Fearless. Tawny Weber
Читать онлайн книгу.
could be the call that afternoon from her mother, so busy praising the latest in a long list of her older sister’s successes and then lamenting her younger sister’s current screwup that she’d never even asked how Gia was doing.
Or maybe it was the fact that they’d kicked off the evening with Caryn telling them all about her latest sexy hookup, in very graphic detail.
Gia couldn’t remember the last time she’d had graphic details worth sharing. Not like Caryn’s, which included a Thai restaurant after hours, coconut martinis and silk scarves. But that was Caryn. She saw something she wanted and she made it happen. Sometimes it happened with curry.
Or there were the impossible-to-compete-with details of Jessa’s Caribbean cruise last year. On the first day, she’d met her dream guy, and she’d spent the next five days being romanced and five nights being sexually worshipped. Then, to top it off, she’d brought the guy home and married him.
And Sara, well, Sara had almost too many details. Dramatic details, sure. But they were still details. This month she couldn’t decide if she was in love with a guy she’d met at a club last month or her ex-girlfriend who kept calling. Sara bounced from sexual adventure to heartache to despair and right back into lust again.
And then there was Gia. It wasn’t as if she were the sad and lonely friend. She’d had boyfriends. She’d enjoyed plenty of good sex and knew her way around an orgasm. But none of her adventures included scarves, cruises or kink.
Not like her friends.
Jessa was the princess. Pretty, pampered and sweet, she’d always inspired guys to fall at her feet.
Caryn, on the other hand, was a ball breaker. She had a plan and worked it. She had guys at her feet, too, but usually on a leash.
Sara flew through life, and sex, like it was an all-night buffet and she was starving. She never stayed still long enough for guys to even find her feet.
And then there was Gia. Good ole average Gia. Dependable, nice, cute.
Not phenomenal. Not horrible.
Just average.
Average sucked.
“Gia? What’re you craving?” Jessa asked from where she lounged on the couch, her head back on the pillow to better enjoy the moisturizing benefits of her facial mask.
Slicking another coat of Midnight Crimson polish over her nails, Gia absently finished her thought aloud. “A wild sexual adventure that includes chocolate, feathers and three dozen orgasms?”
The room went silent. Even the iPod, playing Rihanna in the background, seemed to quiet.
Oh, shit. Had she really said that?
Gia looked up to find three sets of eyes locked on her in varying states of shock and amusement. She winced, then carefully pushed her martini glass away.
“Oh, this is juicy. Tell us more,” Jessa prompted, clapping her hands in excitement.
Part of her wanted to. But she wasn’t the juicy type. She was the practical one, the one who kept it real. Which probably explained their surprise.
“That was just the vodka talking,” she dismissed with a wave of her hand. “So, are you guys hungry? I’ve got nacho fixings. Or better yet, how about cookies?”
“No way,” Caryn protested, waving her own glass in protest. She had her feet propped on the coffee table while Sara painted delicate roses on her toenails. “You can’t offer up something that good, then try to change the subject.”
“Nope. That’s the sort of thing that needs explaining. In great, graphic detail. Drawings might help, too.” From her spot on the floor, Sara wiggled her brows. Her black hair was pulled up in a messy ponytail to avoid any polish mishaps.
Gia debated. She could gloss over it on her way to make those nachos. She could downplay it into a joke. Or she could fess up. The first two were easier. And definitely the type of thing she’d always done when she’d found herself in the spotlight before. Like anyone who craved center stage, then discovered they were sick with stage fright, she’d always ducked back into obscurity.
But she was so tired of being average.
And the only way to get over average was to enlist the help of her friends.
Gia pressed her lips together, nerves churning the vodka in her stomach into a nasty froth. Did she want this, or didn’t she? Was she a wimp or a woman, dammit?
Ignoring the voice in her head screaming wimp, she took a deep breath and confessed.
“All of you have a hot memory,” she said slowly, as if weighing each word would keep her from looking like an idiot. “A wild sexual fling where you pushed your own boundaries, lived out the fantasy, did all those uninhibited things they write about in the magazines.”
“You’ve had plenty of relationships,” Sara pointed out. “And it’s not like you’re an uptight prude or anything.”
“But none of the guys I’ve dated were the kind who inspired fantasies. Not the kind that deserve details over martinis.”
“She’s right,” Jessa offered, sitting upright so the light caught the moisturizing mask on her face, making her shine like a blond light bulb. “It has to be the right guy. Your very own Prince Charming. Otherwise, the fantasy is hollow.”
“I’m not looking for a prince,” Gia protested, a little horrified at everything that would mean. Castles and forever and her as a princess? Yeah, right. As if that would fit. “I just want the fantasy.”
“So is it the act you want? Great, kinky sex that pushes your boundaries?” Caryn used both hands to indicate explosions going off. “Or is there a specific guy you’re hot for that you want to make this memory of yours with?”
Wetting her lips, Gia hesitated. An image flashed through her mind. The guy was gorgeous, with black hair, blue eyes, a man dimple and some sexy stubble to keep him on this side of pretty. His body, shown in great detail in the photos posted on his Facebook page by a beach babe he’d spent a week in Hawaii with, was a work of art.
Throw in brains, a sense of humor, legendary stamina and a vivid imagination, and Gia melted a little just thinking about him.
“Do you have a guy in mind?” Caryn asked again, studying Gia through narrowed eyes as though she were trying to see into her brain.
Gia bit her lip.
Her friends, sensing good dirt, pounced.
“You do. You don’t want just anybody. You’ve got the hots for a specific body. That’s what this is all about.” Sara leaned forward, her long black ponytail sliding over one shoulder as she gave an excited bounce.
“You want fantasy sex with a specific guy. Like it’s gettin’ it time?” Jessa’s voice rose with excitement.
“Woot, gettin’ it,” Caryn and Sara echoed, referring to the ritual they’d all created using the Girlz Guide to brainstorm solutions. They could be solutions to guy problems, to diet frustrations or even to finding the perfect pair of shoes. When one Girl had a problem, they all chimed in to help her figure it out.
“Wait, before we start, I’ve got to rinse my face,” Jessa exclaimed as she launched herself out of her chair and hurried to the bathroom.
“I’ll mix another batch of martinis,” Caryn declared, hobbling into the kitchen on her heels, her still-wet toes in the air.
Sara was already digging through her duffel bag–styled purse for one of her ever-present notepads and a pen.
Holy crap, what’d she done?
It was one thing to entertain the fantasy. To wish in her head for great sex with a guy she was crushing on. It was another to invoke a gettin’ it session. If they just talked about it, she could dismiss it all as chitchat. She could say it was just talk,