by Maria Geraci
a cognizant original v5 release october 08 2010
Table of Contents
Title Page
Copyright Page
Dedication
Acknowledgements
Chapter 1
Chapter 2
Chapter 3
Chapter 4
Chapter 5
Chapter 6
Chapter 7
Chapter 8
Chapter 9
Chapter 10
Chapter 11
Chapter 12
Chapter 13
Chapter 14
Chapter 15
Chapter 16
Chapter 17
Chapter 18
Chapter 19
Chapter 20
Chapter 21
Chapter 22
Chapter 23
Chapter 24
Chapter 25
Chapter 26
Chapter 27
Chapter 28
Chapter 29
Chapter 30
Chapter 31
Chapter 32
Chapter 33
Chapter 34
Chapter 35
The Bunco Babes have something to get off their chests . . .
The Babes were now chanting her name. “Geor-gia! Geor-gia!”
Oh, hell. Why not? She turned to her sister. “I’ll flash if you’ll flash.”
Frida laughed. “You’re on.”
They stood up side by side. Frida went first. Up went the white T-shirt and off came the bra. Georgia hesitated only a second. She clumsily worked on the buttons to her silk top. One of the buttons popped off and fell on the floor but she didn’t care. She’d worry about finding it later. She snapped open the clasp at the front of her bra and flashed the Babes.
“Take that, Spencer Moody!” she cried.
The Babes were laughing so hard, a couple of them fell out of their chairs.
Just then, she heard a noise coming from the foyer.
She glanced over to see a tall, brown-haired man with laughing green eyes staring straight at her. Or rather, staring straight at her boobs. His gaze slid to Frida, then back to her.
“You’re right,” Dave Hernandez said, sporting that same damn smile he’d given her just a few hours ago. “You and your sister look nothing alike.”
Other Berkley titles by Maria Geraci
BUNCO BABES TELL ALL
THE BERKLEY PUBLISHING GROUP
Published by the Penguin Group
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Penguin Books Ltd., Registered Offices: 80 Strand, London WC2R 0RL, England
This is a work of fiction. Names, characters, places, and incidents either are the product of the author’s imagination or are used fictitiously and any resemblance to actual persons, living or dead, business establishments, events, or locales is entirely coincidental. The publisher does not have any control over and does not assume any responsibility for author or third-party websites or their content.
NOTE: The recipes contained in this book are to be followed exactly as written. The publisher is not responsible for your specific health or allergy needs that may require medical supervision. The publisher is not responsible for any adverse reactions to the recipes contained in this book.
Copyright © 2009 Maria Geraci
All rights reserved.
No part of this book may be reproduced, scanned, or distributed in any printed or electronic form without
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BERKLEY® is a registered trademark of Penguin Group (USA) Inc.
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PRINTING HISTORY
Berkley trade paperback edition / November 2009
Library of Congress Cataloging-in-Publication Data
Geraci, Maria.
Bunco babes gone wild / Maria Geraci.—Berkley trade paperback ed.
p. cm.
eISBN : 978-1-101-15109-9
1. Female friendship—Fiction. 2. Dice games—Fiction. 3. Florida—Fiction. I. Title.
PS3607.E7256B85 2009
813’.6—dc22 2009022001
http://us.penguingroup.com
For my own wild bunch—
Stephanie, Kevin, and Megan
Acknowledgments
This book was so much fun for me to write and I have so many people to thank for helping the process go so smoothly. First off, I want to thank my fantastic critique partners—Melissa Francis and Louisa Edwards. This is a huge year for us and I wouldn’t want to go through it with anyone but you two.
I want to thank my first readers—Lissa McConnell, Carmen Dick, and Maureen Winger for letting me know when I get it right. I’m deeply appreciative to the fabulous team at Berkley—Allison Brandau, Kathryn Tumen, and my wonderful editor, Wendy McCurdy.
A big thanks goes to Elizabeth Middaugh at Nancy Berland Public Relations for all your promotional help. I also want to thank Delroy “Ricky” Neath at Yard Media for my fantastic website. And to my wonderful agent, Deidre Knight, whose support and encouragement keep me going.
I have to thank my parents, Carmen and Fernando Palacios, for all their love and support. And of course, to my husband, Mike, who’s always there for me and who celebrates each and every little victory alongside me. No acknowledgment would be complete without mentioning the fabulous Labor and Delivery nurses at TMH. You all make me feel like a rock star and make delivering babies almost as much fun as writing.
And last but not least, to the Bunco Broads of Tallahassee—I love you all.
1
It is a truth universally acknowledged that when a woman gets a boob job, she must show it off to her closest friends.
