By Monday, I had pretty much convinced myself that Sam was my only hope for a spicy affair. The fact that he hadn’t contacted me since his missed call on Friday probably sealed the deal. That and my inability to forget the damn dream. I’d had an embarrassing number of thoughts regarding the accuracy of the whole commando thing.

My attendance was requested at a school meeting that night. It would be the second in as many weeks, making me wonder which part of “vacation” the administrators didn’t understand. But it was for a good cause, so I couldn’t complain. I was kind of hoping Riya wouldn’t be there, though. I didn’t look forward to the uncomfortable conversation awaiting me when I saw her next. I owed her and Will a giant apology. Or, technically, Sam did. But that was about as likely to happen as Jill renouncing low-cut shirts and taking vows with the Holy Sisters of Celibacy.

I took my time in the shower, belting out a few tunes since nobody was home to hear me. My rendition of “Sweet Caroline” wasn’t half bad, but my “I Kissed a Girl” left something to be desired. With wet feet, I wrapped myself in my towel and headed into my bedroom. Not wanting to overthink it—for fear of panic—I swiped my phone off my bed and scrolled to Sam’s contact. Then I opened a text thread.

Me: Hi, Sam.

I dropped the phone back down and left it there while I blew my hair dry. Not that I usually went all out for school meetings, but looking somewhat presentable was at least an achievable goal. I brushed my hair out into soft waves and my feet took me back to the bed without my permission. My phone’s screen was dark.

Well, it was either now or never.

Me: So, do you still want to go out?

Before I could think about it too much, I hit send and threw the phone onto the duvet, scurrying back to the bathroom to finish getting ready. Twenty minutes later, I headed out to my meeting, vowing not to check my phone until I got home again.

I lasted about thirty seconds. But my text remained unanswered.

“We’ll get started in just a few minutes. Bear with me, please,” Georgia Whitley, our principal, called out as she shuffled through papers on the table before her.

I’d been chatting with one of the fourth-grade teachers while we waited for everyone to arrive. It was surprising how many teachers showed up, considering the time of year. And there was no sign of Riya yet, so I was breathing easy.

“I was talking to her last night and she said Monica is doing so much better,” a voice from behind me caught my ear.

I perked up at the name. Sofia’s daughter was named Monica. Turning in my seat, I spotted Amber Gibson whose daughter just happened to be BFFs with Monica Evans.

“Excuse me,” I said. Amber turned to me expectantly. “I’m sorry, I didn’t mean to eavesdrop, but did something happen to Monica Evans?”

She nodded. “Oh, that’s right. She was in your class last year, wasn’t she?” Amber patted my arm. “Don’t worry. She’s fine. She had an emergency appendectomy this weekend—scared her family half to death.”

I reflexively put a hand to my heart. Poor Monica. Poor Sofia. “Oh my God. That must have been scary. I’m so glad she’s okay.” I offered a sympathetic half smile and turned back in my seat.

My phone was out of my pocket before I could think twice.

Me: I just heard about Monica. Is she okay?

Sofia: Oh, hey. She’s fine. Not that it wasn’t terrifying at the time!

Me: I can only imagine.

Sofia: I gather Sam told you about it?

Me: No. I just heard about it from Amber. I’m at a meeting with her.

Sofia: Oh. Sorry. I thought Sam and you had been talking. Getting to know each other …

Now, how the hell was I supposed to answer that? Thankfully, she saved me.

Sofia: Although he’s been either at work or fussing over us all weekend, so I suppose there wasn’t time to socialize. He’s had my sons on and off since Friday night and I’m pretty sure they’re driving him to insanity. LOL

Me: LOL

I had no other idea how to respond. Sam had been absolutely swamped since probably the moment he’d called me on Friday. And I’d assumed he’d lost interest or was playing it cool. Was I wrong?

Well, too late now. My texts had been sent. Was there a way to erase texts once they’ve been sent? No. I couldn’t do that. I had my hot affair on the line.

Me: Well, I’m glad Monica’s okay. Give her a hug from me!

Sofia: I will!

Sofia: Oh, and BTW, you’re not off the hook regarding my brother. TTYL!

Shit.

“Okay, everyone! We’re ready to begin!” Georgia’s voice rang out. I slid my phone back into my purse and tried in vain to focus.

* * *

I resumed my morning walk the next day, and completed it without any embarrassing run-ins or near-death experiences. Reggie was happy to have the exercise again, and my body didn’t mind it either. When I returned home, in addition to the painters’ trucks lining the street, there was a flower delivery van. My first inclination was that the van was there for a neighbor, but then I spotted a man with a bouquet on my front porch. I hurried to meet him.

