The Girl He Knows (8 page)

“Yes, it’s very pretty. I might consider moving my wedding to the evening so you can wear it. Keep looking.”

I may have known Josie for only these last eighteen months, but I know how much she loves Brinn. Nothing is going to keep her from marrying him. I also know how much he loves her, which is why he’s footing the bill for the whole wedding. He won’t let Josie consider paying for anything and tells her he wants to make all her dreams come true. If only her parents knew their daughter is about to marry a self-made millionaire.

I look at the pictures of the brides and grooms in a variety of formal wear and am surprised I’m not bothered by them. In the past, seeing others in wedding garb would remind me of my failure. Today the pictures don’t trigger any desire to see Trevor or any remorse over my lost marriage. I suppose I’m getting used to being at odds with where I want to be in my life and where I currently am. I pat myself on the back for having made it this far without self-destructing, there’s something to the concept of taking small steps.

“Are you going to Kenley’s this weekend?” Josie asks. She holds up a picture of a dress with puffy shoulders and I shake my head.

I groan at the thought of Kenley’s party, not just a regular party, a sex-toy party. She thinks it’s a brilliant idea and will be loads of fun. I’d rather be shot out of cannon buck naked, in front of my friends and family, with a YouTube video taken for eternal viewing pleasure.

Who has these parties?

Apparently, lots of people, because I’ve already been sent a catalog for preorders. Kenley called the day after my disaster date with Ted, begging forgiveness and offering apologies. I was over it by then. I tried to use her guilt to get me out of going to her party. So far, I hadn’t been let off the hook. There’s still hope.

“Not if I don’t have to.” I grab another magazine. “Oh, this is pretty.” I show her a dress, hoping to keep her focused on the wedding and not the sex party.

“Oh come on, Paisley, we’ll have a blast. And this party is perfect for you. Since you’re so selective with who you celebrate your newfound freedom”—she wiggles her brows at me—“you could use a little buddy.”

I bury my face in my hands, hoping to hide my blush. Not because she’s talking about getting me a toy, but because I rang in my newfound freedom with Hank.

When I look up, Josie’s head is turned sideways and she’s giving me a quizzical look, similar to a dog hearing an unfamiliar sound.

“What have you done? Did you sleep with the blind date Kenley set you up with?” she asks.

Some people are meant to be friends, and Josie and I are those people. To her, I’m an open book. That’s why I spill my guts. First about my disgusting date with Ted, and then about my two weekends with Hank, and how we have plans to meet up the following weekend.

“No shit. You slut.” Her voice is loud, her vocabulary unexpected in the quaint, mock-English tea room. Those sitting around us share their glares.

I raise my eyebrows and nod. “Yep, it’s true. I’m a tramp,” I tell her.

“Ha.” She chuckles. “If you’re a tramp after sleeping with what, your third guy? I’m... Well, there aren’t words for girls like me if three or fewer men makes you a tramp.”

“Yeah, I’m a bad friend, right?” It’s a thought that’s plagued me.

“What did Gigi say when you told her?”

The bite I took hits my stomach like a rock. “I didn’t tell her.”

She looks at me for a few seconds. “You need to tell her before she finds out some other way.”

I groan. “I can’t. What if she hates me?”

“She’ll hate you more for not telling her. What if you sleep with him again this weekend?”

“I’m not going to. Are you crazy?”

Her look tells me she thinks I’m crazy, stupid, or both. “I don’t think you realize how good Kenley’s party will be for you. If you feel like a tramp now, dating is going to be difficult. Imagine the relief you can get without having to sleep with anyone. You won’t have to worry about this bullshit guilt you seem to love to carry around.” She gives me an evil smile with hints of secrets I’m about to learn. I swallow.

“Was it any good?” Of course Josie would want to know.

“It was better than Trevor on his best day,” I tell her, fanning my face.

“Girl, if that’s true, you should scoop him up.”

I shake my head. “It can’t go anywhere. It is what it is or, should I say, it was what it was because it’s not happening again. We are just going to be friends who hang out.” I stab the tomato on my salad and give her my best matter-of-fact look.

“And why is that?” She’s serious now. She’s stopped flipping through magazines and stares at me.

“Lots of reasons—”

“Name five.”

“That’s easy. One, he’s been my friend forever and I could lose that.”

