Megan Hart - Switch

something."

"Okay, sure." I managed to sound casual even as the

thought of another round of Eric helping me work out sent

my heart skipping in my chest.

He looked at the sand, the butts, then puled a pack of

cigarettes from his pocket and held it up. "One left. I

should just toss it, right?"

"You should." But I could tel he wasn't going to.

I watched him tug the cigarette from the pack with his lips,

crumple the package and toss it. He cupped the match he

lit to shield it from the breeze and held it to the end. He

drew on it. He took the cigarette from his mouth and

licked the end, and I watched him with helpless

licked the end, and I watched him with helpless

fascination.

He looked up at me and stopped for a few long seconds

before he smiled. "I know. Realy bad habit. This is my last

one, see? Then I'm done. Kicking it cold turkey."

I wasn't staring to get on his case but because watching his

mouth work had been so damn sexy, and I was already

feeling weak in the knees. "No. I mean, yes, it is. But it's

not my business."

Eric drew in a long, slow breath and let out the smoke.

The wind came and whisked it away and he closed his

eyes briefly before looking at me again. He looked at the

cigarette. "I know it's the best thing for me. I know it is.

You ever have anything you keep doing even though you

know it's bad for you, Paige?"

"Hel, yeah," I said without a second thought. "More than one thing."

We laughed together. His gaze caught mine. Maybe it was

the sunshine reflecting in his eyes or maybe it was my own

reflected heat, but I met it ful on. He was the first to look

away.

"See you," he said.

"I hope so," I told him, and he smiled.

I passed Sensations every day on my way to work. The

building, nondescript and set back a bit from the main

street, had suffered a fire not too long ago, but apparently

the dancing girls and nudie film booths hadn't been

damaged, because the parking lot was half ful and I

watched a stream of men go in and out the door for about

fifteen minutes before I went in, myself.

I'd been inside that memorable night with a boy on his

knees, and a few other times to buy joke gifts for wedding

showers or birthdays. I hadn't been embarrassed then,

giggling with my friends or feigning nonchalance while

comparing the girth of dildos molded from actual porn

stars' cocks. I wouldn't have been embarrassed this time,

except the note had told me I should be.

I'd owned a vibrator I rarely used. I had slinky, kinky

lingerie I never wore. I even had, someplace, a book of

ilustrated sexual positions, the corners of the pages folded

to show which I'd done.

The clerk behind the counter looked up when I came in.

I'd been expecting something different, not a hot, wel-built

guy with model-pretty features.

Now I was embarrassed.

It was akin to looking down between the stirrups at the gy

necologist you were expecting to be fat and balding,

someone's dad, and finding Brad Pitt, instead.

"Hi," he said. "Can I help you find something?"

You wil find the one thing that embarrasses you the most,

and you wil use it until you achieve orgasm.

None of the plastic pricks or fur-lined cuffs embarrassed

me. Hel, the anal beads and butt plugs had me squeezing

my ass cheeks tighter, but they didn't embarrass me.

"Yes," I said. "I'm looking for something special."

He had a nice smile. Fuck. Realy nice eyes, too.

"Something special? For a gift? Birthday party,

bachelorette party, maybe?" He sounded as if he did this

every day. Probably because he did.

every day. Probably because he did.

"No. For me."

His gaze held mine for a second totaly longer than

necessary. "Okay. Wel, maybe I can help you find what

you're looking for."

A beat, a pause, one smal breath in and out. A smile.

"That would be great. Thanks."

The racks of cheap crotchless panties and feather-trimmed

bras were toward the back. Victoria's Secret this was not.

Not even Victoria's un-secret. None of these garments

looked as though they'd stand up under one wearing, not

to mention what would happen to them in the washing

machine. I sorted through them anyway, my fingers toying

with the hangers and making them clatter on the metal

rack.

I held up a flimsy corset printed with a pattern of

misaligned roses. My fingers itched touching the fabric,

and I could only imagine how awful it would feel against

my breasts. I held it up to me, anyway, and turned to the

clerk. "How's this look?"

I expected him to say "good." Or maybe "hot." So when I expected him to say "good." Or maybe "hot." So when he frowned and shook his head, brows furrowed and

mouth twisting, my self-assured position as a fairly

attractive female in a sex shop plummeted to hit my toes.

"Not for you," he said.

I put it back on the rack and crossed my arms. I wished

I'd had the time to change into jeans and a T-shirt after

work instead of being stuck in three-inch heels and a skirt

to my knees. I wanted pockets to shove my hands into

denim to shield me from his assessing gaze. I hadn't

dressed this morning for showing off and now he'd made

me feel like I shouldn't want to.

Flirting is a funny thing. Earlier, talking with Eric, I'd no

doubts I was the hottest bitch around. Right now I wasn't

sure I shouldn't be ringing bels in a church tower.

"Come with me." He quirked a finger.

I almost didn't. The look on his face had left me feeling

shot down. Embarrassed. And when I realized that's what

it was, I nodded and went after him down through the

narrow aisles of sleazy underwear and gigantic plastic

pricks. Surrounded by a sea of tits, ass, pecs and abs, I

pricks. Surrounded by a sea of tits, ass, pecs and abs, I

tried to keep my eyes on the man in front of me, but I

couldn't help comparing the jugs on one box of "Titty

Twister, the Party Game!" with the boobs on a package

containing a vagina molded from an actual porn star's pink

parts.

He glanced over his shoulder as we stopped at the shop's

far end. Through a doorway to his right I glimpsed the

interior of the nudie bar. Even this early, girls wiggled and

writhed on a smal stage. Every few seconds a

disembodied leg, foot clad in skyscraper heels, sprang into

view. There must've been a pole I couldn't see.

"You wanna go check it out?" he asked.

I had been staring, and my cheeks heated, though I

couldn't have said exactly why. "No, thanks."

His smile lit up eyes the color of toffee. "You sure?"

"I'm sure." I cleared my throat and gestured at the shelves he stood in front of. "You had something to show me?"

"Oh. Right. Yeah." He reached to pul a box toward him.

I stepped back, gaping, at the box in his palm. Not

I stepped back, gaping, at the box in his palm. Not

because it had been festooned with pricks and pussies, but

because with its treasure-chest shape and smal, hinged lid,

it was a smaler version of the box I'd spied in Miriam's

shop. It fit neatly in his palm with his fingers open to cradle

it. Butterflies patterned the box's red satin.

"You know what this is?"

"No." I shook my head and closed my mouth.

He blinked, watching me closely. Then he crooked his

finger for me to lean closer, and I did. I held my breath,

waiting as he opened the box. I didn't know what I'd see