ANNIE

“This is going to take like, twenty minutes, right?” Cohen asks, casting a skeptical gaze around the mall. “When I said I’d buy you a new bathing suit, I meant that I’d give you my credit card. Not that I’d go shopping with you. I’m not much of a shopper.”

“Come on! It’s fun. And, we’re celebrating.”

“What are we celebrating?”

“Me! You!” I smile as Cohen pulls me into his arms, my sunny yellow dress billowing around my knees as he wraps me in a hug. “I passed the class. Your class.”

Cohen gives me a peck on the forehead. “Yeah, but don’t you think that sleeping with the teacher gives you a leg up?”

“Ah.” I wink. “Sure does.”

Cohen trails off, and I can see him thinking about legs bent up in suggestive ways. I let him think it through for a long minute, mostly because I enjoy being pressed against his chest where he’s got me in a hug.

We’re at the mall, now, in search of a new swimsuit that I can bring to my mother’s wedding festivities. I’m not a huge shopping queen, but Cohen offered to take me after our swimming class. He came out of the locker room this morning wearing these black jeans that round out every part of his lower half, and a white tee that’s simple, soft, and just sexy enough to turn every woman’s head we pass. I changed my mind. With the right company, the mall’s not so bad.

Especially when Cohen is completely oblivious to all the neck-cricking and sideways glances from other women. Holding my hand, ducking me into dark corners for stolen kisses—Cohen knows how to make a girl feel special. It’s almost dangerous.

I graduated from swimming lessons today, much to my mother’s approval. Gran was there, too, as Cohen handed out those stupid certificates, and yes, she’d worn her Go! Annie! socks. Even though the whole thing was silly, it’d felt good to graduate. Me, Leigh, and Jason.

I’d even treaded water for a minute and swam up and down the stupid pool because I didn’t intend to pass only as the teacher’s pet. Sure, I swam doggy paddle, and yes, I looked like a drowning bird, but I’d done it.

I’m basically Michael Phelps.

Minus the abs.

Minus the ability to eat ten thousand calories per day and not balloon like an elephant.

“Okay, so where are we going for swimsuits?” Cohen breaks my train of thought. “Is there like... a women’s swimsuit store?”

“Here.” I pull him into one of the large department stores and weave him through the shoes, the jackets, the bras and pajamas until finally, we reach the summer section. “Tada!”

Cohen looks at the wall full of swimsuits, agog at the plethora of options. He takes them all in, shakes his head, and finally turns his stare on me. “All of these perfectly functional options, and yet somehow, you managed to select the two worst swimsuits to wear to class?”

“The green ruffles suit was all Mom!”

“And the burlap sack?”

“Yeah,” I say with a grin. “That one was me. Told Gran to make me look like the biggest, ugliest spinster ever so that you wouldn’t want to get involved with me.”

“And how did that work out?”

“Well...”

“Oh, come on,” he says, pulling me into his arms and backing me into a clothing rack. “You know exactly how well that went, judging by the smile you had on your face this morning.”

I can’t help the blush that creeps up my neck, or the wobbliness in my legs at the memory of this morning. A shower that was worthy of folktales. We’ve been dating for several weeks now, and each week is somehow better than the last. If things keep progressing at this rate, I’ll be a puddle of bliss by autumn.

Now that we’re finally together, it’s almost an obsession. I don’t think we’ve gone out with friends in over a month. The couch, the bed, the shower—now, they’ve seen plenty of action, not all of it romantic. Last night we’d watched a movie and hadn’t even fooled around. Much. Until this morning. However, judging by the way he’s stumbling around and playing with my hair, the morning is already forgotten, and he’s ready to go again.

“Grab a suit.”

“What?” I glance up at him. “I haven’t gotten the chance to look yet.”

“Grab a suit. Any suit.”

Cautiously, I extend a hand and reach for the nearest one. I hold it up, waggle my fingers, and raise my shoulders. Turns out to be a maternity suit. “What now?” I ask, curiosity piqued. “What do you want me to do with this?”

Cohen clearly doesn’t care what sort of suit it is, as he gives me the thumbs up. “Come with me.”

He pulls me toward the fitting room, casting a shifty-eyed glance around the place before we sneak into it. There’s no front desk attendant, no one stocking clothes, no one else in the changing area. It’s a complete ghost town, which must be a bonus to shopping on a beautiful Saturday afternoon.

It’s all peace and quiet until Cohen pulls me to him, lowers his head to mine, and whispers in my ear. I’m turning hot and bothered as we crash into one of the fitting rooms.

