The Romance Novel Book Club (7 page)

Chapter Thirteen

My toes tapped to the music blaring from my MP3 player. I had my feet over the top of the couch, and my head hung off the end. I paid for it, I’m abusing it. A weekend consisting of a night at Black Room and masturbating like a teenaged sex fiend had put me in a better mood. I bathed myself at least three times for ‘hygiene’ purposes. One could never be sure if all the dirt came off.

I threw my on again, off again diet out the window and chowed down on just bacon for breakfast as I tried again to start
Winter’s Kiss
. I had gotten twenty-five pages in and not one sexually charged word had been written. The author spent pages upon pages explaining how tough as nails her chick was. No wonder the character never had a man in her life. He’d go to stick it in, and then she’d clench her well-formed muscles and pop! His dick would fall off. She’d finish it off with a scissor kick to the head.

With nothing planned for the day, I would plant my buttocks on the couch until the bacon ran out.

Matt had called twice already, and both times I let him talk to the voicemail. It wasn’t like he was my boyfriend. I didn’t owe him anything, and I certainly wasn’t calling him back. In fact, I think I’d really love to punch him right in that fat piece of man meatsicle—Again. Him leading me on that
Beverly
was a bitch, and experiencing her refined social skills, were worlds apart. She and Ted couldn’t be from the same womb. Obviously Ted’s mom had an illicit affair with Satan to conceive
Beverly
.

Stop it, Patricia. You’re not helping yourself.

My hormones were going ape shit, and I wanted to get laid beyond what Tall One offered at Black Room. Not coddled or felt up, just thrown on the bed and jack-hammered. Very lady-like, right? I figured I could get the pink gopher to pop out of the hole myself for gratification but something about human interaction when doing the deed made sex more complete. My solo act never made up for the warm feel of skin on skin.

God, how pitiful am I?

I paced my apartment, trying to pick out something I didn’t care if it got ruined or not for an evening of drunken, sweaty dancing. I couldn’t go back to Black Room so soon. It screamed of desperation. The more I looked through my clothes, the more my thoughts of Matt kept creeping up.

Oh, I bet I’d knock him dead in this dress! He could just slide his hand up my thigh with this one or see my big ta-tas.

What was I doing to myself? A slow dick tease minus the schlong slapping me upside the head?

I collapsed on my bed. I couldn’t go out. No way could I stop my ‘hooked on Matt’s cock meat’ line of thinking, and if my guy didn’t measure up, I’d be more miserable. I realized what a selfish social retard I was being. I didn’t even give Matt a chance to explain
Beverly
’s antics and I blew him off like some stuck-up sorority girl. So not me.

I picked my cell phone and dialed him up. He didn’t deserve the cold shoulder. His phone went straight to voicemail.

Okay, I deserved that. Touché.

“Hey, Matt, it’s Patricia. Look. I’ve been real jerk and if you get this, how about I make us dinner at my place tonight. I have a couple of Ben & Jerry pints too, if you’re interested.” A weak laugh came out, and I hung up. I headed for the shower for another fiesta with my hooha before a trip to the grocery store. I didn’t think he’d be into a bacon sandwich with bacon bit dressing over cheesy bacon soup.

Stupid before-period cravings.

Chapter
Fourteen

I put on a little number consisting of a spaghetti strap red top, form-fitting capris and red slip-on leather sandals: an outfit that would make my mom cringe. She loathed the color red for shoes. The reason? She claimed women strutting around with them never wore underwear. I think she used colorful words such as ‘whore’ and ‘tramp’ in that statement too. In homage to her, I ‘accidentally’ forgot to put on underwear every time I wore red.

I liked to play the disappointment she thought I was.

My fingers tapped on the counter near my cell phone. The nervous tension of wanting Matt to call me back consumed my thoughts. Hopeful, I’d made a spread of my favorite Thai dish; peanuts being stage two of the before-period process. The steam rising from the sauce-laden rice noodles lessened, and I sighed. My pussy clock on the wall said it was nine o’clock.

Yep—said.

It meowed for the hour. Julie and I traded it off when we chickened out on something the other had set up. Thus, the pussy clock. Julie dared me to eat raw squid or something along those lines, and I refused.

I needed to pass the time, to divert my attention from my silent phone. The couch called and I sat down, a groan on my lips as I picked up
Winter’s Kiss
. The author, thus far, seemed to be more interested in making the generic world grandiose than worrying about her novel being categorized in the romance section. I had to power through it, however, because if I didn’t Julie would shove a novel even more disparaging in my hands. I cracked it open, said a small prayer, and dove in.