“Hi! Sorry, I was just out for a walk.”

He turned as I approached. “Jenna Watson?”

“That’s me.” I smiled.

“We owe you a big apology. These were supposed to be delivered on Saturday, but there was a mix-up and we just realized our error this morning.” He handed over a gorgeous mix of pink peonies and white roses. “We will, of course, be refunding the sender’s money. I hope we’re not too late for whatever occasion you’re celebrating.”

I took the vase and smiled uncertainly, having no idea what I was supposed to be celebrating. I used my free hand to open the front door and proceeded to set the vase on my entry table. My fingers found the card and quickly tore it open.

Jesus. What was it with this family and their threats. It was like The Godfather but with a much friendlier cast.

I found my purse and tipped the delivery guy, assuring him it was no problem. He waved a friendly goodbye and I took the vase to the kitchen island, unsure what to think. The flowers were beautiful, and it was beyond sweet of Sam to send them. But now that I knew he’d meant to actively pursue me, didn’t that change the wisdom of attempting a short-term sexual encounter?

His comment from the other day rang in my head. “Stop thinking so much.” God, why did I insist on overanalyzing everything? So what if we may be looking for different things? I’d just tell him what I had in mind and leave it up to him. That was fair, right?

Determined in my decision, I pulled my phone out to call him this time. Before I could, an unread text from this morning caught my eye.

Sam: Sorry it took me so long to get back to you. Long story. I see the flowers convinced you. I’m working days this week so you name the evening and I’ll pick you up.

Sneaky bastard.

Me: Yeah, I may have a story of my own. And I heard about Monica. Glad she’s okay.

His reply was immediate. Of course it was.

Sam: You and me both! So, is any particular night better for you?

I was really doing this. I was going to arrange an affair with Sam Martinez.

Me: How about tomorrow?

No reason to put it off. It would only give me time to chicken out.

Sam: Perfect. Pick you up at 6:30?

Me: Sure. See you then.

Sam: Later, Jenna.

I gave the flowers one last look and headed for the shower.

* * *

“For Christ’s sake, Jenna. You are not backing out on me now. I had to practically promise my first born to get you this appointment,” Jill hissed in my ear as we hovered in the doorway of her favorite spa later that day.

“I’m not backing out. I’m just … taking a moment.” I mean, what did she expect? I was about to let a stranger forcefully remove portions of me that had no desire to exit the premises. And I’d be doing it naked from the waist down. Was it too much to ask for a few seconds?

She rolled her eyes and pulled me into the waiting area by my arm.

“Jenna Watson for a two o’clock waxing appointment,” Jill told the receptionist, a tall brunette with eyebrows shaped to make her appear perpetually astonished. Dear God, I hoped I didn’t get her waxer.

I took a seat and immediately crossed my legs. Jill took one look at my posture and couldn’t stop the smirk that formed on her face.

“Bitch,” I whispered.

“Pussy,” she whispered back.

“Indeed.”

We both started snickering then, and the technician had to repeat my name before it registered I was being called. We followed her to the back of the spa.

If she was surprised I’d brought a companion to my waxing, she didn’t let it show. My technician’s name was Andrea—not Olga, as I had feared—and she was all business.

“What are we doing today, Jenna?” She prepared her tools with her back to us.

Jill answered for me and I scowled at her. “She’d like a French bikini wax, but can you do the front in the shape of a police badge instead of a landing strip?”

I smacked her on the arm. “I’m sorry, Andrea. My sister is on a day pass from the mental hospital and the excitement is getting to her.”

Jill laughed and Andrea turned and cracked a smile.

“Skip the badge and we’ll go with the landing strip,” I continued, sealing my fate.

“Excellent,” Andrea responded and left the room to let me undress.

“Time to strip, sis.”

Ugh. I wore a long shirt, so when I removed my shorts and panties, I still felt somewhat covered. Then I arranged myself on the paper-lined table and covered my lap with the provided sheet. Jill had prepared me for what to expect, so I took a deep breath and followed the instructions given to me when Andrea returned.

I will spare you the details of the next thirty minutes, but suffice it to say, I felt alternately like a baby having its diaper changed, and a witless masochist who voluntarily invited staggering amounts of pain for absolutely no good reason. And even better, I paid sixty bucks for the pleasure.

Sam had better get down on his knees, pun entirely intended.