“All morning through lessons,” Cohen says. “I couldn’t keep my hands off you, let alone my eyes.”

“I was wearing that horrible old suit.”

“I wasn’t looking at the suit.” He locks the door behind us, guides me onto the seat in the corner. “Let me kiss you, sweetheart.”

“Like I’m going to say no to that.”

Cohen unzips my sweatshirt to reveal a thin black camisole. There’s no bra underneath which, in my defense, isn’t on purpose. I’d forgotten to bring an extra to change into after swimming, leaving me to go without. Cohen doesn’t seem to mind this development for obvious reasons.

Letting his hand linger at the tiny spaghetti straps, he lowers one before tiptoeing his fingers across my collarbone to the other. He slides that one down, too, until my breasts spill over the edges. His hand inches lower, little by little, until he’s moving in a way that has me closing my eyes and leaning against the wall for support.

After a morning spent at the pool, forced to keep our hands off one another, the tension has built up, zipping between us with the ache for more. I’ve never done more than kiss in public—a peck on the cheek with my ex, maybe, so this is new to me. There’s something thrilling about Cohen needing me now, here, and I can feel the logical, practical side of Annie disappearing like magic.

“Are you doing okay?” he asks, his voice gentle in my ear. “Because I don’t want to stop.”

“Yeah,” I mumble. “I’m great. Carry on.”

Fortunately, Cohen’s become an expert at unbuttoning my jeans and getting them over my hips. He leaves the lacey black panties on as he spins me, wrapping a hand around my waist and pressing into me as I rest a hand against the wall.

I catch a view of the both of us, entangled, in the mirror—and it’s perfect. When his eyes meet mine, an intensity runs through me, and I shudder, my senses more in tune with my body than ever before.

His fingers play over the fabric as he whispers all sorts of suggestions into my ear, the mere sound of his voice sending shocks of pleasure racing across my skin. His fingers continue their dance across the silky fabric, teasing, toying, and I’m surprised to find the low murmurs of delight are sounds coming from me.

“Cohen,” I whisper, as one of his fingers slides underneath the fabric. “I don’t think we should do this here.”

“But you’re so ready, sweetheart.” He groans, his finger circling my opening. “I’ll make sure we’re quiet.”

“Yeah, but...” I trail off as he begins with the small swirls, the ones he knows drive me crazy. My hands curl into fists, and there’s no chance of arguing now. I’m past the point of return, past the point of caring that we’re in the mall, past the point of worrying whether or not people hear us, until—

“How’s that working out for you in there?” A woman calls through the door with a strong Midwestern drawl. “Need a different size, honey?”

I glance at Cohen in a panic, yanking my undies up and giving him a light shove away. “Uh, yeah!” I call. “I mean, no. Everything fits... uh, perfectly. Thank you.”

I wave wildly for Cohen to jump on the bench; if the attendant cares to peek under the stall, she’ll definitely see a set of large male feet. I’m pretty sure this is a women’s dressing room, but then again, I was too distracted to check.

“Great!” she chirps back. “Well, I’ll be waiting right here. My name is Sharon, so just holler if I can help you with anything, dear.”

“Aw, hell, Sharon,” Cohen murmurs.

I glare at Cohen, trying to make him evaporate outside with my mind, but it doesn’t work. He capitalizes on my silence, brushing a hand low, tenderly over my bare stomach that sends erotic thrills straight to my core. For a brief moment, I wonder if we can be extra extra quiet—no doubt, he’d make the risk worth it.

Then Sharon ruins everything. Freaking Sharon. She starts humming Yankee Doodle just outside of the stall, and this brings back logical Annie with the force of a typhoon.

I can’t get arrested for having sex in a department store dressing room. I want to be a lawyer. To graduate from college. I can’t risk these achievements, not even if Cohen’s promising amazing orgasms in the meantime.

“Let’s go,” I mouth to Cohen, peeling his hands off my lady parts. “I’ll run out first. You can do the walk of shame later.”

“But—” He trails a hand down my back. “You haven’t gotten your suit for the cruise yet.”

“We’ll find a different store. Unless you want to get yourself ten more weeks of community service at the YMCA because of Sharon.”

“Will you be there again?” He raises an eyebrow, reluctantly pulling me to my feet. “Because that doesn’t sound like a half bad punishment.”

“Come on.” I haul him to his feet and cautiously open the door. Sharon’s temporarily distracted by another customer, and I wave for Cohen to follow. “I have another idea.”