Her fingers tickled the water pouring out of the spigot. After escaping Kregian spice smugglers, she needed to feel more human than animal with a bath. Her prisoner—and the reason the smugglers had attacked—leaned against the wall. He’d long since stopped trying to remove the small metal collar after she showed him what happened if he did.

She paused after shedding her jacket.

“Turn around,” she ordered.

“I’d be more than accommodating to leave you in peace by going to the other room,” he replied.

She tapped her neck. “How do you think that would feel, Garrote?”

His hands shot to his throat, the cool metal of the collar against his palm. He sneered at her; the memory of the first time he’d strayed ten meters away from her fresh in his memory.

Garrote should have run instead of taking the time to bed Hartley. He tried to brush it off as a notch in his belt, but the feel of her body moving underneath him was intoxicating. He never figured she’d have the nerve to use the Authirian shock collar to restrain him.

“Fine.” He turned away, sighing. “Nothing I haven’t seen already.”

Hartley flushed, stripping out of her clothes. She got into the tub, brimming with bubbles, and sunk in to hide her nakedness. Just thinking about Orion Six made her tingle. She cast a glance at him, one hand pressed against the wall while the other rested on his cocked hip; a casual stance for a viper ready to strike at any time. She closed her eyes and let out a slow breath.

Garrote’s first escape attempt, before she got something a little more sinister to restrain him, had been a success. Instead of fleeing, he’d come back in a disguise of a former lover. How he’d known he wouldn’t say, but he’d played the part well—right down to the subtle flick of the tongue on her outer ear. He’d toyed with her emotions and mocked her abilities as a bounty hunter all at once. She hated him for it.

Wanting to forget her failure at recapturing her prey—Garrote’s trail too cold to pursue—she’d agreed to a nightcap with her old flame. She couldn’t deny the pleasure from the experience and had it truly been
Rand
her conscience wouldn’t be suffering. She needed to reach Onis and drop off Garrote to collect her bounty before he made another move to disarm her from within.

She sat up, her eyes flying wide, as something brushed against her leg. On the other side of the large tub, Garrote eased himself down into the foamy water. Hot flashes sparked through her body from seeing his chiseled body naked.

“What are you doing?” she demanded. No denying it, he’d taken his time to swath his manhood in the cover of the bubbles on purpose.

“What’s it look like?”

“Get out now!”

“No. I’m entitled to be presentable as much as you.”

He dunked himself under the water and came back up. He loved the way the blush on her cheeks matched her hair. He still savored the taste of her and his conquest. It gave him a little solace in her recapturing him.

Hartley drew her knees up, not wanting any part of him to touch her. She was slipping. First she allowed him to trick her into believing he was
Rand
, and now he’d gotten undressed without her hearing a thing. She couldn’t get her defenses up fast enough. His grin told her he’d gotten to her, and he went forward, crawling on his hands and knees like a hunter stalking his prey.

How did someone crawl on their hands and knees through a vat full of bubbles and not snort up a Lawrence Welk Show’s worth? It looked like Miss Bad-Ass Chick had nothing in the way of smarts. I wanted to see one book showcasing how strong a woman could be—both physically and mentally without being overbearing. Instead I got to read about some bimbo who didn’t bother to chain up her captive.

While I realized romance novels needed steamy sex to keep thousands of women buying by the truckload, I didn’t care for the execution in
Winter’s Kiss
. She’s grinding with her catch? How professional. As much as I wanted to read about sex, the setup up turned me off. Not that I’ve never used a man for sex or vice versa, but come on. At least show me they have some sort of spark.

I picked up my phone to make sure I didn’t miss any calls. Nothing. I got up and grabbed a few containers to store away the dinner I’d made. Eating alone wasn’t an option at that point. I wanted company and a fresh start with Matt. My lip trembled, and I wiped away the tears starting to form.

Why do I always screw my life up?

Just when I thought Matt had blown me off—and believe me, I didn’t blame him for dumping Miss Psycho Chick—the doorbell rang. I almost tripped over the area rug trying to get to it, losing one of my red shoes in the process. I showed acrobatic flare as I hopped to the door while trying to put the damn thing back on. Actually, I’m pretty sure I looked like a spastic two-year-old showing Mommy her version of The Nutcracker Ballet.

“Coming!”

The doorbell chimed on and on, never ceasing its shrill call. I contemplated leaving the shoe off to hurl at my unannounced guest before they broke the buzzer.