“He’s been your friend forever and knows you so well you don’t have to worry about him not liking you. He’s seen you, warts and all, and still wants to have sex with you.”

I shrug off her words. “Two, he’s Gigi’s brother. I’m clearly breaking the friendship code.”

“Or Gigi will be over the moon—”

“Until it crashes and burns, and then it’s awkward and weird.”

“Assuming it does,” she replies.

“And that brings me to three, four, and five. He’s never been in a long-term relationship. He’s a sailor who is going to be gone
all the time
, not to mention in danger. Women flock to him like... Well...they just like him. Always have. I’ve been down that road, Jo, and I can’t go there again. And I’ll give you a sixth reason. He’s my rebound guy. Everyone knows rebound guys go nowhere. You know I’m in no position to be entertaining the possibility of a relationship.”

She does an eye roll, but sits quietly with her lips pursed. She looks me in the eye, as if to make sure I’m listening, and says, “You know not everyone is like Trevor.”

“I do know that. Hank’s a good guy, but good guys still get tempted. Besides, you know I’ll worry to the point of being obsessive, which will make me paranoid and jealous and that’s when it crashes and burns.”

“Do you plan on meeting a guy who will let you chain him to a chair so you can watch him twenty-four, seven? Don’t judge the man on the similarities he has with Trevor. Judge him on his actions. People will always be tempted, Paisley; it’s what they do with it that’s key.”

I give her words some thought, but not much. Josie’s marriage false starts can’t be weighed the same as a divorce. She doesn’t get it; there’s no way she could. Divorce does something to you.

“You make good sense—”

“Of course I do.” She looks appalled. “Don’t close the door on him. If you have a good time together, why wouldn’t you hang out? You can stand to have some fun.”

She sounds like Hank.

“What if I sleep with him again?” I think about it a lot, to be honest.

“Wear protection and enjoy yourself.” She grabs a magazine and flips it open.

“Here’s the rub, my mother has pounded into my head that good girls keep their legs crossed. Doesn’t make much sense, does it? I’m supposed to be an adult, get married, and have children, while remaining a good girl and not having sex.”

“Screw your mother. Do you think it’s normal she hasn’t dated since your father died? I bet she could stand to come to Kenley’s party, too. Remember, Paiz, it’s not like you’ve slept with every man you’ve ever been on a date with.”

I cringe at the thought of my mother and sex toys and agree with Josie on my mother’s dating status. Her practical approach to my dating life makes sense, and I’m comfortable with her path of logic. I want to believe she’s right.

“You feel better?” Josie’s smile is open and wide, the light catches her diamond-stud piercing in her lower lip and it twinkles.

“Yeah, thanks, Jo. I knew I could count on you.” Confiding in Josie brings a sense of relief. I haven’t done anything wrong, other than not tell Gigi, and my thoughts move on to other things. Things like Kenley’s stupid party.

“Good. Since you’re done whining about your problems, do you mind if we get the fuck back to mine?”

We burst out laughing and continue flipping through magazines, agreeing on a few options and making plans to hit up Orlando on Sunday.

Kenley’s “fun” party consists of twenty women of a variety of ages and marital states, volleying for the most outrageous behavior of the night. Even Kenley’s mother is present, wearing a simple skirt and blouse and going around the room tossing up her skirt and showing her thigh-high stockings and garter belts. It’s too much for conservative me.

Maybe Trevor was right. Maybe I am a prude. Oh, hell.

My empty stomach roils, and I berate myself for bringing Josie and promising to stay the whole time. If I excuse myself to the restroom and use the one at my place, would anyone notice?

Instead, I sit on a couch and pass various forms of fake male privates around a room. Some ladies hold items up to the light as if inspecting them like diamond brokers. Others ooh and ah and offer personal recommendations.

I focus on spending equal amounts of time giving both Kenley and Josie the stink eye.

Growing up in my house, sex was not something we talked about often, if ever. Now I’m expected to share personal information with a handful of strangers and some of my closest friends. It’ll take a few more drinks and parties to even get me warmed up to the idea.

