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Eve: Want a stripping gig? Pay is good, and I know someone who could hook you up. Boston: Is that your way of saying you want to see me without my clothes on? I raised an eyebrow. Okayyyy. Well, that took a turn I wasn’t expecting. It almost read like flirting. Eve: Seems fair. You’ve seen me on the stage after all. Boston: Yeah, but you look better than I do without a shirt on. I flushed hot at the compliment. Though I was pretty sure it was a lie. I’d seen the way his shoulders filled out his shirt, and the way his pants hugged his behind. He was a beat cop, and that required a fairly high level of fitness. Without him even removing a stitch of clothing, I was sure Joshua Boston’s body was nothing short of exceptional. Boston: Sorry. Inappropriate. I typed back quickly. Eve: Not inappropriate. Do you always do the right thing? There was a pause, and then… Boston: No. I stared at that no for a long time. Too long apparently. Boston: Did you keel over from shock? I grinned. Eve: No, I’m just thinking about you being bad and I kinda can’t picture it. Boston: I’ve never been arrested if that’s what you’re thinking. That was so not what I was thinking. My mind had gone straight to the gutter. I typed out a response with the hugest grin on my face. Eve: Actually, I was still thinking about you bare. I tapped long fingernails on the tabletop, knowing I should cut this off and go get ready for the show. But I knew the girls would cover me for as long as I needed. And right now, I needed this. It had been an awful day, and flirting with Boston was a nice distraction from it. Boston: Funny that. I haven’t been able to stop thinking about you, either. Eve: Seems unfair you’ve actually seen the real deal, though. I have nothing to base my daydreams on. I could be picturing you all wrong. Boston: Tell me what you’re seeing in your head, and I’ll tell you if you’re right. Heat flushed the back of my neck. This was rapidly moving past flirting into something way hotter. I hadn’t been expecting it, but I certainly wasn’t going to turn it down. Not with Boston. I got up off my chair and locked the door before I replied. Eve: Hairy back, bit of a hump, possibly a few scales… Boston: I just spit my Coke out laughing. I liked the idea of him smiling at my messages. I imagined him stretched out on his couch in a pair of gray sweats, one hand tucked behind his head while the other worked his phone. He was hot when he was scowling, I could only imagine how a smile would transform his face. Eve: So, no scales? Boston: No scales or humps. No hairy back either, for the record. Eve: I don’t believe you. The next message that pinged in was an image. I’ve never come so close to falling off my chair. “Oh, wow,” I whispered. It was a selfie in his bathroom. His back turned, one hand up, holding the phone to take the photo in a mirror’s reflection. It didn’t show his face, but it did show every inch of delicious, sculpted back. No hair, scales, or bumps in sight. I swallowed hard. Eve: Okay, so your back is good. But now I’m thinking you’re hiding something on your chest, since you conveniently left that out of the photo. I went back to admiring the photo of his back, in particular, the lower half that narrowed into his hips and behind. He looked really good. And I knew he was a gray sweatpants sorta guy. When my phone binged again, it was another bathroom selfie. His body was more perfect than I could have even imagined. Any daydream I might have had about defined pecs and ripped abs was blown away by the real thing. For an insane moment, I considered licking the screen. That was how hot the man was. Eve: Do you live at the gym? Boston: Only every other week. He lied. Nobody got a body like that by working out intermittently. His sweatpants hung low on his hips. So low they showed off his V lines and a tiny sliver of dark hair that disappeared beneath the waistband. Creep that I was, I tried zooming in to check out what he had going on beneath it, but he was hidden behind the bathroom sink. A flash of disappointment joined the heat coursing through my body. Did I dare carry on the game? Just how far could I push the man before he said stop? I really wanted to find out. “Ah, screw it. We’ve come this far, might as well push my luck a little more.” Eve: Photo stops at your waist? Shame. I’d hate to think it was your ‘snake’ that’s your problem area. Boston: Did you just ask me for a D pic? I thought girls hated those? Eve: We hate the unsolicited ones… Different story if we asked for one. Boston: Are you asking for one, Eve? I breathed out slowly. I think I was. Excerpt from Evil Enemy by Elle Thorpe. Available in ebook, paperback, or audio. Click Learn More to read the blurb on Amazon.