Home > Floored (Frenched #3)(10)

Floored (Frenched #3)(10)
Author: Melanie Harlow

Yes! Drill me, Charlie Dwyer. Hard!

“No way.” I shook my head. “Charlie Dwyer will do no drilling in this house. Ever.” Coco took a sip of her wine, looking at me over the top of the glass as if she knew better.

Confession: Part of me hoped she did. Certain parts, anyway.


When the wine bottle was empty, we rinsed our glasses, double-checked the locks again, and went upstairs. Mia and Coco took the guest room, which held the trundle sleigh bed from my childhood room, and I went to my room to get them some comfortable clothes to sleep in.

On my way I ducked into the bathroom to grab the Box and Naughty Rabbit from under the sink. Not that Mia or Coco would be so shocked if they saw those things, but they were much more open about sex than I was. They talked freely about doing things I’d only fantasized about.

And I fantasized a lot.

It wasn’t that I hadn’t had good sex—I had. At least I thought I had. It’s just that I’d dated such nice guys. Guys my mother adored and whose mothers adored me, said what a sweet girl I was. Guys who treated me like gold. Guys who would never steal a hamster or hold up a lemonade stand. Guys who would pretend they hadn’t seen the fuzzy handcuffs in the bathroom.


But I could never bring myself to be totally honest with a gentleman about the things I wanted sexually. I felt like it would be too shocking, like maybe if they knew the things in my head, they’d think I wasn’t the girl they (and their mothers) believed me to be.

And to be honest, I’d never experienced any of the insane chemistry I saw between Coco and Nick or Mia and Lucas, so holding back hadn’t been that difficult. Now, this could be because one boyfriend came out shortly after our relationship fizzled, and the other decided to join the priesthood. (I’m not even kidding. Those were my two serious relationships—a gay man and a priest.) Anyway, it would be nice to find someone with that spark.

Until then, there was work to be done, there was late-night wine with friends, and there was Charlie Dwyer and the Naughty Rabbit.

Damn it—I meant Brad Pitt. There was Brad Pitt and the Naughty Rabbit.

Although next time, I might put him in uniform.

He had to have been a cop in something, right?

On Saturday I had six straight hours of classes and rehearsals, starting at nine AM. By three in the afternoon, I was tired and hoarse, but feeling surprisingly positive about life. The dancer with the ketchup commercial had shown up today, I’d managed to come in and rush out the back door without running into any parents, and thanks to Mia, I had a manageable plan of attack for getting the studio in shape and amping up the security at my townhouse. Just having a plan and people willing to help lowered my stress level considerably.

On my way home, I noticed the gas gauge on my car was low—so low the light was on. Thankfully, I’d stuck the twenty from Charlie in my pocket this morning. I’d be able to put a few gallons in, and that would at least get me through until Monday, when my new credit cards were supposed to arrive. I pulled into a Mobil station and pumped some gas, and while I was in line waiting to pay, I heard a deep voice behind me.

“Excuse me, miss. Are you driving without a license?”

I turned around to find Charlie Dwyer behind me, dressed in jeans and a gray sweater. (I can confirm he looked way, way above average in regular clothes.)

My heart thumped a few wacky, uneven beats. “And if I were?”

“You know that’s against the law, don’t you.”

I smiled. “You going to write me a ticket?” Or push me up against the counter and frisk me?

“I might.”

“Depending on…”

“Whether or not you’ll have coffee with me.”

The smiled faded. What was this? “Coffee with you?”

He shrugged. “Why not? I thought we could catch up a little. It’s been a long time.”

Up until yesterday, I’d have said not long enough, but now I found myself considering his offer.

For about a second.

Fantasy was one thing, but reality was another, and handsome as he was, the real Charlie Dwyer irritated me to no end. He’d probably just start in with all the single woman alone stuff again. Bullies like an easy target to knock around, and I didn’t have to be his anymore. “Sorry, I can’t.”

“Sure you can.”

“No, really. I can’t. I have to go find a drill and hang shades in my kitchen.”

“Right this minute?”

I arched a brow. “Hey, I’m a woman living alone, remember? We spinsters can’t be too careful.”

He laughed. “Spinster, right. Well, how about this? You save me from drinking a lonely cup of gas station coffee by myself, and I’ll help you with the shades. I’m off tonight.”

I considered it. Could I put up with him for an hour or so if it meant I could cross something off my list? Maybe so. “OK. Deal.”

After I paid for my gas, Charlie and I agreed to meet at a Starbucks not far from my house. He beat me there, which was kind of a bummer because then he watched me pull up and park, and I didn’t have a chance to give myself a once-over in the rearview mirror. I don’t wear much makeup when I teach, and my hair was in sort of a bedraggled nest on top of my head. Unwilling to let him see me applying lipstick, I settled for taking my hair down before I got out of the car, although I scolded myself for caring what Charlie Dwyer thought.

This wasn’t a date.

Was it?

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