Curves

by Tessa Vidal

  “It matters because Dylan Lambert isn’t the kind of woman you date. She’s the kind you fuck and then set free for other women. That’s her game, that’s her reputation. You bring her home, she makes you feel incredible, and then you never do that with her again. Maybe you see her across a crowded bar and she smiles, nods, and you think fondly of the many orgasms she gave you. Then you move on.” She fixed me with her gaze. “I know how you are, Sara, and Dylan is going to break your heart if you expect anything more than sex. You’re the kind of woman who can’t move on and this isn’t going to help you get over Sasha. It’s just going to make more of a mess.”

  “Then I guess it’s a good thing I only plan to have sex with her. This isn’t a date so much as a chance for me to do exactly what you said. And, yes, I will get over Sasha. Just you watch.” Jennifer folded her arms, clearly not believing a word I said, but the doorbell saved me from her. Good. Maybe it was Blair or one of Jennifer’s other friends there to get her out of my hair. That would explain the crazy get-up and the riding crop. I was almost ready for my date and didn’t need her to mess it up with her well-meaning interference.

  I scrunched my damp curls one last time and puckered my fire engine-red red lips at the mirror. Going to a club frequented by models was both dangerous and comforting. If Dylan really wanted to be with me, she would have to prove it by not staring at every beautiful woman that walked by tonight. If people saw us together, they would talk. At some point, I would hear whispers as women wondered why she was out with me, of all people. Lots of opportunities for me to regret the night.

  Almost as soon as I turned the corner from my room into the hall, I bumped into the last person I’d expected to see. Dylan. In my apartment.

  “What are you doing here?” I blurted out, hoping she couldn’t hear my heart pounding like a drum.

  “I thought if it was a date, we should treat it like one, not just meet at the club.” She held up a single red rose, the velvety petals inviting my touch. “This is for you.”

  I accepted the rose and tried to figure out what to say, but Jennifer whisked it out of my hand and trilled, “I’ll put it in water,” before she disappeared into the kitchen. She was still strutting around in lingerie, but at least she wasn’t carrying the riding crop around with her.

  Dylan lifted one eyebrow and smiled at me. She’d certainly gotten a show, but I comforted myself with the reminder that she was used to this sort of thing – half naked women strutting around without a care in the world. “This is a beautiful apartment. How do you afford it?”

  The unexpected question threw me off balance and I blinked as I tried to formulate an answer. “I don’t, mostly. Jennifer’s family owns it and I just pay her rent. She’s a trust fund kid, though she works pretty hard, too.”

  “The perks of being friends with a socialite,” Dylan acknowledged. “What does she do for work?”

  “She’s a marketing assistant, which is a pretty thankless job, but she loves it.” I wished Jennifer hadn’t taken the rose. It would have given me something to fidget with while my date scrutinized me. “Thank you for the flower. It’s beautiful. Are you ready to go?”

  “Definitely. You look absolutely stunning, as always, Sara. I like your dress.”

  The way Dylan said my name did things to every part of my body, mostly everything below my belly button. If the tingles along my inner thighs were any indication, my plan to guide the evening in the direction I chose was doomed to go horribly awry. I smoothed the lacy white dress down over my front and smiled. It took me a while to decide on what to wear, something that said, “I like you, and I want to have sex with you, but it’s not going to happen until I say the word.”

  “My dress thanks you,” I said, shutting the apartment door behind us, thankful Jennifer remained scarce. I could only imagine the ways she would embarrass me if she put her mind to it. Best friends existed to back one another up, but roommates existed to provide unimaginable torture to one’s fragile ego.

  “I hope you don’t mind me commandeering a car for the evening.” When we stepped outside, past the doorman, Dylan gestured to a sleek black sedan with tinted windows. I wanted to ask if it was hers or the magazine’s, but I just smiled and nodded. She was a woman of power in our industry and I didn’t need to question that.

  “Very nice.”

