Veronica rolled her eyes, and Trish burst out laughing.
“Gizzy, can you please just call it a vagina?”
“That’s such an ugly word.”
“But bubble gum by the bum isn’t?” Her sarcasm was unbecoming.
“That’s not one of mine.”
“Yes, it is. You used it last Tuesday.”
I quirked my face in a go-fuck-yourself expression. “Point is still the same. He thinks I prefer girls.”
“Clearly, he doesn’t care, or he wouldn’t have invited you over.” Trish had walked out of the room to get towels and sunscreen, leaving the two of us standing here to bicker about Sybil the man.
“Or maybe he likes having a female around he can watch sports with or hang out by the pool and indulge in a six-pack without having to worry she’s after his money. I don’t know what his deal is, V. All I know is I had fun with his friends yesterday, and the pool is open to my friends and me today.” I shrugged. “Plus, you get to meet his sister.”
“Oh, yeah. Can you make sure you point out where she sat naked on the couch so I can avoid that particular spot?”
“No one thinks you’re funny, Ronnie.” She was, though. Hysterically so. Her dry wit and sarcastic banter kept me on my toes and in stitches…normally.
Ignoring my comment, she asked, “So how was your date last night?”
“Friend zone with Beck.” My voice was monotone to illustrate my disinterest in this topic. She wouldn’t be captivated by roller derby, and I wasn’t ready to hear her shit about my getting lost in the lower lips of my lady friend.
“I think you’re going to end up with a lot of that.”
“Have you ever looked at your pud pocket?”
“What the hell is a pud pocket, Giselle?”
I raised my brows and made eye contact with her shorts.
“It’s like you’re five. Where do you come up with this shit?”
“Focus! Have you?”
“Doesn’t every woman?”
“Clearly, since I’m asking the question, no, they do not.”
“Didn’t you ever see the Vagina Monologue? Spend an hour with your vagina in the mirror?”
My face went blank. I refused to even say the word much less go see a show that focused on it for two hours. “They’re gross.”
“Not all of them.”
“Yeah, Ronnie—all of them. They either look like roast beef or chewed-up Doublemint. I don’t know where porn stars get those tight little love nooks, but that is not real life.”
“Do you think penises are better looking?”
I hadn’t thought about that. The shaft was nice fully erect…when it wasn’t hooked to the side, or uncircumcised, but balls, pubic hair—just as gross as poochika. Yet somehow, I’d managed to get around the masculinity of nuts because of the pleasure that came in the package.
“I can tell by the confused look on your face, you’re not sure.” She giggled. “This is why you don’t explore sexuality at forty, Gizzy.”
“I’m not forty, whore.” Obviously, Ronnie wasn’t going to concede on the ugliness of the female erogenous zone. “Are you guys ready?”
A few lesbian-wannabe jokes later, and several digs at my desire to learn to enjoy the same sex, we finally got in the car to head to Collier’s house.
One of the guys I’d met the day before, whose name I couldn’t remember, greeted us at the door. “Hey, Giselle.” He smiled warmly at me before noticing the two bombshells behind me. “Who are your friends?”
“Veronica and Trish.”
Before he could remind me of his name, or I had to admit I couldn’t remember it, Beck came bounding into the foyer in nothing other than a skimpy, string bikini. She would have done just as well to wear pasties and a pad, it would have provided more coverage.
“Giselle! You brought friends.” Beck was a ray of sunshine today. I could only assume it meant things were going well with Stella. She stopped just in front of the guy, but close enough to lean in for a friendly side kiss on the cheek.
With the introductions completed—thankfully Beck introduced Mark—we made our way out back. There was music playing through the speakers, the outdoor kitchen had a chef working in front of it, and people mingled around the edge with drinks. I felt sorry for the hired help manning the grill in a full chef get-up including the funny folded hat thing—it was a hundred degrees out here.
Veronica whispered into my ear, “Which one is he?”
But before I could respond, Beck piped up to answer for me. “Look who I found, West.”
