Page 26 of Nash

“Sure.” I stride across the room, extending my hand for a shake. “I’m Vale. I’m the manager. What can I help you with?”

The handsome man’s cheeks blush instantly. Funny how sex toys do that to some. It’s sweet, and I love my job. Giving advice, especially about sex, is my calling because I’m searching for help, too. I recognize the Peter Millar golf jersey he’s wearing. “You play?” I ask, putting him at ease.

“Yeah,” he answers, surprised. “You?”

“Used to.”

His grin grows. “Why’d you stop?”

“My dad.” His brows twist, confused, so I explain, “He’s Duncan Monroe, and being his daughter in the sport made it go from fun to infuriating. I stopped competing in college.”

“Duncan Monroe, the PGA Master, isyourdad?”

“He’s my dad and many others’.”

I’m not joking. My dad’s famous for his philandering, too. He’s been married a hundred times, had a million girlfriends, too, and has a gazillion kids. That’s an exaggeration but not by much, and Blair and I get the honor of being his first fuck-ups.

“So, the game is in your blood?” The guy admires, offering, “Maybe you’ll play again someday.”

“Maybe.” I shrug. “But how can I help you today?”

Again, he blushes, but now we’ve bonded. He can tell me, “I want to buy a vibrator.”

“For your girlfriend?”

He’s not wearing a ring.

“No,” the blush reaches his ears, “for afuturegirlfriend. I kind of want to be prepared. I read how they help, how many women can’t, um, orgasm without them.”

“You read right.” I teach, “About seventy-five percent of women never reach orgasm from intercourse alone.”

“So,” he shuffles awkwardly, “what do you recommend?”

Tenderly, I smile. “I recommend a man like you because any woman would be lucky to have you.” I gesture toward the stairs. “I’ll show you some options that will surely satisfy her, trust me. I know.”

He leads the way before I glance back and…

Who let the angel of death into the store?Nash is glaring at me. It’s predatory. It’s seething. It’s warning me like I’m about to cheat when I’m just doing my job.

Oh, I get it, rolling my eyes at him.

He can be all morally grey and murder for a good cause, but I can’t sell sex toys and satisfaction?

Whatever.

Thirty minutes later, I’ve sold Mr. Gorgeous Golfer a lipstick vibrator, a Satisfyer clit sucker, a vibrating cock ring, lots of lube, and a Deep Throat Pocket Pal for his lonely nights or eager partners. He leaves happy and horny as I turn to Nash.

Murder swims in his brown eyes. He opens his mouth to deliver more judgment than the Supreme Court, but I’m not here for it. “Don’t do that.”

“Do what?”

“That.” I waggle my finger at his flared nostrils.

“What?”

“That.” I poke his scruffy, cleft chin. “Don’t scowl at me like I stole some saint’s virginity. He wanted sex toys, so I sold him sex toys.”

Nash leans over, seething so Jace can’t hear, “He wantedyou.”

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