Free She, Myself & I by Whitney Gaskell Page A

to a successful fling was no kissing on the mouth. Wait, no . . . that was Julia Roberts’s advice on being a prostitute in Pretty Woman . Still, I wondered if it was applicable to the present situation.
    Zack nudged me. I looked up.
    “You’re not asleep, are you?” he asked.
    “How could I be? I’m looking right at you,” I said.
    “Maybe you’re one of those freaky people who sleep with their eyes open. Although if you are, then I think we should just end things right now, because that would really creep me out,” he said, and then he leaned down and very sweetly kissed me.
    I had been planning to clarify our relationship, specifically that there was no relationship, and that this was a one-off kind of a thing, but the kiss distracted me.
    “Do you have Scrabble?” Zack asked.
    “What?”
    “Scrabble. The board game,” Zack said.
    “Why?” I asked.
    “I feel like playing. Are you up for a game?” he asked.
    “Okay . . . sure. Although I should warn you, I’m the all-time, undefeated Scrabble champion,” I said.
    “In the world?”
    “No.” I laughed. “In my family.”
    “As am I. So this should be quite the match-up,” Zack said.
    I hopped out of bed, shrugged on my red silk kimono, and went to fetch the board game from the front hall closet. When I returned, Zack had pulled on his boxer shorts and was standing in front of my open closet, hands resting on his hips. He had a nice back, broad and smooth skinned, and there was a small mole on his left shoulder. I felt an urge to walk up behind him, wrap my arms around his waist, and press my cheek against the ridge of his shoulder blade. I took a step toward him before stopping myself. The movement caused Zack to glance back at me.
    “What are all these boxes for?” he asked.
    Uh-oh.
    “Nothing,” I said, and hurried to the closet, stepping in front of Zack and closing the sliding door.
    “What are you hiding?” Zack asked. He laughed and pulled me toward him, his hands strong on my waist.
    “Nothing. Really. It’s private,” I said, trying to back up against the door, but Zack playfully swung me to the side and pulled the door back open. He reached up and pulled down one of the white shipping boxes.
    “Home Shopping Network,” he read, peering at the label printed in green on the face of the box. He grabbed another box. “This one, too. And this one. Are these all from the Home Shopping Network?”
    I covered my face with my hands and sat down on the edge of the bed.
    “This is embarrassing,” I groaned.
    “Why, what are these?” Zack asked as he sat down next to me.
    I looked up, sliding my hands down until they were covering my mouth.
    “Likshophesan,” I mumbled.
    “I can’t hear you,” Zack said. He pulled my hands down and held them in his.
    “I like watching the Home Shopping Network.”
    “Just watching?”
    “And sometimes . . . occasionally . . . I like to order things,” I admitted. “Please let’s not talk about it anymore.”
    “But these don’t look like they’ve been opened.”
    “I never open them.”
    “Why not?”
    “I don’t know, I guess I just like the ordering part. When the stuff gets here, I’m too embarrassed to open it.”
    “May I?” Zack asked.
    I rolled my eyes and gave him a half-nod. He pulled back a corner of the white box and shook out a small, clear plastic bag.
    “It’s a bracelet,” Zach said, pulling the sparkly object out of the bag. He tipped his head and shrugged. “It’s pretty. It’s . . .”
    “Diamondique,” I said. “It’s Diamondique.”
    “Cute name,” Zack said.
    “It’s awful. It’s truly awful,” I said, palming the bracelet and staring at it with distaste. It was gaudy and chintzy and not anything I would ever wear. “Why would I buy this?”
    “It’s not that bad,” Zack said. He plucked it out of my hand and fastened it onto my wrist, where it twinkled bawdily.
    “I’m going to return it,” I announced. “I’m going to return all of