I’m a yes girl. Get your mind out of the gutter; I’m not talking about sex. I’m talking about saying yes to whatever comes my way in life. So when I had the chance to move to Europe after college, I said, yes. When I had the chance to open my own lingerie line, I said, yes. And when my stepsister got diagnosed with cancer and needed me to come home and help her raise her daughter, I said, yes. That’s me, Kenzie — the yes girl! In every area of my life but one —Love. Always the first to leave a relationship. Will I be able to say yes to love — to Kane — to being happy? Or will I simply come undone and be stripped raw?
Don’t let Kenzie fool you! She’s a master at hiding behind a laugh and a smile. Being an attorney, I prefer the facts. This story isn’t as light and happy as my yes girl would have you believe. No laugh can sugar coat what we are facing: I’ve lost everything. I know what it’s like to be left raw. But sometimes that’s the only way to find love. To strip yourself down, let the other person see all your shit, and hope they love you anyway.
“I’m the good girl, very responsible, girl-next-door type.”
Should I tell her I took the virginity of the girl next door? Probably not. “I think you’re more than that,” I say, taking a step closer to her. That wasn’t a line. I really mean it. I wouldn’t be here if I didn’t think so.
I inch even closer, but she looks confused — a little like she wants me to kiss her, a little like she wants me to screw her, but mostly like she doesn’t want me to do anything more. I can’t blame her; we only met a few hours ago. Deacon is wrong about the one night stand thing. This woman isn’t looking for a hookup. I’m not, either. One night with her wouldn’t be enough. So I take a step back, my fists clenched at my sides to redirect my energy.
“That was my first catalog,” Kenzie says. “I plan on doing two a year.” She reaches for a sketchbook on her work table. “This is what I’m working on for the next line. I’ll be photographing them pretty soon. The line is inspired by men’s clothing, so pinstripes and. . . .”
She keeps talking about the different fabrics, colors, and textures she plans to use. I have no idea what she is saying, but marvel over what I’m seeing — corsets and bustiers, vests with garter belts, bras, and G-strings. I love that these ideas, these fantasies, came out of her mind. She is so much more than she thinks, so much more than the girl next door.
Kenzie flips to another sketch, this one of a navy bra and panty set with stockings and heels. That will look perfect on her — especially bent over my office desk. My cock throbbing, I take a deep breath and try to focus on what Kenzie is saying. My eyes search the catalog pages for anything to distract me. “What’s this?”
“Cuffs,” she says, “like on a man’s dress shirt. But these double as handcuffs.”
Okay, that’s it. The arts-and-crafts show is officially driving me crazy. My dick is rock hard now, and I can’t take it anymore.
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