“This is such a bad idea,” Shelby muttered as she slid out of Hannah’s Mercedes and tried to stand upright on the unfamiliar four-inch heels.

“Nonsense,” Hannah said, looking over the car’s roof at Shelby. The copper highlights in her mass of blond curls gleamed in the late afternoon sun, shining as bright as Hannah’s mischievous grin. “Bachelorette parties require the appropriate gift. And trust me, when it comes to honeymoon supplies, no place in Austin is better than Forbidden Fruit.”

Shelby glanced at the pink storefront in the artsy North Loop shopping area. The name was spelled out in huge letters above a wall of windows that made Shelby wince, because anyone walking by would see her in there. And Shelby was really not the kind of girl to go into a sex toy store. Yes, she owned a vibrator, but she’d bought it the proper way—in secret from a mail order store that promised discreet packaging. And even then she’d waited two days to open the box, and had locked herself in her bedroom before using her manicure scissors to slice through the packing tape.

All that, despite the fact that she lived alone and no one else had been in her house. But about some things, you really couldn’t be too careful.

Hannah only laughed and shook her head as she came around the car to take Shel by the elbow. “You can do it. Come on. Consider it a life milestone. One wacky thing to check off your bucket list.”

“Wacky is right,” Shelby muttered, as she tottered alongside her friend wishing she was still wearing her comfortable pumps and her familiar linen blend suit with the skirt that hit just below the knee. But no. She was about to walk into a sex shop wearing Fuck Me pumps and a skin-tight little black dress she’d borrowed from Hannah with a slit that extended from the knee-length hem all the way up to mid-thigh. They were the same height, but whereas Hannah was trim and athletic, Shelby had definite curves, which the lycra-cotton blend was clinging to like plastic wrap.

She was also wearing thong panties in defense against panty lines, and her legs were bare. Which, considering that Shelby was used to pantyhose, was a rather disconcerting experience, as she was feeling a definite breeze in places where there usually wasn’t one.

Seriously, why had she listened to Hannah? Because now Shelby was about to walk into a sex toy shop dressed like she was there to buy professional supplies.

“You owe me big time,” she said to Hannah.

“Fair enough. Now come on. It’s already almost seven and we have to get back downtown to meet the girls at eight.”

The bachelorette party was for Celia James, one of the secretaries at Brandywine Finance & Consulting, the firm where Shelby worked as a financial advisor and where Hannah served as in-house counsel. It was a low-key, mid-week affair, as Celia’s college friends had taken her to Cancun for her official party. When Shelby had pointed that out to Hannah in support of the argument that work clothes—or even jeans and a blazer—would be perfectly fine, Hannah had pulled out her best friend veto power.

“Fine,” Shelby said now. “But I’m still not staying late. I have to work tomorrow.”

“We all have to work tomorrow,” Hannah retorted, then held the glass door open. “Come on.”

With a sigh, Shelby did as she was told, her eyes widening as she stood in the center of the cavernous room scoping out the displays. Walls of vibrators and dildoes. Cases of lube. Sections with handcuffs and blindfolds and other restraints. And leather. Lots of leather.

A woman with a friendly smile greeted them, asking if they needed help, but Hannah assured her they were fine. Shelby said nothing, although she may have made a small squeaking noise. It wasn’t that she was a prude. She’d had sex—and not only in the missionary position, either.

But all of this was so very public.

At first, she stuck close to Hannah. But when her friend called the clerk over to explain the pros and cons of various vibrators, Shelby drifted away, finding herself near a glass case with leather handcuffs, a fur blindfold, and a roll of something that looked like electrical tape.

She bit her lower lip as her gaze skimmed over the display. A pleasant tingle started below her belly button, and she tried to imagine being naked in bed, the mask over her eyes, and her arms taped to the headboard.

She could almost feel the pressure of a man’s hands on her, rough and strong as he roamed down her skin to cup her at the waist, and then the heat of his mouth on her breasts as he—

“Can I answer any questions?”

Shelby actually yelped, then teetered on her heels as she tried to steady herself. “I—um—no. I’m just waiting for my friend.”

“Feel free to look around,” the saleswoman said. “And if you need any help, just let me know.”

“Oh. Sure. Absolutely.”

The woman started to turn away, and Shelby surprised herself by saying, “Actually, what is this?” She was pointing to the roll of electrical tape. “Wouldn’t that, like, hurt?”

The woman shook her head, her expression kind and professional. “It only sticks to itself. So it won’t pull on your skin or leave a residue,” she said. “Much more portable than handcuffs, and infinitely more versatile.”

“Ohhhh!” Hannah said, coming up behind them. “Toss a roll in for me, would you?” She winked at Shelby. “We’re going to make sure Celia has the best honeymoon ever. And then I think that’ll do it,” she told the saleswoman.

“Wonderful. Just meet me at the register when you’re ready.”

Hannah nodded, then nudged Shelby. “Looking for a little something for yourself? I mean, there’s always Alan, right…”

Shelby frowned, thinking about Alan Lowe, the assistant professor she’d been dating ever since her mother had introduced them three months ago, assuring her that the two of them would be perfect together. And they were. Alan was sweet and polite and thoughtful. And the two times they’d slept together had been perfectly fine. But—

She shook her head. “I don’t think bondage tape is Alan’s thing.”