Collier had been standing at the edge of the pool with his back facing us, but the moment he turned around, his eyes connected with mine and held that connection intently. He never so much as glanced at Ronnie or Trish. The right side of his mouth inched up in a half-smile, but just as he went to speak, one of the other guys tackled him and took them both into the water.
“Oh shit, where the hell did he come from?” Trish seemed as surprised as I was by the unexpected assault. I only hoped it didn’t send Collier from West to Brutus.
Both sprung up through the water. West shook his head, laughing and coughing at the same time. “Fuck, dude. This was a fresh beer.”
“It’s shit now. That was for earlier, asshole.”
They both climbed out smiling, and my shoulders relaxed. I wasn’t interested in a drama-filled Sunday afternoon. I much preferred drinks and sunshine in skimpy swimsuits.
“Hey, ladies. Welcome. I’m West.” Casually, his wet hand reached out to my hip as though we were tight, and with his other, he shook my friends’ hands and then pointed out the grill providing an endless supply of food being made to order and the bartender making drinks under a gazebo. There had been names thrown out to match the men in our vicinity, but while I’d picked up Mark, Parker, Bryson, Todd, and Andrew, I didn’t have a clue who anyone other than the first two were. All I could think was this is stupid rich, and the heat from his hand was branding my side.
“Nice pad you got here, Collier.” Veronica was feeling him out—she needed to know who he was at the core.
“I’ve been very fortunate and had some lucky breaks, but thank you.” He finally stopped touching me, but the joke was on me. I’d misread the encounter and his embrace. He clapped his hands together.
Bastard. Now I seemed like a liar. There was no way in hell she’d ever believe he’d been a jackass to me if he kept up this charade. I met her gaze behind his back and stuck my tongue out at her.
“Five, Gizzy. Seriously.” Her constant reference to my immaturity never stopped. All she had to say was the number, and I knew exactly what she meant—so did anyone else who’d ever spent more than ten minutes in our presence.
“Huh?” Collier seemed confused by her comment. “What’s gizzy?” The way his brow quirked and his minty-green eyes warmed almost caught my attention.
“Not what, who. Giselle. Gizzy. She got the nickname—”
I poked my best friend in the side with way more force than necessary to shut her up. “Hey, West. Where can we drop our stuff?” Gizzy wasn’t exactly a name you wanted shouted from the rooftops, and no one who hadn’t known me during puberty should ever hear the story of how it started.
“You guys can use the same room you stayed in if you need to change. Otherwise, just drop your stuff on a chair and grab a drink.” He’d meant the words for everyone, but he’d directed them at me. And waited.
In seconds, I broke the awkward tension and left his side to pick a spot next to Beck and Stella, then introduced everyone, and started to shed my outer layer to soak up some sun.
“He’s into you,” Veronica said loudly enough for everyone within a ten-foot radius to hear.
“Oh my God, stop.” I put my sunglasses on, closed my eyes, and leaned back in the lounge chair. I refused to allow myself to consider the way he touched me or the heavy way the air lingered when he was near me.
“You know I don’t get involved in this kind of stuff
, Giselle, but I have to admit he’s scoping you pretty hardcore. His eyes have stayed on you since we walked in.” A little laugh had escaped Trish’s mouth before she added, “Well, once he got out of the pool.”
I tried to ignore them. I didn’t need to egg any of them on, but leave it to Little Miss Thang to chime in. “She’s right, Giselle. I know my brother. He digs you. I heard you hung out with him yesterday.” She raised her eyebrows in question and waited for juicy gossip that wouldn’t come.
I sat straight up and announced louder than I should, “He knows I chase skirts, guys.” I stood with a huff. I needed to escape this conversation. I wasn’t interested in hearing about their perceived interest. I’d sworn off men and had yet to land a lady. My frustration level was high, and my nerves were fried. I needed sexual satisfaction—or booze. “Do any of you want something from the bar?”
Four different women asked for four different frilly drinks. Like I would remember their order from here to there. There was a reason I’d never waited tables. These bitches were all getting a beer.
