— Sun Tzu, The Art of War “How was the bridal shower?” “Girly.” I sighed as Pete slipped off my shoe and rubbed my left foot. Heaven. I wore sandals today, but being on your feet for twelve hours straight takes a toll regardless of how comfy your shoes were. I closed my eyes and rested my head on the back of his couch. “Sounds fun.” “Sure, you can be amused because you didn’t have to sit through hours of women squealing and talking dirty.” He cocked a brow. “Talking dirty?” “Yeah. Imagine locker room talk, only magnified fifty times.” “Really?” I cracked one eye open and frowned at him. “You don’t have to sound so interested.” His lips tipped up. I would have leaned over and lapped at them if I’d had the energy. “Did you talk dirty?” It was his tone of voice that got to me. It was husky and had a turned on edge to it. It made my nipples perk up and my girl parts tingle in anticipation. It was better than an intravenous shot of caffeine. “What if I did?”
