Bookspry

Mortified doesn’t begin to describe how it feels knowing Wes Dalman, owner of Seattle’s buzziest restaurant, MOSS, read my texts.

I called him the “hot boss” and the “ideal” man to show me the ropes in bed. Not like real ropes or anything. I’m not into that. At least I don’t think I am.

Frankly, I’m not sure what I’m into.

At thirty-two, I’ve made it through a decade of self-induced misery. I’m discovering the enduring me, the woman I’ve always been, despite pu...
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Mortified doesn’t begin to describe how it feels knowing Wes Dalman, owner of Seattle’s buzziest restaurant, MOSS, read my texts.

I called him the “hot boss” and the “ideal” man to show me the ropes in bed. Not like real ropes or anything. I’m not into that. At least I don’t think I am.

Frankly, I’m not sure what I’m into.

At thirty-two, I’ve made it through a decade of self-induced misery. I’m discovering the enduring me, the woman I’ve always been, despite punishing my body for being less than perfect.

And I’m convinced Wes is the guy to help me discover the sensual parts of myself.

But Seattle’s restaurateur-playboy with the sad, thoughtful eyes thinks he’s too old, too jaded, and too cynical to mess around with me.

I disagree.

I suspect he struggles with expressing his true needs as much as I do. We’re attracted to each other, and I don’t see any harm in us giving in to those feelings.

A bet and a dinner date later, I believe he’s coming around to the idea.
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