When I returned, my friends had chilled out, although none were pleased with my drink selections, and had coupled up leaving me the odd man out. Heifers. I had the attention span of a gnat, and without someone to entertain me, I grew bored with their company quickly. When the guys decided to play water volleyball, I ditched the estrogen and joined the testosterone. It was like a scene from Top Gun, only there was no sand…or Tom Cruise. But it didn’t matter; I found a happy place, and the guys treated me like one of them.
Except West.
His need to protect me from the ball grew tiresome. Even his friends told him to give it a rest. But when his role-playing as big brother continued, Parker dragged me under the net to join his team. Just before I’d switched sides, a massive hand wrapped around my ankle, tugging backward, and my body became a rope in a game of tug-o-war. What neither side seemed to realize was in the midst of their back and forth, I wasn’t getting air, and water filled my mouth faster than I could get rid of it.
My feet and arms flailed in an effort to escape, and when my foot made contact with something hard, Collier’s hold on my leg released. I jerked out of Parker’s hands and coughed my way over to the side of the pool. I hoisted myself out and sat by the side, trying to catch a full breath, but I was pissed. This whole thing had been a bad idea, and I should have stayed home.
I ignored the guys in the pool and told them I was fine before stomping over to my friends and plopping down in the chair with an exaggerated huff.
“You kicked the shit out of Collier’s face.”
I should’ve been sorry, shown some sort of remorse, but he’d nearly drowned me, and I wasn’t ready to relent. “Good. Serves the asshole right.”
Beck erupted in laughter. I glared at her with my best eat-shit scowl, which only served as fuel to her fire.
“Why are you laughing?”
“Because you’re funny, and you kicked the shit out of my brother.” She shook her head, but I wasn’t interested in trying to guess what she referred to.
The rest of the afternoon and through the evening until we left, Collier steered clear, but the girls were right. He never took his eyes off me…even the one that had turned blue from where I’d used the side of his face as a soccer ball. I ended up enjoying the party without Collier. His friends were fun, and life with guys who thought all the chicks here were lesbians was much easier than when they believed one of us was available. It didn’t occur to me until after we’d left that none of the guys had wives, and none of them had mentioned a girlfriend yesterday or today.
Wealthy, good-looking men in their mid to late thirties—all single and all hung out together like a crew. Or maybe more like a harem…for males. My mind wandered off, pairing the men up as couples inside their circle. I was rather pleased with my mental match-making when I pulled up outside my house. As if I’d conjured up the devil himself, my phone vibrated in my hand when I sat my stuff down on the counter.
Collier: Sorry about the near drowning.
Me: Sorry about the roundhouse kick to the face.
Collier: Truce?
Me: Truce.
Collier: You looked really cute pouting on the side of the pool.
I grinned and tossed my phone on my comforter to get ready for bed. After a quick shower to rinse off the sunscreen and perspiration, I tugged on a tank top and pair of cotton boyshorts. My bed welcomed me like an old friend as I settled in for the night. I rolled over with my phone in my hand, but before plugging it in, I opened the dating app I’d become such an addict of, to scroll for my next encounter. I wasn’t ready to give up, regardless of what Ronnie said or how miserably my last two female encounters had gone. If nothing else, I had two new friends I adored for different reasons and found a sport to entertain me. It was worth the scavenger hunt. I just needed to stop thinking of these as relationships in the making, and start pursuing sexual encounters. I didn’t need company—I needed an orgasm.
The great thing about the internet was someone was always online. And even better, it made dates easy to come by. Before I finally closed my eyes, I’d secured meetings with three more women this week. I’d hinted at my lack of interest in commitment and expressed my desire to enjoy each other. One of them had to be more successful than Beck or Roxie.
