He’s wearing his usual: jeans that on anyone else would be next week’s trash, but are living their best life cupping his business. Of course, boots—badass boots—do women get to ask men to leave their boots on in bed? I’m seriously considering it. Assuming I can get him into bed…

“This is warming gel. There are so many fun things you can do with it.” I planned ahead for this. Yes, planned. I wasn’t planning to plan. It just happened. I pour a tiny bit of gel into a bunch of those little paper cups you get free samples in at the grocery store and pass them around. “You can rub it in almost anywhere, and it’ll warm up and start to tingle. Lips, clit, nipples, labia…”

I practiced that about a thousand times in the mirror earlier, and I manage the whole explanation without stuttering even a little. Which is good, because when I sneak a glance his way, Brody has quit staring at the sky and is watching me. Green-eyed and intent. Yes.

“Try dabbing a little on your lips.”

I dip a fingertip into the paper cup and run it over my lower lip. The women follow suit.

“Oh, wow!”

“That’s amazing.”

“Oh, yeah, I can see how that would work other places, too.”

“It’s edible,” I inform them, licking it off my finger and taking a quick peek Brody’s way. His eyes are fixed on my mouth. On the finger between my lips. My body warms like someone has slicked the gel between my legs. Brody leans his head against the cabin door, eyes never leaving my face. The heat in my sex thickens and twists.

Auria, one of the women at my party, notices Brody and calls to him. “You want some, Brody?” She and her wife Tilly are both here. Auria owns Spa Day Sandwiches and Tilly owns Glory Day Spa.

Brody scowls. “No, thanks.”

“Works for men, too!” I say cheerfully.

He narrows his eyes at me. I bite back a smile.

“What would happen if you put it on his balls?” one of the women whispers, mostly to herself. I know she doesn’t, literally, mean Brody’s but I get an immediate and vivid mental picture.

“I don’t know.” I hesitate. “But you could buy some and try it.” Not on Brody, I add, silently, riding an unexpected wave of possessiveness.

We move on to the little rubber clit stimulator—always a crowd pleaser—then the ben wa balls. And I get a dropping sensation in the pit of my stomach. I’m about to do something outrageous, definitely nothing like picking a random scarf out of the drawer.