Page 29 of Make Me Sin (Bad Habit 2)
Her mouth drops open. “No!”
Grace squeals and claps like a ten-year-old who’s just been given a pony at her birthday party. “Yes! Ha-ha! Isn’t it fantastic!”
Kat looks at me as if I’m possessed by the devil himself. “No! You hate him! He hates you! I’ve seen this all up close and personal! You can’t stand each other!”
“I know,” I say miserably. “Only now I sort of . . . don’t.”
Grace sighs. It’s a happy sigh. It sounds as if she’s just won a hundred million dollars. It irritates me so much I down the rest of my drink.
“You’re supposed to be my friend. You’re supposed to feel bad for me. You’re supposed to tell me what to do to make up with Eric! Instead you’re acting like this is the best thing that’s happened since you had that affair with the Italian cultural attaché!”
Grace pushes her long red hair off her neck in an elegant sweep of her wrist that is supremely her. “It’s not that good. But seriously, Chloe, as far as I can tell—and please forgive me, because I say this in total love—you have never been properly fucked.”
“Gee, don’t hold back, Grace. Tell us how you really feel.” I toss a chip into my mouth, crunching on it violently, wishing it were Grace’s head.
“All I’m saying is once you get a taste of a real man, nothing else in the world ever tastes the same. If you’re going to have a fling, A.J. Edwards is the. Perfect. Man for it.”
r /> Kat pulls a face. “He’s also the perfect man if you’re interested in contracting a life-threatening venereal disease. I went on tour with those guys. You should see some of the hos he hangs out with.”
“Literally,” I mutter.
Grace isn’t buying it. “He’s too smart to get VD, Kat. He probably owns stock in a company that produces titanium condoms or something. There’s no way a player like that doesn’t take every precaution. Plus, high-end prostitutes are certified clean. I mean, really, they have papers to prove it. The clients expect it. You can’t charge five thousand dollars a pop and have the clap. Or worse.”
A chip falls out of my mouth. It lands on the table. Five thousand dollars? When A.J. told me he paid “thousands” for his high-rent hos, I thought it was an exaggeration.
“Dear God,” says Kat. “What kind of skills do you need to have to charge that kind of money for sex?”
I can tell Grace is about to provide a laundry list by the look on her face. I hold up a hand to stop her. “No! I don’t want to know!”
She gazes steadily at me. Her steely-grey eyes look even more steely than usual, which means I’m about to get a lecture. “Chloe, if you’re going to sleep with a man whose preferences run toward women who know how to expertly massage the prostate with anal balls while giving a blow job, you might want to brush up on your bedroom skills.”
“Gross!”
Vindicated, she sits back, shaking her head. “It’s like shooting puppies in a barrel.”
I turn to Kat. “Help me out here.”
“Hey, you’re the one who has the hots for him.”
“I never said I had the hots for him! I just don’t hate him so much anymore . . . is all.”
Grace drawls, “Riiiight. You just don’t hate him so much. Which is why you’re calling out his name during sex.”
I need to get new friends. These two are the worst.
Something terrible occurs to me. I bolt upright in my seat and grab Kat’s hand just as she’s lifting a loaded chip to her mouth. Salsa flies all over the place.
“Hey! I was going to eat that!”
“You cannot say a word to Nico about this. Promise me you won’t.”
“Chloe, even if I did, he would laugh me right out of the room. He’s seen you two together. He’d never believe it in a million years. When I told him you needed A.J.’s address, the first thing out of Nico’s mouth was, ‘Why, is she going to plant a bomb under his porch?’”
That makes me feel a little better. I release her wrist, and sit back in my chair.
“Needed his address?” Grace repeats, a little cattily I think.
“It’s not like that. He placed a flower order for some chick in Russia, and the address was wrong. Trina probably wrote it down incorrectly. It ended up being some cemetery. Anyway, the dude doesn’t own a phone, or a computer, which means he has no email, so I have no other way to contact him.” I add a teeny, tiny lie. “I’m going to send Jeff over to get it.”