  She opened the door for me, a gesture I hadn’t expected, and I sank down into the buttery leather. Watching her walk around the front of the car was its own kind of torture. I wanted to grind on her right there, parked along the curb. Yes, I intended to get laid tonight, but at the pace I chose. My baser instincts would have to take a backseat to logic.

  I inhaled and focused on my surroundings, instead. The car was pristine on the inside, so there was no way of telling if it was a personal or business vehicle. Most people didn’t bother with cars in New York, unless they were hiring them. If it belonged to the magazine, it probably would have come with a driver. So, I decided it was personally owned and something Dylan only brought out when she really wanted to impress a lady. Why make this kind of effort for me?

  As she slid behind the wheel, I pulled down the visor to use the mirror and sensed her eyes on me, watching my every move. I brushed at a loose eyelash and turned to her.

  “Do you still want to go to the club?” she asked. “You look a little dressed up for that place.”

  “I’m a girly-girl. I love to dress up, even if I’m just going grocery shopping.” It wasn’t a confession I needed to share, but it was nice to give her at least a small piece of me. She knew so little about Sara Davis, after all, beyond where I worked, what I read, and how I dressed. Oh, and that there was some bitch out there who broke my heart into a million pieces.

  “You look perfect,” she told me. Was it my imagination, or did she soften a bit as she said that? It was Dylan, however, who resembled anything remotely near perfect. Her style never seemed to change. She wore a crisp white button-down shirt, open just enough so I could see a hint of black lace. Black slacks covered her long legs, and I wondered how my mind could already be in the gutter. Oh, the things I wanted her to do to me.

  She kept her eyes on the road, even when her cell phone lit up and chimed from the center cup holder. A glance at it showed a blue text bubble from some woman named “Jessica.” Of course Dylan was the kind of woman who received texts from Jessicas, and probably Brittanys, Madisons, and others.

  I tried not to let myself think she’d chosen me because I wasn’t one of them, because I was special and held back, rather than threw myself at her. Even if that was the truth, how long would her interest last? Once we had sex, she’d move on. There really was no point in going on a date if that was how this was going to end, but the illusion that I had some control made me feel better about what I was doing here – using her for rebound sex. In the end, no matter how you looked at it, we were both using each other. Maybe I shouldn’t have let that bother me so much.

  “I’m sure Paige doesn’t want you to out with me,” Dylan said, dragging my attention back to her. “She’d probably claw my eyes out if she saw us together.”

  “I don’t care what Paige wants. I’m going to ignore her warnings and have a nice date with you.” I leaned toward her, hoping she knew I meant it. Of course, a nice date as far as I was concerned involved getting me laid as soon as we finished dinner or drinks or whatever she had in mind. Laid, so I could forget about her. Sure, I’d be just another notch in her bedpost, but so what? If was going to do the rebound thing, I might as well go big or go home. Either way, this was just what I needed to move on from Sasha.

  Dylan’s cell phone continued to flash and chime, no doubt more texts from Jessica. And maybe a Mercedes, Cheyenne, and Amanda to round out her little harem of ladies. Dylan didn’t seem to care what was happening on the phone, because she pulled into valet parking, grabbed her overworked cell, and slipped it into her pocket without a second look. A far cry from the twenty-somethings at work who couldn’t ho
ld a conversation without a phone practically glued to their hand.

  “Let’s eat,” she said, her voice caressing the syllables in a way that promised more than one kind of eating. As my mind processed the two words, she got out of the car, came around to my side, and opened the door for me. The gesture added an unexpectedly refined touch to the start of our date, and I couldn’t help but smile. Maybe by showing her I wasn’t easy and held myself in higher regard than her usual conquests, I’d earned some respect from her. Not easy to do with any womanizer.

  Dylan must have made reservations or at least been well-known enough to get in without them, because the hostess smiled almost as soon as she gave her name. Once we were seated, menus in hand, I drew in a breath and glanced around the restaurant. It wasn’t at all what I’d expected. Considering Dylan’s position, I’d anticipated hot, trendy, and exclusive. This place, however, was quiet and low-key, with a gentle hum of conversation from the tables around us.

