She hugged me. “Do you mind stopping at a store on the way? I don’t have to swim, but you know I love the water.”
There wasn’t a store on the way, but I wasn’t telling her that. Knowing her, I was half-afraid that if she didn’t have a suit, she’d somehow end up swimming naked.
“I don’t mind at all. Just tell me where you go to buy suits. I haven’t shopped at an actual store in years. I do everything online.”
I wound up GPSing some women’s swimsuit shop that was about thirty minutes out of the way on a ten-minute drive.
I didn’t complain. It was more time having her to myself before the chaos began, because any party where I showed up with Iris for the first time would surely be that.
She was a quick shopper, didn’t even try the bikini on, just grabbed a neon yellow number that was just the most minuscule series of strings and triangles.
“Oh, I love this color!” the sales clerk said as she checked her out. “It’s called Sun Worshipper. Isn’t that the perfect name for it?”
Iris agreed, and then proceeded to nearly make a scene when I tried to pay, instead using her own cash.
I backed off quickly, easily embarrassed by scenes, though it was all infuriating, so infuriating that I stormed out of the store as she finished up.
I’d never so much as taken her out to dinner. It made my allegation that she was interested in my money all the more ridiculous, which I thought was her point.
She came out a few minutes later, wearing the suit.
I could barely look at her without embarrassing myself, that’s how sexy it was.
In fact, I made a point of not looking at her body after she had it on.
But I got enough of a look to have it burned into my memory.
Permanently.
It wasn’t that it was especially small. It was tiny, but I’d seen her wear tiny bikinis before. The triangles that covered her were about the normal size for a string bikini.
It was the strings that turned the thing into pure wickedness. They laced together over her cle**age up to the base of her neck, teasing along the skin, pulled taut over her pushed together cle**age, making each inch uncovered all the more sinful. The same effect of intertwined laces played over her hips, and right down to the V of material right over her sex.
And forget about the back.
It was too much, laces barely covering the top of her ass, looking like they might come apart at any second.
“You don’t wear a cover-up or anything?” I asked her, voice low and rough.
“Nope. Do you like the suit?”
I nodded, not looking at her. If I started talking about how she looked, even just to compliment her, I knew I’d be hard for an hour, so I didn’t say another word about it, willing my hard-on to go away by the time we got to the party.
On the way back to the car, I commented on the huge stack of cash I’d seen in her purse.
Of course, I knew what it was from, remembering well her gambling problem, but it seemed prudent to point it out. Perhaps I’d get a square answer from her, for once.
And I did. Disconcertingly so.
She shot me that level stare over the top of the car for a long moment before getting in.
“You know where that money’s from,” said Iris, finally. “You think I didn’t notice you following me all those nights?”
She said this just as I was starting the car. It stopped me in my tracks. I looked at her, shocked speechless for the longest time.
She’d known all along when I’d been following her, and hadn’t commented, hadn’t minded?
“You never said anything,” I pointed out.
She sighed. “Neither did you. I knew you were imagining I was up to worse things. I thought it would make you feel better to see that I wasn’t up to anything too troublesome.”
“Don’t kid yourself, Iris. A gambling problem is pretty damned troublesome.”
She grinned. “Gambling is only a problem if you lose. If you recall, I never lose.”
I couldn’t argue with that. I never had seen her lose.
I had my own theories about it, but I felt silly even thinking it, let alone asking.
“Were you ever a cigarette girl?” I asked, since she was actually handing out answers, for once.
“Never.”
“Where have you been for the last two months?”
I was sorry I asked, because the question effectively quelled that rare flow of information.
“Tammy is going to be there,” I told her when we were nearly at Turner’s house only just then remembering to warn her.
“You’re still going to parties with your ex-wife? You two getting along better now?”
I flushed. “Not at all. And I’m not going with her. I’m going, and I got wind that she’s crashing the thing. I just thought I should warn you.”
“So she’s still after you,” she said, her tone perfectly blank.
I had no idea what to say to that or even if it could be true.
It was five p.m. when we finally pulled up to Turner’s estate. The place was packed, music blasting in back that could be heard as you pulled onto the drive.
It was a madhouse, which I’d expected, but I found that it agitated me more now that I was bringing Iris into said madhouse.
Turner met us at the front door, shirtless and holding a cocktail. He was ripped, his tan chest gleaming. If it had just been us guys, I’d have immediately started ragging on him about oiling himself up. As it was, I didn’t want to draw any attention to his body, if there was any shot Iris hadn’t noticed on her own.