If Georgia Meyer were a man (or a lesbian), she’d have died and gone to heaven. But she wasn’t either of those, so staring at a complete stranger’s breasts while standing behind the counter at her sister’s coffee shop, no matter how “firm and uplifted” the breasts in question now were, was making her a little uncomfortable. The fact that the breasts belonged to one of her sister’s best friends and that the coffee shop was closed should have put her at ease. But it didn’t. For one thing, her sister Frida seemed to have a lot of “best friends,” and second, the Bistro by the Beach had these large plate-glass windows that any passerby could easily look into.
She mentally shrugged. Maybe they did things differently here in Whispering Bay, Florida. After all, it was a beach town.
“They’re so perky!” Frida crooned, nudging Georgia on with a roll of her eyes. This must be Georgia’s cue to say something.
“Yeah, totally awesome,” Georgia replied, hoping she sounded more enthusiastic than she felt. Since she’d nev
er seen the boobs in question before the “firming and uplifting,” she really couldn’t make a fair comparison, but the petite, dark-haired owner of the now-fabulous tatas seemed pleased with her response. So did the two other “best friends” standing by her side.
“Thanks!” Pilar Diaz-Rothman gushed, carefully covering up the prized twins with a sturdy sports bra.
“Are they sore?” Frida asked.
“A little. But it was totally worth it. I finally have boobs that point north again.”
“What does Nick think?” Frida asked.
“He’s crazy about them, of course,” interjected Shea Masterson, a tall, stunning redhead who appeared to have been the generous recipient of her own upper body surgery.
Pilar grinned. “He was a little freaked at first that I went through with it. But he’s totally on board now.”
“Nick is Pilar’s husband,” Kitty Burke, the last of the Charlie’s Angels trio, explained. Kitty was tall, like Shea, and while she lacked Shea’s Heidi Klum-like model looks, or Pilar’s more compact exoticness, she made up for it with a wholesome prettiness and a warm smile. Definitely the Drew Barrymore of the group.
“So, Georgia,” Shea said, “you’re coming to Bunco tonight. Right? Great outfit, by the way. Is that Alexander McQueen?”
Georgia blinked, not quite sure which question to respond to first.
“Don’t mind Shea,” Pilar said. “She has two little girls under the age of five so she’s experienced at bi-processing.”
“That’s multitasking, but in your brain,” explained Kitty, sensing Georgia’s confusion. “Pilar likes to make up words to fit the occasion.”
Boy, things sure were different down here in Whispering Bay. Maybe it was all that sodium floating in the air.
“You must really know your designers,” Georgia said, pleased that Frida’s friends had noticed her Alexander McQueen high-waisted navy silk trousers and matching top. Georgia took pride in her appearance. It was one of the things Spencer loved about her. She fought back a frown. She wasn’t going to think about Spencer. Not now. Not for the entire weekend. Maybe not ever. “And I’m afraid I’m not sure about the Bunco thing.”
Shea turned to Frida. “You didn’t invite your sister to Bunco?”
“I didn’t know my sister was coming to visit until she walked through the door ten minutes before you three did.”
“I wanted to surprise you,” Georgia said, trying not to squirm beneath her older sister’s level gaze.
“Where are you from, Georgia?” asked Kitty.
Georgia hesitated. It was one of those generic questions people always asked one another. Despite years of practicing a pat answer it still sometimes took her off guard.
“You know, Georgia and I are from everywhere,” Frida said, saving Georgia from responding.
“That’s right!” Pilar said. “You guys were raised by hippies. That is sooo cool.”
Groupies, not hippies, Georgia wanted to clarify. Although in her mother’s case, there probably wasn’t much difference between the two. Instead, she said, “I’ve lived in Birmingham for the past five years.”
“Georgia’s the chief financial officer for a major electronics company,” Frida said proudly. “She graduated from Stanford.”
“Impressive,” said Pilar, giving Georgia a thumbs-up.
Georgia felt herself blush. “It’s a small company and I’m really a glorified bean counter.” Although, a damn good one she had to admit, even if it was just to herself.
“Moody Electronics is the Southeast’s largest-growing company. Georgia was selected one of Birmingham’s top ten businesswomen last year,” said Frida. “Which explains why she never comes to visit me. She’s too busy working.”
Georgia ignored the dig.
Pilar sighed. “I know how that goes. I’m an ambulance chaser,” she confided to Georgia. “Only I really don’t chase ambulances. I read contracts all day. But for the past few years my life has revolved around billable hours.”
“Not anymore,” said Kitty. “You’re cutting back at work, remember?”
“That’s right,” said Pilar, looking chastised. “I keep forgetting.”
Kitty smiled at Georgia. “Are you on vacation?” Frida gazed at her expectantly.
“Sort of,” Georgia said, hoping she wouldn’t have to elaborate. “I’m here for a long weekend. All work and no play . . .” she added with a shrug.
“How’s Spencer?” Frida asked. “Is he coming too?”
“He wanted to,” Georgia said, having no other option now but to blatantly lie, “but he couldn’t get away.”