  “Before we get into all that silly first date chow-chow where we tell each other about ourselves, I want to know something.” Dylan’s intense gaze held mine when I looked at her again. “Tell me something no one else knows about you.”

  “You like to cut to the chase, don’t you?” I covered my urge to balk by sipping on the large, elegant glass of water the waiter set on the table. I wanted Dylan to be interested in me, but I realized I wasn’t prepared for anything but sex. Sex, sex, sex. It was all my mind could conjure, images of the two of us entwined in a lusty embrace. Long, meaningful talks about our innermost selves, hopes, and dreams didn’t figure into that scenario at all.

  Dylan pursed her lips, a reminder that this wasn’t normal for her. She didn’t date. She fucked. What was her game, at this point?

  “Fine,” I said, glad the word didn’t catch in my throat. “I guess my life is mostly an open book, or magazine, but I suppose there are some important things you should know about me.”

  “Perfect. I’m all ears.”

  “Okay, well, I come from a small town in California. I can’t stand my family, which is one of the reasons I crossed the country to be here. They’re shallow and entitled, and I don’t want any part of that. My parents are still married, and I guess they’re happy with their golf tournaments and dinner parties, and whatever else they do. They’ve never had to work for anything, but I always wanted to work for a fashion magazine. New York was the place to do it.”

  Somehow, once I started talking, I couldn’t stop. The words tumbled out, not fast and nervous, but relaxed and flowing.

  “I’ve known Paige since college, which is where we met. I love getting outdoors and doing everything I can in the fresh air — walking, running, horseback riding, swimming. Maybe I don’t look like much of an athlete, but trust me when I say I’m into all of that stuff. You should know that I love rock and roll, maybe even more than Joan Jett does. Oh, and despite everything I’ve been through with romance, I still believe in love. It might not be for me, but I know it’s out there.”

  Dylan rewarded me with a grin when I looked at her. “You were right about being an open book. I like it. Tell me about this fresh air stuff,” she practically demanded, and we somehow fell into easy conversation about how I’d grown up around horses and used the great outdoors to avoid my family.

  “It was my escape,” I told Dylan.

  “Why did you have to escape from your family? Are they really that bad?” Something gleamed in her eyes. Her interest in me could have been calculated or genuine. I really couldn’t tell, but it made me warm all over, nonetheless.

  “It’s stupid.” My cheeks heated at the confession, because I didn’t have some deep, dark secret except... “When I say they’re entitled, I mean they’re wealthy. Too wealthy, if there is such a thing. Honestly, it’s embarrassing how privileged they are. I didn’t want to turn out like them and they were horrified when I said I wanted to be a beauty editor, like working is a bad thing. They also are embarrassed by me, though they’d never say it. I’m not skinny or beautiful. It’s hard to be proud of your daughter when she’s the smart, overweight girl.”

  “Wow.” Dylan blew out a breath and shook her head. “That’s pretty much insane. I can see why you wanted to get away from them. And by the way, I think you are beautiful the way you are, so stop thinking otherwise.”

  She didn’t seem to pity me or think I was stupid. The compliment didn’t seem forced or meant to stroke my ego, either. Good. “Thank you,” I told her. “Now it’s your turn to tell me about you.”

  She rubbed her hands together and gave me another one of her playful grins. “Not yet. I want to ask you something else, and you can only give me a one-word answer.” Everything about her expression and her words wrecked havoc on my entire body and I knew I was going to play along, whatever her game was.

  “Let’s do it.” The response came out more suggestive than I intended. Or did it? I couldn’t think straight. All I knew was, I would say yes to anything with Dylan at this point. Anything. Even if it involved sex on this table in the middle of a crowded restaurant.

  “What did you think when you first saw me at the club that night?”

  My mouth popped open in surprise and I stammered out the first thought that came to mind, but Dylan shook her head. A reminder of the rule she’d asked me to follow. I drew in a breath, mastering my response to her closeness and my desire.

