Page 15 of The Anaconda Downstairs

“Well that’s boring.” She shrugged and rolled her eyes at me. “But you’re the coach.”

Penelope made her way to the bar, perched on a stool, and pulled out her shiny pink lip gloss. She applied it, then gave it another swipe and smacked her lips.

Did I wish I was lip gloss right now? Yes, yes, I did. I also felt a twinge of guilt. She was clearly nervous. But this was what she wanted, right?

Sure enough, one of the guys from the group started making his way over to Penelope. I tensed, ready to intervene if necessary, but reminding myself that this was the whole point of the exercise.

As the guy approached, Penelope let out a giggle that sounded more like a nervous schoolgirl than a confident woman. Then, to my surprise and slight amusement, she let out a snort-laugh.

Before the poor guy could even get a word in, Penelope launched into what could only be described as a verbal tsunami.

“Oh my gosh, isn’t it so humid here? I’m from out of town, you know. Denver, actually. It’s so dry there. Not like here. Here it’s like walking through soup. Not that I’ve ever walked through soup. Can you imagine? That would be messy. Speaking of messy, my hair is not loving this weather...”

I watched, a mix of horror and fascination on my face as Penelope continued her ramble. The guy’s eyes were growingwider by the second, and I could see him frantically looking for an escape route.

Finally, he held up his hand, effectively cutting off Penelope’s monologue. “I’m so sorry,” he said, pulling out his phone. “I’ve got to take this call. It was, uh, nice meeting you.”

As he practically sprinted away, Penelope’s shoulders slumped. She turned to me, her face a picture of embarrassment and defeat.

I made my way over to her, torn between wanting to comfort her and feeling an unexpected surge of... relief? Pleasure? The realization made me feel like the world’s biggest jerk. What kind of coach was happy when their student failed?

“Well,” I said, sliding onto the stool next to her, “Let’s figure out what just happened, okay? I think we might have some work to do.”

Penelope groaned, burying her face in her hands. “That was a disaster. I’m hopeless, aren’t I?”

I patted her back, ignoring the spark I felt at the contact. “Not hopeless. Just... enthusiastic. We’ll work on channeling that enthusiasm.”

I loved an enthusiastic woman. Especially in the bedroom.

Pen peeked up at me, her cheeks still flushed with embarrassment, and man alive, I had my work cut out for me. Not in teaching Penelope how to flirt. She just needed a few lines, some practice and a little confidence.

This coaching arrangement was going to be a lot more complicated than I’d anticipated.

After the disastrous flirting attempt, it was time to call it a night. I wasn’t going to make her feel embarrassed any more than she was.

An idea struck me. “You know what? Let’s not end the night on a low note. How about we order some pizza and watch some game film? That’s how I get better at my job.”

Penelope perked up a bit. “You taped that? Oh my giddy aunt. If the internet ever gets a hold of that, I’ll?—”

I held my hands to show her a safe surrender.” No, no, no. I meant we should watch some rom-coms. We can study how the couples flirt. You know, for research purposes.”

Her smile widened. “Oh. Right. Okay, that actually sounds perfect.”

We snuck back into the hotel and settled into the empty suite instead of my room. I purposefully headed right into the living room area and not one of the huge bedrooms with the soft, pillowy beds, even though each room had its own TV.

“You don’t mind if I change back into my pajamas, do you? I don’t think I’d fit more than one bite of pizza into these jeans.”

Gulp. “Yeah, go for it.”

I’d just use one of these nice decorative couch pillows to cover my lap the whole night. I distracted myself by pulling up the twenty-four hour room service menu on the TV and got us pizza and ice cream. The most innocent of late night foods.

I flipped through the channels until I found a classic rom-com marathon on one of the movie channels. Nothing too racy, because it was already going to be awkward as hell to watch any kind of love scene.

Pen came back in, dressed in her pajamas, fuzzy slippers, and dragging her comforter. Perfect. If she was cocooned inside that thing, I’d be able to keep my eyes on the screen instead of on her boobs.

“Ooh, I love this one. Classic rom-coms are my jam. Except for the ones about teenagers. They just remind me of how dumb we all were in high school.” She jumped onto the couch, but much to my dismay, left the blanket hanging over the back.

Pen eyeballed me. “I bet you weren’t dumb in high school, were you? Mr. Football Star and future underwear model. I betyou even got good grades and were the prom king too, weren’t you?”

---