Total pages in book: 176
Estimated words: 167940 (not accurate)
Estimated Reading Time in minutes: 840(@200wpm)___ 672(@250wpm)___ 560(@300wpm)
Estimated words: 167940 (not accurate)
Estimated Reading Time in minutes: 840(@200wpm)___ 672(@250wpm)___ 560(@300wpm)
“It’s about connections,” I repeat, refraining from making the accompanying childish hand gesture. A rounded fist, a finger, and a lot of poking. “I get it.”
“The people here tonight are the kinds of people you want to get to know. You can make professional connections, social ones, and romantic ones.”
Because nothing says romance like an orgy.
“Okay, so what? They’ll chat, have a drink, maybe stuff their faces with a few vol-au-vent? Schmooze and have a jolly good time, but at some point in the night, people will begin to whip their kits off and get it on. In a place that is clearly not a hotel. So that means they probably have sex in front of everyone. Probably with everyone!”
“You don’t have to have sex. That’s what the white ribbon is for.”
I glance down at the ribbon crushed in my hand. Quickly shoving my clutch under my arm, I wrap it around the strap of my dress in the biggest, most noticeable bow I can.
“Jesus, Mary, and Joseph.” I find myself muttering very much in the vein of my mother hearing bad news.
“Come on, it’s not all that bad.” Beth reaches out, touching my arm.
“It’s not all that good, either. Come meet the New York singles in their natural habitat, you said. Think of it as an anthological expedition. Be my wing woman!”
“And all of that is still true.”
“You’re telling me that all these people are single? That there’s not a married or cohabiting couple among them?”
“Of course there will be. Ardeo is inclusive, single women and men, and also couples. And everyone here has been highly vetted.” Beth raises her chin defensively.
“Swingers.” The word sort of sneaks past my lips.
“I paid a lot of money to get here tonight—to get you here tonight—I really thought you might find it fun.”
“A cervical smear would be higher on my list of pleasant pastimes.”
“But your dry spell—”
“Is my business.”
And this is the moment she begins to take me seriously, her fingers beginning to pluck at her bottom lip. “Oh, God, Fee, you can’t mention this to anyone.”
“As if I would.” As if anyone who knows me would believe me. I can barely believe it myself.
“I mean it, you’ve signed a watertight and quite aggressive NDA. Or at least I signed it on your behalf.” From serious to sheepish, I can’t believe this woman!
“Are you having some kind of mental breakdown?” I thought the Riviera rich were crazy with their European bon vivant, pleasure-seeking attitudes. But this? Ribbons and NDAs and confiscated phones, not to mention sex with strangers, in mothertrucking public! Sort of.
“I thought you’d be cool about it—I thought you’d thank me!”
“Did you not think to question why I haven’t had sex in five years?”
“You haven’t got a disease or anything, have you?” Her gaze roams over me a little anxiously.
“Of course I haven’t,” I grate out. “I meant I haven’t had sex out of choice, not out of lack of opportunity, but even I know it doesn’t have to be like this.”
“But this is the start of my sexual renaissance,” she retorts defensively.
“You got divorced.” I take both of her hands in mine, and though she tries to resist, I’m much stronger than I look. Carrying a toddler almost constantly for three years will do that to a girl. “Of course, you’re having a fucking reawakening, but it doesn’t have to be anonymous sex.”
“I don’t think I’ve ever heard you curse before,” she replies a little startled.
“That, I’m sure, will be the first fuck of many tonight.” I frown as she giggles, pressing her hand to her mouth. “I don’t mean like that.”
“Look, I’m sorry I wasn’t honest with you. But I was desperate. Since my divorce, I’ve tried all the usual; E-Harmony, Tinder, E-Volve, and I just keep making a mess of things.”
“They’re men, how hard can it be?”
“You know, I don’t see a line of them outside of your door. Oh, I forgot. You had your door welded shut five years ago.”
“Say it a bit louder, why don’t you. I’m sure there were a couple of people in the West Village who didn’t quite hear.”
“Sorry,” she adds, her posture suddenly changing as her shoulders slump. I notice how her eyes glisten in the low light, so I decide against suggesting she go back to basics. Like a downing a few drinks before shaking her butt on the dance floor of any nightclub in any town or city. I know I’ve been out of the game a while, but that’s how it used to be done. “But if you go, I can’t stay either.”
“Jesus, stop with the sad puppy eyes! We’re here.” I shrug. “I haven’t been struck by a lightning bolt from the heavens.” Yet. “But I have provisos.”
“Oh, thank you, Fee.” She reaches out to hug me when I hold up a forestalling hand.