The F-Word

“Nope. Not really.”

“Yeah, well, that’s the point. She doesn’t wear anything anybody would notice. Nothing that, you know, makes you realize that she’s…”

“A girl?”

“A woman.”

“Got it.” He grins. “You’re really into this thing, dude. I’m proud of you.”

“Yeah. Thanks.”

“Hey, why so glum? So you’re gonna buy her some new clothes and it’ll turn out that she’s attractive. Right?”

“I already bough the clothes. And she isn’t attractive, she’s beautiful.”

And Cooper, my buddy, my pal, my man-of-science, my beacon-of-truth looks across the table at me, his grin gone, and says, “Shit.”

There’s no answer to that. I take a pull on my beer instead.

“Have you fucked her?”

It’s a simple question, simply stated. I’ve certainly thought about fucking Bailey. Hell, it’s pretty much all I’ve thought about. So how come Cooper asking the question, phrasing it with the F-word, makes me bristle? Because, goddammit, I am definitely bristling, and if I was never positive what bristling meant before, I sure as hell know now.

Forget the tight jaw of a few minutes ago. Now, every muscle in my body knots. Worse, the desire to grab Coop by his My Nobel Prize is Waiting T-shirt and drag him across the table is so powerful I have to clench my fists to keep from doing it.

“Answer the question, dude. Have you nailed her?”

“No. And stop asking.”

“But you want to.”

I glare at him. Slap my hands on the table and start to rise to my feet.

“This was a mistake,” I say. “I don’t even know why we’re having this discussion.”

“We’re having it because you are messed up. Because you need advice. Because you are a man standing on the edge of a cliff. Okay?”

“Listen, Holloway…” I snap my mouth shut and fall back into the seat. “Okay,” I mutter. “I am messed up. And, goddammit, I don’t even know how it happened.”

Coop shrugs. “My Fair Lady.”

“What?”

“The play. Or maybe it was a musical. Guy sees girl, sees possibilities, sees a challenge. A makeover, start to finish.”

“No. This had nothing to do with possibilities or challenges or makeovers. We

ll, yes to the makeover part—but only because I wanted to help.” I sit back and shake my head. “How was I supposed to know the woman hidden inside Bailey would turn out to be so—so—”

“Fuckable.” Coop leans in. “And do not, do not tell me that isn’t what this is all about, because we both know that it is. You want to take her to bed and screw her brains out, and you know that’s out of the question.”

“Of course it’s out of the question.” I look at him. “It is out of the question, isn’t it?”

“Damn right.” Coop checks the room, catches the barmaid’s eye and signals for two more beers. “First rule of the road. You don’t get involved with women who work for you. It ruins the dynamic. One minute, you’re the dude giving orders. The next, you’re the dude giving orgasms. No way that can work out, especially once you break up. And, trust me, my man, you will break up.”

That, at least, I can agree with. “I know that. I mean, I’m not talking about forever here. I’m just talking about—”

“About fucking. Say the word. Don’t give it some deep, sacred meaning just because you’re thinking about doing it with a babe you already know as a person.”