None of them had been better than either of my previous dates. Arielle—pronounced Airy-Elle, not Ariel, which she had to remind me no less than fifteen times in twelve minutes—didn’t make it past coffee. We’d met at a locally owned café after work on Wednesday. My day had been boring, but I would have welcomed the monotony back in a heartbeat to escape that girl’s crazy. Within minutes, she had pulled two little pink, bear-shaped pills from her pocket and offered me a good time. I wasn’t stupid enough to try ecstasy in my twenties, I sure as hell wasn’t doing it in my late-thirties—I didn’t care how desperate I was or how “great it made the sex.” Airy-Elle wouldn’t be making the friend zone, she was lucky I didn’t have her committed.
But no matter how hard I tried to close down the conversation, end the date, she wasn’t having it. I managed to escape to the bathroom but couldn’t bring myself to listen to Ronnie’s “I told you so” if I called her to rescue me. Instead, I opted to push out the screen and climb out the window. I ran around the building with my keys in hand.
The moment I opened my car door, the drug-smuggling princess popped out the front door, shouting for all the world to hear, “Where are you going, Jessabelle.”
“It’s Giselle, you half-wit. Lay off the pot,” I hollered back and sped off in my getaway car.
I felt bad. I’d never done anything so cruel, but she’d given me no other choice.
Thursday, I skipped running in order to meet Cassie before work. We didn’t have long to get to know each other, but both of us had been clear we just wanted to hook up. I’d reached a new level of desperation meeting a woman for the first time in a park to make out. I hadn’t thought about it. I jumped into her minivan and ignored the two car seats to join her in the very back. She’d laid out a blanket, and the moment I’d closed the door behind me, she started stripping her clothes off.
I’d been guilty of overthinking, so I went with it. My shirt flew over my head, and I eased off my running shorts and panties. I avoided eye contact with any nether regions and closed my eyes when she started kissing me. There were no sparks, but before there could be a tingle—there was a knock. The police officer let us off with a warning but suggested we take our activities somewhere other than a public park. Ashamed, I dressed and peeled out of the parking lot, vowing to change my phone number and identity.
Friday brought an hour for lunch and a meeting in Kristy’s office with no windows and a lock on the door. I hadn’t taken any time to get to know any of these women, not even their sexual interests. I had hoped one of them would get me to open up enough to enjoy a new experience and offer me the release I so desperately needed. The instant the door closed behin
d me, Kristy secured the lock and pulled out the barrette holding her French twist in place. She shook her hair so it fell in soft waves around her shoulders and directed me to get naked.
With each command I followed, she barked out more orders until I was standing nude with my hands on the front of her desk and my legs spread. She hadn’t touched me, nor had she taken off anything other than the clip from her hair, but here I stood, exposed and panting in anticipation…or possibly fear. She laid a hearty slap on my rear end and then circled the desk. My jaw hung slightly ajar in shock. But when she reached into her top drawer and pulled out an enormous, dark-blue, double-sided dong she promised to fill me with, I was out. I’d never gotten dressed so fast in my life.
I didn’t believe there weren’t women out there who weren’t scary. Surely in the millions of people looking for online dates, there were normal females just like me looking to hook up. Maybe I was going about this the wrong way. I needed help, but Ronnie wasn’t the place to go to find it. The only other lesbians I knew were Beck and Roxie. But I didn’t know how to ask someone I went on a date with how to hook up with other lesbians when I couldn’t seal the deal with either of them.
I decided Beck was the better option since she technically had a girlfriend and was no longer available for sexual exploration. I sent her a text and made plans to meet at her house the next day. Then I called Roxie and asked if she wanted to go to roller derby this afternoon. I half expected her to turn me down, but once I made it clear I just wanted to go as friends, she accepted my invitation, and my evening was filled with roller skates, wickedly cool women, and a loud crowd.
The next day when I showed up at Beck’s, I pulled in behind Collier’s Porsche. He answered the door in nothing but a pair of shorts hung low on his hips.
“What are you doing here?” he asked.
“I’m meeting Beck here at two.” I glanced at my watch, realizing I was a couple minutes early.
“She’s not here yet. Come on in. I was just watching TV.”
Girl Crush Page 9
