mouth dropped open. “
What?
How could seducing him possibly equate to revenge? It’s more like…a gift or something.” She widened her eyes for emphasis. “Like I said, we both win.”
“It’s not the seducing I was thinking of so much as the leaving afterward. It sort of sounds like you just want to show him…what it’s like to be hurt.”
The accusation stung. Trish was a lot of things, but vindictive wasn’t one of them. She softened her voice slightly. “Again, Deb, I don’t think I
can
hurt him. We haven’t seen each other for nearly fifteen years. Last night on the dance floor, that was sex. And tonight, me going to his place, that will be sex, too. Just sex, no feelings. I’m just beating him to the punch to save myself the embarrassment of being used.”
Debbie’s eyes flew open wider. “
Tonight?
You’re doing this
tonight?
”
Apparently she was. Now that she had a plan. “No time like the present.”
It would be just like the fudge. Now that she’d had some, she no longer wanted any more. Tonight she’d have Joe Ramsey once and for all, and then she could forget he’d ever reentered her life and get back to normal.
At dusk that night, Trish sat down to a home-cooked meal with her mom and dad and her sweet, gray-haired Aunt Alma, who felt well enough to come to the table. It was meat loaf and mashed potatoes and cornbread all around, and Trish served and cleared and dished up the apple pie her mother had made for dessert. There was something undeniably comforting about it—the familiarity of the home where she’d grown up, the aromas of her mother’s home cooking, the very concept of slowing down a bit, not being in a mad rush to do something or get somewhere.
By the time darkness fell, though, dinner and homey comforts were a distant memory—because she now stood in front of the mirror in her motel room looking like sex on a stick. She’d never
looked
like sex on a stick before, so it was hard to get used to. This afternoon, she’d driven over to the outlet mall less than an hour west in Columbus to procure a “seduction suit” and—yikes—she couldn’t believe the woman staring back from those heavily made-up eyes was her. She didn’t look like little Trish Henderson from Eden, and she no longer resembled Patricia Henderson, attorney-at-law, either. The chick in the mirror was…Trish the Vixen or something. And she had a feeling Trish the Vixen might be related to that inner biker chick she’d just found out about last night.
But this Trish wasn’t out for a day on a Harley. Nope, this Trish was all about the night.
She wore a low-cut black corset dress that hugged every curve, showed lots of cleavage, and stopped high on her thigh. Underneath, she’d kept it mostly basic, but also very hot—a dark purple demi bra with black lace trim, a matching thong, and a garter belt attached to lace-top stockings. On her feet she wore pointy black stiletto pumps with ankle straps.
She’d taken a thick curling iron to her usually casual hair, creating flirtatious curls around her face. And speaking of her face—she looked like she’d attended the French Whore’s School of Makeup Application. But in a good way, she thought.
She’d never known she could look so sexy.
Or feel so sexy.
Sex nearly hummed through her body like electricity. She wanted it. Needed it.
And she was going to have it.
Of course, she’d never actually seduced anyone before.
But as she got in the car—okay, she sort of
snuck
to the car, scampering like a squirrel in case anyone noticed her leaving—she decided she could do this.
Debbie’s last words from earlier still rang in her mind.
This is a bad idea.
But Trish thought it was the best idea she’d had in awhile. Everything else in her life suddenly felt a bit in disarray. She was worried now about her parents’ retirement and worried about when she’d get back to her job. Everything felt unsettled. Settle
this
and it would be one less
What?
How could seducing him possibly equate to revenge? It’s more like…a gift or something.” She widened her eyes for emphasis. “Like I said, we both win.”
“It’s not the seducing I was thinking of so much as the leaving afterward. It sort of sounds like you just want to show him…what it’s like to be hurt.”
The accusation stung. Trish was a lot of things, but vindictive wasn’t one of them. She softened her voice slightly. “Again, Deb, I don’t think I
can
hurt him. We haven’t seen each other for nearly fifteen years. Last night on the dance floor, that was sex. And tonight, me going to his place, that will be sex, too. Just sex, no feelings. I’m just beating him to the punch to save myself the embarrassment of being used.”
Debbie’s eyes flew open wider. “
Tonight?
You’re doing this
tonight?
”
Apparently she was. Now that she had a plan. “No time like the present.”
It would be just like the fudge. Now that she’d had some, she no longer wanted any more. Tonight she’d have Joe Ramsey once and for all, and then she could forget he’d ever reentered her life and get back to normal.
At dusk that night, Trish sat down to a home-cooked meal with her mom and dad and her sweet, gray-haired Aunt Alma, who felt well enough to come to the table. It was meat loaf and mashed potatoes and cornbread all around, and Trish served and cleared and dished up the apple pie her mother had made for dessert. There was something undeniably comforting about it—the familiarity of the home where she’d grown up, the aromas of her mother’s home cooking, the very concept of slowing down a bit, not being in a mad rush to do something or get somewhere.
By the time darkness fell, though, dinner and homey comforts were a distant memory—because she now stood in front of the mirror in her motel room looking like sex on a stick. She’d never
looked
like sex on a stick before, so it was hard to get used to. This afternoon, she’d driven over to the outlet mall less than an hour west in Columbus to procure a “seduction suit” and—yikes—she couldn’t believe the woman staring back from those heavily made-up eyes was her. She didn’t look like little Trish Henderson from Eden, and she no longer resembled Patricia Henderson, attorney-at-law, either. The chick in the mirror was…Trish the Vixen or something. And she had a feeling Trish the Vixen might be related to that inner biker chick she’d just found out about last night.
But this Trish wasn’t out for a day on a Harley. Nope, this Trish was all about the night.
She wore a low-cut black corset dress that hugged every curve, showed lots of cleavage, and stopped high on her thigh. Underneath, she’d kept it mostly basic, but also very hot—a dark purple demi bra with black lace trim, a matching thong, and a garter belt attached to lace-top stockings. On her feet she wore pointy black stiletto pumps with ankle straps.
She’d taken a thick curling iron to her usually casual hair, creating flirtatious curls around her face. And speaking of her face—she looked like she’d attended the French Whore’s School of Makeup Application. But in a good way, she thought.
She’d never known she could look so sexy.
Or feel so sexy.
Sex nearly hummed through her body like electricity. She wanted it. Needed it.
And she was going to have it.
Of course, she’d never actually seduced anyone before.
But as she got in the car—okay, she sort of
snuck
to the car, scampering like a squirrel in case anyone noticed her leaving—she decided she could do this.
Debbie’s last words from earlier still rang in her mind.
This is a bad idea.
But Trish thought it was the best idea she’d had in awhile. Everything else in her life suddenly felt a bit in disarray. She was worried now about her parents’ retirement and worried about when she’d get back to her job. Everything felt unsettled. Settle
this
and it would be one less
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