The page was slow to load, and I eyed a hooker on the corner eye our Range Rover, her hand lifting to shyly wave at Easton with super-long red fingernails. “Not happening,” I muttered, scrolling down and clicking on OrlandoC11’s album.

Easton chuckled. “Didn’t even consider it.”

“This is him.” I passed over the phone. Easton glanced up at the red light, then swiped through his photos. “None of his dick?”

“Nope. Should I have asked him for one?”

“Maybe.” He handed back the phone. “Considering that we’re potentially meeting him for sex, I think it’s probably the norm.”

I had thought about asking Kurt, had prepped myself for it with each email communication, but then chickened out each time. It just felt tacky. Too aggressive. Wouldn’t he have offered pictures of his dick if he felt comfortable sharing them?

“Ask him for one.” Easton moved into the left turn lane. “Panera or Subway?”

“Uh, Panera. You want me to ask him for one right now?”

“Either you can ask him, or I can ask him, and I feel like it’s going to be hella awkward coming from me.”

“Yeah.” I pulled up his latest email.

Hey Rachel. Just landed at MIA. If you guys want to grab drinks tonight, lmk.

I hit the REPLY button and stalled. This was the same issue I had had before.

Sounds great. We’re still figuring out our plans. Btw—I never saw a photo of you naked. Do you have one?

It sounded ridiculous. I read it aloud to E, and he shrugged. “Great. Send it.”

I backspaced over the last two sentences.

You don’t have any nude pics in your profile. Do you have any?

I hit send before I chickened out, then blew out a big breath. “Done.”

“It’s cute how stressed out you get over stuff like that.” He pulled into a front spot and put the SUV into park.

“It’s not cute, and you’re annoying. Just for that, no bakery item for you.”

He snorted. “Right.”

“I’m serious. I’m gonna tell Tina you’re not allowed to have one.” I opened the door and got out, narrowly missing a clump of pigeon poo.

He met me at the front of the Rover and threw an arm around my shoulder. “Tina loves me. She’ll sneak one in with my sandwich.”

“Tina loves my Yelp review,” I informed him, waiting as he held open the door for me. “Yelp reviews trump sex appeal.”

“We’ll see.” He grinned down at me as I stepped past him and through the doors.

* * *

The double chocolate-chip cookie that Tina (horny bitch) had given E was gone, a crumble of it stuck in his facial hair, a swipe of chocolate smeared across one finger. I picked up his hand and licked the evidence away and he gave me the sort of cocky grin that made me horny as hell.

Outside, a Rolls pulled up and parked, the driver stepping out and coming to stand in line. E nodded to the car, visible through the wall of plate glass windows. “Bet that’s Kurt there. Getting his chicken and rice bowl to go.”

I grinned. “Chicken and rice, huh? Couldn’t have given him a more manly meal?”

“It’s Panera. I think they make you check your balls at the door in exchange for a cookie. Why do you think he sent that guy in?” He nodded to the driver, who was gazing up at the menu.

“It’s a little sexist, assuming that it’s a guy in the car. Maybe it’s a woman.”

“Fair point.” He leaned back against the booth and threw one arm over its length. “I think Nicole had a Rolls.”

I picked up my chip bag and yanked it open with a wee bit more force than necessary.

“No—” He shook his head. “It was a Bentley.”

“Oh good,” I said. “I was worried it was something ostentatious.”

“Hey now, we looked at Bentleys once. Remember that white convertible you test drove?”

I bit a barbecue chip in half and nodded. “It had terrible gas mileage.”

“Horrible,” he agreed. “Plus, the body style was”—he held his palm flat and tilted it from side to side—“okay. Nothing compared to your car.”

“I didn’t want to point that out, but I agree completely. And the personal concierge service was so annoying. I mean, who wants a complete stranger offering to help them find things or book dinner reservations?”

“Or call an ambulance if you’re in an accident,” Easton added.

“Exactly!” I threw my hand in the air. “Way too pushy.”

The driver took a to-go cup from Tina and walked down to the drink fountain, giving us a polite nod as he passed. I waited until he passed and then stuffed another chip into my mouth.

“Did the guy email back?”

I checked my phone, my pulse quickening as I saw the new email. “Yeah. And…”—I looked up at E—“there’s an attachment.” No message, just an attachment. I clicked on the icon and waited for it to download. Under the table, my heel began to shimmy. “I’m nervous,” I confessed to E. “It’s like—”