Wet

“A sexy one of course. How about one of your sex-capades from your past.”

“How will that be distracting?”

“You’re real and in the flesh. A story is a fantasy. It’s like escaping into my erotica novels.”

“Okay. Can I add flourish to this story—have some fun with it?”

She nods, a grin spreading across her face.

“Okay. Once there was this guy . . .”

“Named Paul,” she adds.

I fight back a smile. “Who loved sex . . .”

“And he wanted it ALL the time,” she says enthusiastically.

“So after hooking up with all the hot babes that didn’t hold his interest, he searched far and wide for an amazing and unforgettable maiden who loved sex as much as he did.”

“And once he found her they’d never get out of bed,” Elle adds for me.

“Never?” I ask, worried. I’m not sure if this story is going south with a couple of agoraphobics with dirty sheets.

“Well, I exaggerated a bit . . . of course they get out to shower and go to nice restaurants and stuff.”

I nod. “Okay, I can deal with that.”

“You know she’ll have to go to the gym, too. She needs to be in great shape for all that sex.”

“They both will, so gym memberships are a must. And she can’t be too thin. Paul likes something to grab onto,” I say. It sounds weird referring to myself in the third person.

“Or too fat,” she adds.

“She has to be just right.”

“So where does Prince Paul go to find his maiden?” she asks.

“Oh, he’s not a prince.”

She makes a face. “Maybe secretly he is.”

I laugh. “How about he looks for her at the gym?”

“That’s good! There are tons of gyms in L.A. . . . so he searches from one to another.”

“He searches from Calabasas to Pasadena, Long Beach to Burbank.”

She shakes her head and purses her lips. “That’s too much! He’ll be stuck in traffic, living on the 405! I say it’s from the Westside to Silver Lake, Culver City to North Hollywood.”

I roll my eyes. “Whatever. So are they going to be working out next to each other in the gym? That’s usually not a sexy place to me.”

She taps her chin. “I know! They meet in Zumba class! That’s sexy.”

“Zumba? That Latin dance thing where you shake your ass a lot?”

She nods with a grin.

“Oh, hell no! I’m not doing that.”

“Please. This is my bedtime story. Don’t you want me to like it?”

I scowl. “What does Paul have to wear?”

Her eyes light up. “You know those lycra ru

I arch my brow and fold my arms over my chest. “Oh really?”

She pushes my knee. “Don’t you see, you’re the prince, so naturally you have to show off your perfect package.”

I huff. “Naturally. But if you dress me any more gay than that we’re going to have to change the story line.”

She laughs with abandon and I realize that I’ll wear lycra pants anytime if it lightens her spirit like this.

“So is there a big Zumba Ball or something where he sees her from across the gym?” I ask.

“Oh, that’s good! Maybe it’s the ultimate Zumba Celebration or something and the moment he sees her dance he’s captivated.”

“By her sexy body?”

“Yes, and the way she moves. She can swivel her hips like none other.”

I rub my chin. “Okay, I like where this is going. So he goes and dances with her or can he just watch?”

Her eyes narrow in concentration. “Well, it doesn’t really work like that in Zumba—couples don’t dance together, but we’ll make an exception.”

I shrug. “Why not? We’ve already bastardized the hell out of this story.”

“And then just when they really get going, her cell phone alarm goes off and she has to run out of the gym . . .”

“And in her hurry, her gym shoe falls off,” I add.

“And the poor prince doesn’t know that the evil gym owner hates the girl for being a sexier Zumba dancer than her, and so before she runs out of the gym the witch owner has her drink a poison energy drink—apple flavored of course.”

“Look at you, smashing up fairy tales.”

She grins. “I know, awesome, right!”

I had no idea Elle had such storytelling swag and it inspires me. “So before she can even make it to her orange Prius, she passes out into the arms of the balding Viking who puts her in his minivan—”

“He didn’t drive a minivan!” Elle squeals.

“Shhh. And he drives her to the land of no sand where he locks her in his dungeon.”

“What story is this now?” she asks.

“It’s your story but I’m telling it my way now, okay?”

“Okay, then what happens next?”

“The prince rushes to the parking lot, and the seven dwarf valet guys tell him about the Viking and how they couldn’t stop him, but Chewie got a picture of the minivan’s license plate.”

“There’s no dwarf named Chewie!”

“There isn’t? Whatever. So the prince has a magic cell phone with tracking devices and he jumps in his turbo Ferrari and tears the fuck out of there.”

She nods excitedly. “That’s so hot. He still has her shoe, right?”

“Yeah, yeah. But this prince dude is taking no prisoners. So when the Prince gets to the Viking’s McMansion in Woodland Hills, he goes all Mortal Combat on the fucker and beats him with his vacuum cleaner then douses him with 409 and Windex.”

“Oh, the prince is so badass,” she says with a satisfied smile. “So he saves his girl.”

“Hell yes! He breaks her out of the dungeon and gives her a hot kiss so she wakes up from the poison energy drink, and then he carries her out in his arms to her freedom.”

She sighs. “Did he make her try on the gym shoe first to make sure it was her?”

I tip my head and give her a wary look. “Do you really think he’s going to take time to do that when he can’t wait to fuck her?”

“Oh yeah, and now we’re getting to the good part.”

“So back at his palace . . .” I begin, my mind gearing up for the sex scene.

“Which is a split level mid-century, maybe Neutra?”

“Or Lautner,” I say, appreciating that Elle knows her modern architects.

“I love their houses with walls of glass,” she says.

“Is the prince with glass walls an exhibitionist?”

She cups her chin in her hand. “Hmmm, I don’t know if exhibitionism is sexy or not.”

“Prince Paul is super sexy, so let’s say he has glass walls but the house is surrounded by a dense enchanted garden with birds of paradise, orchids, mango trees, and weeping violets so no one can see in.”

“Oh yes,” she moans.

She seems so delighted with the story and it makes me wonder how she’d like the sex to go now that they’re in their mid-century perfection. “So what do you think would be hot to happen next?”

“Well, she was Zumba dancing and then kidnapped, so she must be all sweaty. I think the situation calls for a shower in his historically accurate master bath.”

Showering together is sexy, and I’m charmed by her practicality and nod to good design. “Okay, so he sweeps her through his front door and carries her to his bathroom.”

“While whispering in her ear that he’s going to take care of her.”

I blink several times at her suggestion. It’s interesting that my self-reliant career woman’s fantasy has a man taking control and taking care of his woman. How decidedly un-modern of her.

Elle is looking exhausted but waves her hand at me impatiently. “Keep going!”

“He sets her down and begins removing her clothes, kissing her bare skin as each piece of clothing is pulled off.”

Elle’s fighting back a yawn but she still squirms. “Mmm. Yes . . . I can feel it.”

“His kisses trail along her neck, down between her breasts, and across the top of her belly as he drops to his knees.”

“Hot damn, the prince is on his knees! Is this where he peels off her bottoms?”

I clear my throat since my voice is getting rough. “Yes, it is. And when he’s done and she’s completely bare, she’s even more beautiful than he imagined.”

Elle’s hands grip the edge of her blanket.