Hannah’s lips thinned as she very obviously held back a laugh.

“What?”

“I just find your word choice interesting. Not Alan’s thing? Does that mean it is yours?”

Shelby rolled her eyes. “Oh, please,” she said. “Go pay, and let’s get out of here.”

Hannah glanced at her watch. “Shit. We really do need to get going.” As she hurried toward the checkout, Shelby glanced one more time at the cuffs and tape.

Definitely not Alan’s thing, but even though they’d never actually talked about being exclusive, Alan was the only guy on Shelby’s current radar.

So who was the man in her delicious little fantasy? For that matter, why was she fantasizing at all? She was perfectly happy with Alan and their casual non-relationship. Maybe they were moving more slowly than was common these days, but there was nothing wrong with that.

“Getting back to Alan,” Hannah began, once they were in her car and heading toward downtown. “Obviously he’s not tying you up and fucking you like crazy—”

“Hannah!”

“—so what is going on with you two?”

“Oh, my God,” Shelby said, a little disconcerted that Hannah’s question tracked Shelby’s own. Albeit in a completely mortifying way. “You’re impossible.”

“I know. I really am. It’s just so easy to tease you. But the question’s legit. You and I haven’t had the chance to catch up in weeks. I do want to know what’s going on with you.”

Shelby lifted a shoulder, a little mollified. “Alan’s great. He’s the perfect guy. Smart. Attractive. And he’s on tenure track at the university.” Alan was an assistant professor at UT in the same department where her mother held a tenured position as a professor in the Department of Statistics and Data Sciences. And her father, who was a high-level statistician with the State of Texas, thought that Alan pretty much hung the moon.

“Mom says he’ll probably be the dean of the department someday,” Shelby added.

“And?”

“And what?”

“Oh, come on, Shel. Forget bondage tape—but does he get your motor revving?”

Shelby smirked. “My motor is doing just fine. And a good relationship is about more than sex, anyway.” Alan was kind, smart, well-read, and they enjoyed so many of the same things, like concerts and classic movies and quiet nights at home.

All in all, Shelby and Alan made sense. The same way that a balanced equation made sense. And just like in math, Shelby could see the way the formula played out. Two more months of casually seeing each other, and then they’d talk about being exclusive. Six months after that, they’d get engaged. They’d get married in the summer, and by next winter, she’d be Mrs. Alan Lowe.

Hannah shot a quick glance at Shelby before checking her mirror and changing lanes. “I just—never mind.”

“What?”

“Nothing. I swear. It’s just that—well, I don’t want to see you settle.”

“Dating Alan is not settling. He’s the kind of guy who’ll make the perfect husband and father.”

“You’re getting married?”

“Well, not now, obviously. But I think Alan definitely checks all the boxes.”

Hannah’s brows lifted. “Does he check your box?”

“What’s that supposed to mean?”

“I only want you to have fun.”

Shelby sat up straighter. “I have fun. Just because I don’t sleep around doesn’t mean I don’t have fun.”

“Oh, hell,” Hannah said. “You know I didn’t mean it like that.”

Shelby slumped back in the seat. “I know,” she said. And she did. Her whole life she’d been juggling well-meaning friends who saw her as shy or sedate or boring or too much of a brainiac to have any social skills. And maybe that was true. But that didn’t mean she wasn’t happy, because she was. Happy and ambitious and successful.

More than that, Shel knew exactly what she wanted in both her career and her life.

With her career, Shel had been obsessed with numbers since the first time her dad sat her down and taught her the multiplication tables. The way they worked, what they represented, the streamlined beauty of the truth they represented.

Accounting suited her perfectly. Not only was she helping people and companies, but she got to play in that finite world that always made sense. Because at the end of the day—at least in the world of accounting—two plus two always equaled four.

As for her life, she wanted a home like the one she’d grown up in, with respect and security and a partner who was both ambitious and loyal to his family. Someone who took life and relationships seriously.

Shelby knew only too well what could go wrong if you didn’t walk that line. Her mother’s brother—her uncle—had never had any real ambition, and he’d ended up divorced and in rehab after his band had broken up.

And her cousin Violet on her father’s side had gone off and married a stand-up comedian who convinced her he was going to be the next big sitcom star. Now they fought all the time and lived in a tiny apartment in Los Angeles with three kids. And her husband managed a local fast-food restaurant.

Not Shelby. She wasn’t going to be stupid about her life—and she wasn’t succumbing to what felt like a family curse. Her parents had managed to find the right path, and she intended to walk right in their footsteps.

Maybe it didn’t sound sexy, but to Shelby, the kind of financial security, ordered life, and familial affection that her parents shared was what defined a life well-lived. The kind of life she wanted for herself.

The kind of life that a man like Alan would fit into perfectly.

So why was she was fantasizing about bondage tape? Especially when the anonymous man in her fantasy was absolutely, totally, one hundred percent not Alan Lowe?