Babs, our hostess and dominatrix, stands in front of the crowd with her riding crop and pulls a variety of toys and gadgets out of her leather bag. Dressed in what I assume is her finest two-sizes-too-small, shiny, skintight pleather pants and top, she hides her identity behind a matching facial mask. Only her blue eyes and lacquered beehive hairstyle give any indication of the person underneath. She waves items of sin and erotica about, most I’ve never heard of before. Is it possible to get arrested for owning any of these things? Seriously, the blinds are drawn, the lights are low, and the doors are locked. Under these circumstances, who wouldn’t feel wicked and scandalous, much less outside the law?

“What are you getting, Paisley dear?” Kenley’s mom Clara asks.

“I’m just window-shopping today.” I chase a meatball around my plate and try not to make eye contact with either her or the meatball.

“Oh, nonsense. You need to get at least a personal assistant. If you don’t already have one, of course.” Unfortunately, I look up to find her arching her brows at me.

When someone mentions a personal assistant, the best scenario I envision is of someone to grocery shop, wash and fold my laundry, and monitor my finances, and the worst scenario is an iPad that dings to remind me of impending appointments. I’m quite certain Clara and I do not share the same definition of a personal assistant.

“Oh yes, she’s definitely getting a PA.” Josie jumps in with her two cents. I haven’t told her yet, but as far as our friendship goes, it’s already over.

The fun show lady, Babs, comes to collect orders and Josie asks if she carries any of the items in stock, aside from the ones our group fondled earlier in the evening.

“I always have a few of the PA’s,” she answers, slapping her whip against her thigh and glaring at my empty order form. “Do you not have a pen to fill this out, sugar?” She waves the form in my face but I don’t take it.

Naturally, Josie intercepts. She grabs the form and removes a pen she’s tucked behind her ear. “She’s never been to one of these parties, if you know what I mean, she’s interested in a PA.”

I could smash my wineglass on the table and use the jagged edges to cut someone. Them. Me. Anyone.

“Do you have a size and color preference?”

Babs doesn’t even ask me, runs her questions through Josie. I stare at the rolls of flesh caught between her pleather top and pants.

“Do any come in a paisley pattern?” Clara asks. She cackles and elbows me. I’ve never heard that one before, honestly. And if there is a Lord in heaven, I hope to never hear it again.

“No, sorry. I only have purple, yellow, and black in stock. Medium, large, and extra-large.” Babs’s red lips make a straight, no-nonsense line when she attempts a smile.

Please don’t make me look at them. I’ve only seen real ones and a few at that. Just thinking of viewing any more falsies makes my left eye twitch.

“Don’t get an extra-large black, dear, they look slimmer than they are,” Clara whispers in my ear with a chuckle.

I turn to say something, but find I’m at a loss. My eye twitches, and I guess it looks like a wink because she winks too. My eye continues its spasm, and she winks a second time, her smile faltering. I look away, certain I’ve entered another dimension of hell.

“Paisley?” Josie asks. “You have a preference?”

I shrug and stare at my hands, eye twitching uncontrollably.

“She’ll take a purple medium if you’ve got it.” Leave it to Josie to decide. I get up and make my way to the wet bar. The only stiff thing I need is a drink.

I never pay for the thing. I assume it’s a gift. When we leave the party, my new best friend is in the backseat. I question what I’ll do with the gel man-piece. Do I take it on vacations with me? How does it go through security at the airport? Does it have a maintenance schedule? According to Josie, I’ll never want to leave it, but I seriously doubt it. I’m pretty sure I won’t break the wrapping on the nondescript brown box it’s packaged in.

“Hey, wanna go to the Fox and Hound for a drink?” Josie asks.

The Fox and Hound is our favorite restaurant and pub. It’s owned by Jayne’s parents and offers fun British fare.

“God, yes.” I pull up to the light, do a U-turn, and head straight for the bar. “Don’t you want to get home to Brinn?” I give her a quick glance.

“Brinn’s flown up to D.C. for a meeting. He won’t be home till late tonight.”

I know she hates it when he flies. Brinn owns his own Cessna and uses it to travel. I realize, no matter how much she trusts him, she’s nervous about him flying at night. I forgive her for her traitorous behavior at the party and offer to buy the first round.

Dodging newly formed rain puddles, which I’m sure elevates Josie’s level of nervousness, we run to the pub. Inside, we shake off the rain and make our way through the crowd to plant ourselves at the bar. Josie gets us the first round free from the bartender, Jake. Since she’s a former employee, she knows how to get the perks.