I whipped open the door, my teeth grinding, and my jaw dropped. Julie returned my sour demeanor with a duck face. Through her silly expression, I still saw the tell-tale marks of a woman who just had a good cry.

“Hi. Mind if I crash here? The airline lost my luggage and stupid me put the house keys
in
my luggage instead of my carryon.”

“Umm duh?” I grabbed her in a big hug, thoroughly smashing my sore boobs, but I didn’t care. I’d missed her so much while she was gone. My rock and link to sanity, I’d never turn Julie away.

“Is that your peanut Thai thingy I smell?”

“Yeah. Hungry? My date never showed. I just put it away, but we can nuke it.”

“I’m starved, give it to me cold. My mother rationed my food big time, stating that I’ll never get a man again with an ass as big as
Texas
.” Julie shot me a soured expression before arched her eyebrows. “You were having a guy over here?”

I winced as I turned away from her to get the food out of the refrigerator. I had to divert her attention away from me allowing a guy over to gain entrance to my boudoir. While not an unusual occurrence, it was an event of rarity as of late.

“Oh let’s not make this reunion about me for a change. What about your father? How is he?” I opened the containers and grabbed a few plates. If you talked fast enough, you could confuse the person trying to grill you. Or so I’d like to think.

“Fit as a fiddle. Another one of mother’s hypochondriac episodes, but I figured while I was out there, I’d give him a few weeks of sanity and let my mother cut into me.” She winked. “So…” She nudged me with her shoulder and grabbed a fork to dig in. “Who’s this guy? Anyone I know?”

“Oh.” Did I really want to tell her it was Matt? Not really, because I’d acted like a ding-dong. Mmm … ding-dongs sounded good.

“Patricia … you’re stalling.”

“Duh.” I huffed. “I don’t want to talk about it now, okay?” I wanted to cry and like the best friend she was, Julie knew it. She hugged me without a word, and I used her shoulder like she’d used mine over the years. Tears soaked her shirt as I sobbed to get it out.

“I know it hurts, honey,” she whispered.

“Why do I always chase them away?” The crux of it all: I wished and hoped so much for the man of my dreams. I’d shirked every available bachelor off my dating shoulder at every corner when just the slightest thing went wrong. A wayward romantic in search of the part of my soul missing for so many years, I began to think the quest for love a fruitless journey.

“After spending time with my dad, when mom shut up, I realized that I really want a guy in my life. To share my hopes and my dreams and all the bad stuff in between. I’m always going to have you, Patricia, and I’ll always be there. I just.” Her sentence trailed off as she hugged me harder.

“I know.” I sniffed. “After these past weeks I feel the same way. Our lesbian pact might have been funny right after your divorce and my many failed attempts at getting to the altar, but now?”

“Love’s out there waiting,” she said.

I wished, in my heart, I could believe that. I want to, but fairytales? They were reserved for books or the movies.

Julie held me at arm’s length and brushed the hair out of my face. Her eyes glazed over and a wistful smile played on her lips. Maybe Julie had something, an ideal, in her four words. If she did, she wasn’t sharing the wisdom.

“Now I think we need to eat this food, pop in a good chick flick and pig out on Ben & Jerry’s. We’ll guilt ourselves to the gym tomorrow morning. Pinky swear?” she said.

I locked pinkies with her. She would always be my best friend. We spoke our minds without worrying about hurt feelings. The rare honesty made me trust her so much. I imagined the holidays we’d spend together with the families created. Our children would laugh and carry on as we proud mothers watched in the arms of our husbands.

“Huh,” she said.

“What?” I said through a big mouthful of noodles. I noted the mischievous glint in her eyes.

“You have red shoes on.” On came the valley girl in her. “Oh my gawd, Becky, you are such a total slut!”

“You know it, Ashley.”

Julie and I ended up watching
Fool’s Gold
. We considered any movie in which Matthew McConaughey took his shirt off several times a chick flick. Yummy.

In the morning, we headed for the gym. One look in the trash can in the kitchen motivated us. Ben & Jerry’s, while deliciously sinful, did awful things to our rears and unless we planned to be in Sir Mix-a-Lot’s entourage for the rest of our lives, we had to workout.

One spin and aerobics class later, we cooled off on the treadmill at a leisurely pace.

“When do you go back to work?” I asked Julie. I’d punished myself for the lack of exercise, and it showed in the way of strained breathing.

“Tomorrow. I could take the rest of the week, but I want my sense of normalcy. You catch up on that stupid book?”