Crazy, Stupid Sex. Maisey YatesЧитать онлайн книгу.
orgasm, while the blonde did her best not to sweat her makeup off.
He liked the ending, but the journey just didn’t excite him much.
Damn. Sex was starting to get boring. He really did need a hobby. One beyond picking up women in bars, apparently.
The redhead wasn’t boring. She was weird. But she wasn’t boring. Sex with her? He couldn’t predict that. And that interested him.
Caleb got up from his table and walked across the bar, his eyes on her. She was trying to get her shoe back on now, and she was oblivious to the fact that she’d lost her audience.
She looked up, her hair spilling over her shoulders, all glossy and sexy, her lips drawn into a pout.
For the first time since he’d seen her, hot surpassed weird as his primary descriptor. Her eyes were still on the guy who was now very much trying not to look at her. He’d never seen a woman as pretty as her strike out so hard so many times in a row.
“Can I buy you a drink?” he asked.
She looked up and her eyes went wide. “Me?”
“Yes, you.”
“I had one.”
“Only one?” he asked. He’d sort of imagined she was a little tipsy. If she was sober then she was extra weird.
“Yeah, just the one. I didn’t want to get drunk.”
“No, I can see why you wouldn’t,” he said.
“I was talking to Jeff here,” she said, looking back at the man who was no longer looking at her.
“You were done talking to Jeff,” Caleb said. “Or rather, I think he was done talking to you.”
“I think he’s playing hard to get,” she said, arching a brow.
“I think he can hear you,” Caleb said.
The woman stepped away from the bar and lowered her voice. “Well, he was.”
“Men don’t play hard to get,” Caleb said. “Men want to have sex. Every guy in here by himself wants to have sex tonight. Hell, every guy in here with a woman wants to have sex tonight, their odds just aren’t as good as the guys who are alone.”
“You think so?”
“I know so, Evie.”
She frowned. “How do you know my name?”
“Evie, Evie James, you’ve introduced yourself very loudly to several men in here since I walked in. I observed.”
“Well…I…I…that’s just annoying,” she said. “Eavesdropping, I mean. Eavesdropping is annoying.”
“This is where you ask my name,” he said.
“I’m not sure it is.”
“Yes, it’s polite. Caleb Anderson. And your pickup techniques aren’t working.”
“I’m doing research,” she said, her tone sharp. “For an app.”
“An app?” he asked, interested now.
“I’m an app developer, that’s what I do.”
“See? That’s interesting. Your heel blisters aren’t.”
Freckled cheeks turned deep red. “But they hurt.”
“Sorry. Want me to rub ointment on it?”
“Having a man rub ointment on your feet is nowhere in the guidelines.”
“Guidelines?”
“I have these guidelines. I’m using them to make the app. For Flirt magazine. Yeah. That one. Maybe you’ve heard of it. It’s like…a big deal.”
Now, that was a twist he couldn’t have predicted. But then, this was the hangout for people who worked in that arena. Which he knew, not because he did, but because it was a good place to pick up businesswomen who wanted to blow off steam.
He knew the magazine well. One of the many glossy-paged ponies in his father’s media stable. It had been enlightening to him as a teenage boy discovering women.
It had been like being behind enemy lines.
Part of the empire that would have been Jill’s. Now it would be his someday as the sole surviving heir. He didn’t like to think about it much anymore. And the connection almost sent him walking back the other way.
He didn’t need any emotional baggage; he just needed a little fun.
But Evie James was interesting. And the desire to be interested was stronger than the desire to turn away.
“The women’s magazine with all the sex tips?”
“Yeah,” she said. “That’s the one.” She leaned in, one eyebrow arching. “And I’ve been reading up.”
Evie was starting to wonder if she really was drunk. A feeling of desperation was making her behave like an ass, and she knew it, and now this guy was talking to her. This guy who didn’t even look like he could possibly be real.
He looked like he’d stepped off the pages of some business magazine. Perfectly cut suit, expensive watch and shoes. And his haircut had not cost eight dollars.
No, his dark hair was perfection. She wanted to run her fingers through it. Or pull it. That was one of the sex tips she’d read. Some guys were into that.
And now he was talking to her. She wished she were in a business meeting. Then it wouldn’t matter how hot the guy was, she would know what to say. She would know what to do with her hands.
She wouldn’t be so sweaty.
She was beyond competent in every other area of her life and she just didn’t know how to do this.
The damn app needed to be able to flirt for her. Give a command, and it would do her bidding. But that was asking a bit much of artificial intelligence.
Siri, I’d like to get laid…
There are ten horny, sexy men in your area.
Not likely.
“So, what’s in your app?” he asked, leaning on the bar.
“Nothing finalized yet. I mean, I’m not writing all the content, I’m programming it. Though I am taking some things straight from articles. You can create a profile that helps customize your fashion and flirt type. It has…hot spots, to help you find the right kind of guy for you. You know, athletes, businessmen. You can send messages. There’s quick dating tips and…sex tips.”
“Sex tips?”
“Yeah,” she said, putting her hands on her hips. “Sex tips. Fifty of them.”
“Fifty? I’m going to have to hear about those.”
Evie took a deep breath and leaned in a little, ignoring the fact that she wobbled on her heels a bit. Ignoring the fact that she was so nervous she could hardly breathe. She had nothing to lose. Three unsuccessful attempts already and she was starting to feel like a failure.
It was time to lay it all on the line.
“What if I showed you instead?”
Chapter Two
Steps five through eight had effectively been skipped. She’d moved straight to step nine: The Proposition. The only thing after this was Closing the Deal. And that was a thinly-veiled euphemism for “letting him put his penis inside you.” Which was not her desired end result, but, really, this should provoke him to suggest a deal-closing. Which would technically mean she was a rousing success and could go home and put on her flannel pajamas.
In theory.
Her