wanted love and acceptance and belonging just as much as I did. Maybe even more.

“Of course.” I’d never been more certain of anything in my entire life. “Why?”

Maggie chewed on her lip. “I’m just not sure if Smith is the man you should give it to. There’s too many messy entanglements.”

I shrugged. I’d been over all the pros and cons six thousand times already. Smith would be landing in Paris tomorrow to visit my brother, who was already there on business. I’d be joining them for dinner. There would be wine and conversation . . . and then later something sweeter than dessert. It was the perfect time. I couldn’t have decided on a more magical first-okay, technically second-time if I tried. Paris was practically the world capital of romance. Nothing could go wrong.

And then we’d all go back to Chicago, which was a big enough city to avoid him if things turned weird afterward, like Maggie was convinced.

“No matter what, don’t tell him you’re practically still a virgin. It’ll scare him off,” Maggie added.

“First, I’m not a virgin. I did it with-”

She waved me off. “Yeah, I know. What’s-his-name. That doesn’t count.”

“Why not? Of course it counts.” I sat up straighter in my seat. That so counted.

Maggie rolled her eyes. “He didn’t get you off. Didn’t even try to put any romance into it. If there’s no orgasm, it wasn’t sex. You get a do-over. It’s practically written in the Girl Code.”

I thought over what she had said and decided that I liked that. A do-over. It went perfectly with my sassy new personality and my new take-no-shit philosophy.

“Wait, what do you mean? Don’t guys like that? Being the first to conquer uncharted territory, and all that.”

Maggie gave me a sorrow-filled look. “No, because smart men know that women get attached to their first. Smith might be reluctant to go there with you.” While my brain buzzed with thoughts of Smith, she continued. “There are so many expectations and emotions that go along with being someone’s first. He might not be okay with that. And he might hurt you, and if I know Smith, he definitely wouldn’t be okay with that.”

That part was true. He’d always treated me with kid gloves.

“Fine. I won’t tell him about what’s-his-name, or that I need a do-over.”

I’ll just let him think I’m a sexual tigress on the prowl. That was much better than the depressing alternative, admitting that I’d never had an orgasm with a guy in all my twenty-two years.

But tomorrow night, that would all change.

And I couldn’t wait.