  “Trouble,” I whispered.

  “NICE. I EXPECTED SOMETHING like ‘hot’ or ‘sexy.’ I like that you didn’t give me something so trite and typical of other women.”

  The food arrived, the perfect distraction as I mulled over Dylan’s words. She’d been fishing for something and gotten it, apparently. I already knew I wasn’t the kind of woman she usually dated, but... No, wait. Dylan didn’t date. She acquired conquests, women who were all about her being hot and sexy. Did that make me something special after all?

  I hated that I was even comparing myself to those other women and I shoved a bite of food in my mouth to give myself something else to think about. The comfort that came with carbs made me feel worse, though, a reminder of the one thing that separated me from those women.

  Only five minutes into our awkward silence and our dinners, one of the models wobbled up to the table. It was easy to identify her, because all the models had the same look – tall, lithe, and pouty. It wasn’t like the 90s anymore, when a superstar model had distinctive features that stood out in the crowd. You could tell Claudia Schiffer from Cindy Crawford. These days, though, pretty much all models looked the same to me. More wannabe models than actual supermodels roamed the city streets these days.

  Why she was even in a place like this, I couldn’t imagine. The main thing making my body prickle and itch from head to toe was the fact that she was here, and opening her mouth to say something.

  “Are you, like, on a date, Dylan? That’s not your style and I’ve never seen you with a woman who has a body like hers. Is this a community service project, or something?” The model leaned on Dylan’s chair, her hand pushing down so hard against the top if it, her arm looked strained. “Why don’t you introduce me to your charity case?”

  I wanted to slap that catty smirk off her face. Clearly, every halfway good-looking woman in this city claimed dibs on Dylan and passed judgment on me. This date was getting better by the moment.

  “Watch what you say, Nikki. I suggest you go back to the bar and leave us alone.”

  It should have felt good to have Dylan stand up for herself, but it seemed like the effort was half-assed. Nor did she actually defend me, so much as dismiss the girl. With only a few words, we’d gone from awkward and uncomfortable to me looking for an escape.

  “Sweetie.” The model leaned toward me, soulless eyes flinty and narrowed. “It won’t last with her. None of them ever do, and she’s fucked women far better looking than you. Just remember, if you’re here with Dylan, you’re just her little experiment. Maybe she wants to answer the question ‘What’s it like
to get it on with a fatty?’ Once she does, though, she’ll never look your way again. She doesn’t with anyone. I’m not being a bitch. This is just a public service announcement. Don’t say I didn’t warn you.”

  “Shut the hell up,” Dylan growled, turning to glare at Nikki. “Seriously. You’re way out of line.” Again, she didn’t say anything about me and I had to wonder if this Nikki person had a point.

  Nikki scoffed, but she went pale after meeting Dylan’s gaze, and turned to saunter back to the bar.

  “I don’t think this could possibly get any worse, so I’ll get myself a cab,” I said, setting my napkin on the table and rising to my feet.

  What I really wanted to do was throw it across the table, in her face, and make a scene. But this was New York and my face was in every issue of the magazine. The last thing I needed was to also somehow make it on a gossip site because I’d given in to my lust and then my indignation. Stupid, stupid lust, and stupid, stupid ego. I’d handle this with class and get the hell out while I still had some shred of dignity.

  “Thank you for dinner.”

  “But—” Dylan started, but I cut her off.

  “No, thank you. I agreed to one date and now it’s done.”

  Dylan also stood and reached out to take my hand. She swallowed hard and sighed. “Please don’t hold what just happened against me. The connection between Nikki’s mouth and brain shorted out a long time ago. She was right about me – it never lasted with other women. Then again, I’ve never taken anything outside of the bedroom. I doubt she realized I was on a real date.”

  “As opposed to a fake date?” With those two words, I’d gone from uncomfortable to angry, and my entire body shook. What little dinner I’d eaten threatened to come back up, along with the words that rushed out of me. “Honestly, if those are the kinds of people you hang out with, what does that say about you?”