“Spencer is Georgia’s boss,” explained Frida. “He’s also her fiancé.”
“Congratulations!” said Shea. “When’s the wedding?”
Georgia wondered the exact same thing. “Actually, we’re not officially engaged yet.”
Frida’s brows scrunched together. “But I thought—”
“The timing’s not right.” Georgia gave Frida’s friends what she knew was a shaky smile. But she couldn’t help it. She’d always sucked at subterfuge. “Spencer has children from his previous marriage, and they’re both at a very fragile age. We need to make sure they’re in the right place first.”
Her sister’s friends went quiet.
“He’s a wonderful father,” Georgia rushed. “I wouldn’t want it any other way.”
“Well, you have to come to Bunco,” Shea said. “It just so happens one of our regular members isn’t going to make it, which means we need a substitute. Naturally, being Frida’s sister, you get first dibs.”
Kitty frowned. “What about Christy? Christy Pappas is number one on the sub list,” she explained to Georgia. “Not that I don’t want you to come, it’s just that—”
“What Christy doesn’t know won’t hurt her. Besides, the three of us make the rules and I say family goes before the sub list,” said Shea.
Pilar nodded. “Shea’s right. Family comes first. You’re just sensitive on account of you living with Christy’s cousin-in-law,” she said to Kitty.
“Kitty has a new boyfriend. A really hot new boyfriend,” Frida supplied.
“Please, don’t worry about it. I don’t even know what Bunco is,” said Georgia.
The Charlie’s Angels trio looked flabbergasted.
Pilar was the first one to find her voice. “It’s a dice game. A really fun dice game. We play every Thursday night. We’re the Bunco Babes,” she said, as if that explained everything.
“Actually, we’re only part of the Babes,” Shea said. “There’s twelve of us all together. You have to have twelve to play Bunco. But the three of us are the founders. We make up the rules and we insist you come.”
Come to think of it, maybe Frida had mentioned this Bunco thing a few times, but Georgia had never paid much attention. She’d hoped to spend some alone time with Frida tonight. Socializing with a bunch of giggly women wasn’t Georgia’s idea of a good time, but there appeared to be no graceful way out of it. And it would make Frida happy. “Sure, I’ll come. Thanks.”
“Great!” said Shea. “My house. Seven p.m. sharp.”
“Shea makes these awesome frozen margaritas,” said Kitty. “You’ll love them!”
She watched as Frida said good-bye to her friends and locked the door to the Bistro behind them. Frida took off her work apron and tossed it into a laundry bin beneath the counter. It had been six months since Georgia had seen her sister, but Frida never seemed to change. She wore almost no makeup and let her curly auburn hair go natural. No blow-dryers or flat irons for her.
“What’s really up?” Frida asked. “You look terrible.”
“Gee, thanks.”
“You know what I mean. Something’s not right.”
“How’s business?” Georgia glanced around the small cafe. The gold-colored walls featured hand-painted murals of sea scapes and mermaids. The wooden tables and chairs were scarred and each table had a vase with fresh-cut flowers from the outside garde
n. There was a smallish kitchen area behind the counter where the customers placed their orders. Frida served coffee, homemade bagels, muffins, and pastries. She opened at the crack of dawn and closed by eleven a.m. But Georgia knew that Frida’s day started at four and didn’t end until well after two p.m. when she finished cleaning and organizing her kitchen. Frida’s insinuation that Georgia was a workaholic was like the pot calling the kettle black. Running a small-town cafe was a hard business, and from what Geor gia could see, the payoff wasn’t anything to brag about. But Frida seemed content.
“Business is business,” said Frida. “Slow one week, crazy busy the next. It all depends on the weather and the tourists. Now answer my question. Why are you here?”
“I thought you’d be happy to see me.”
“You know I am. And Ed’s going to be thrilled. He loves when family comes to visit.”
Ed Hampton was Frida’s husband. He was an artist (as yet undiscovered), a fact Georgia found ironic considering her and Frida’s upbringing. Ed helped out in the coffee shop during the morning and painted the rest of the day. He and Frida lived in a small apartment above the Bistro. Despite his lack of ambition, Georgia was fond of Ed. Although she couldn’t help but think that Frida could have done better. They’d been married for twelve years and had no children. Georgia had never asked her sister about that. She’d always assumed it was by choice. “Speaking of Ed, where is he?”
“He went to see a potential client,” Frida said, her voice turning enthusiastic. “There’s a local restaurant that wants to feature Ed’s paintings. This could be a terrific opportunity for him.” She glanced at her watch and frowned. “I’m supposed to meet him so we can have an early dinner with the manager.”
“Go on then. I know my way around upstairs. I’ll just take a quick shower and unpack. I hope I’m not going to put you out,” Georgia added. “I know your place isn’t big.”