The Dirty Girls Book Club

by Savanna Fox

  “Is he nice to work with, or an arrogant prick?” Marielle asked.

  “He’s nice.” And even nicer in private. “He’s not thrilled about being a model, but he tries to cooperate.” Grinning, she said, “Poor guy had to wear makeup.” Partly for the cameras, and partly to conceal the fading bruise around his eye. “Apparently that’s not a tough-guy thing to do.”

  Kim and Marielle chuckled, and even Lily, who’d been frowning, gave a grudging smile.

  Georgia noticed that the doctor’s short, stylish blond hair looked tousled and there were tiny lines around the corners of her mouth that she hadn’t noticed before. “Lily, are you feeling okay?”

  Lily waved a hand dismissively. “I’m fine. It’s been a long day and I missed lunch.”

  “Appies’ll be here soon,” Marielle said. Then: “I’m really looking forward to the playoffs. The Beavers are pretty evenly matched with the Capitals.”

  “If anyone wants to see Tuesday’s game,” Georgia offered, “Woody says he’ll give me four tickets. As, you know, a business thing,” she added quickly.

  Marielle whooped. “Yes, yes, yes!! I love your job perks.”

  “Me too,” Kim said. “I’d love to come.”

  “Oh good God.” Lily huffed. “Has everyone gone hockey crazy?” She picked up the martini their waiter had just placed in front of her and took a sip.

  “Pretty much,” Marielle said cheerfully, “and it’s only going to get worse. I figure, enjoy the fun.” She raised her cocktail, which she’d chosen for its name: a Passion Paradise Martini.

  “You always figure that,” Lily said a little snidely.

  Marielle shot her a slitted-eye glance but said only, “The playoffs will be terrific. Our Woody against Alexander ‘The Great’ Ovechkin.”

  Kim ran a hand through her spiky hair, its streaks the same pink as the butterflies on her tee. “Too bad the Beavers aren’t up against a weaker team.”

  “The tougher the fight, the more the win means,” Georgia said. “And the Beavers will win.”

  “You bet,” Kim said. “Here’s to that win!” She raised her glass of designer beer.

  Marielle clicked her cocktail glass against it, and Georgia followed suit with her wineglass.

  Lily raised her martini glass, but only to take a drink. “Ladies, this isn’t hockey club; it’s book club. Much as I’m not enraptured with the book, could we at least discuss it?”

  Georgia turned to her. “You’re right. Sorry.” Who’d have thought she’d rather talk about hockey than a good book?

  The waiter delivered their snacks—Indian-style crab cakes, lamb kebabs, and samosas—and they all dove in. A few minutes later, Lily gave a sigh of relief. “Now I feel better. Low blood sugar. Sorry if I was bitchy.”

  Marielle flashed a smile. “No problem. And, Lily, I agree with what you said in your e-mail last week, about sex being healthy.”

  “It’s like a vigorous walk,” Lily said. “Burns calories, tones muscles, releases endorphins.”

  Marielle gave a wicked chuckle. “And it’s a whole lot more fun than a walk in the park. As Lady Emma is finding out.”

  Kim, who’d been so quick to talk about hockey, said tentatively, “But sex is more than exercise. If it’s just physical, then why not”—she glanced around and lowered her voice to a whisper—“use a vibrator?”

  “Gotta love vibrators,” Marielle said, “but let’s face it, they’re not all strong and muscular, you can’t cuddle with them or go out for a drink with them, and they don’t talk.”

  “Men don’t necessarily talk either,” Lily muttered, eliciting another round of chuckles.

  No, Woody wasn’t a chatterbox, but Georgia loved hearing the things he shared with her—about his team, his past, his love for the ice, his desire to be the best. It wasn’t trivial chat about the weather; when he opened his mouth, she really wanted to listen.

  “Besides,” Marielle went on, “vibrators have a limited repertoire. They can’t possibly measure up to a skilled, attentive, sensual lover like le Comte de Vergennes.”

  Georgia’d never had the slightest interest in trying a vibrator. “I’m with Marielle. There’s a lot to be said for a real, live, talented lover.”

  “You’re putting an awful lot of weight on sexual satisfaction,” Kim said. “I mean, I have to admit it’s really nice, and I guess it’s healthy like Lily says, but it’s not exactly essential to life.”

  “No,” Georgia agreed, having survived quite nicely without it until she’d met Woody. “But it makes life more fun.”

  “Sure, but it’s not the most important thing in a relationship,” Kim said firmly. “You need other stuff like commitment and loyalty.”

  If Kim was having boyfriend troubles, as Georgia suspected, which things were missing in her relationship? One day, they’d know one another well enough to share more personal details rather than talk in the abstract.

  “Yes, I agree,” Georgia said. “You can have a wonderful relationship even if the sex isn’t, you know, incredible.”

  “And you can have a rotten relationship even though the sex is good,” Lily added.

  “Gaah!” Marielle shook her head. “You’re all making it way too complicated. Why does everything have to be about big-R relationships?”

  “Because we’re women,” Kim said. She fanned out her fingers, pink-tipped like her hair, as if to illustrate her point. “It’s men who enjoy meaningless sex, just to get their rocks off. Women aren’t like that. For women, it’s emotional. You can’t have great sex unless it’s emotional.” She turned to Lily. “Right?”

  “That depends on what you mean by great sex,” Lily said thoughtfully. “Physically, you can have a satisfying, even wonderful experience, and you may not even like the man much. But if you’re talking about lovemaking …” Her voice drifted off and her blue eyes looked sad for a moment. Then she straightened. “We’ve gone off track again. This isn’t about the book.”

  “It is,” Kim protested. “It’s about understanding Emma’s motivation. I mean, the book’s hot and I love the sex scenes, but I can’t relate to her. Unless she’s falling in love with him.”

  “Which would be a totally stupid thing to do,” Marielle said. “He’s a rake, right? He’s never going to settle down with one woman. Right, George?”

  “No, he’s not a one-woman man. And yes, Emma would be stupid to get emotionally involved with him, and she knows that. I think she knows what she’s doing,” she went on, speaking for herself as well as the fictional heroine. “She’s been offered an opportunity she never thought she’d have. She’s being appreciated as a woman, learning about her sexuality, and having a wonderful time.”

  “But what good does that do her?” Kim asked, frowning over the top of her beer glass. “He’ll leave, and she’ll be even less satisfied than she was before.”

  Taken aback, Georgia frowned.

  Marielle shook her head. “No, she’ll be hot, and she’ll know it. It’ll show. She’ll have suitors. She won’t be stuck marrying some old prick or playing slave to her brother’s family. She can marry a rich, sexy guy, or be one’s mistress if that suits her better. She’ll be empowered.” She glanced around the table. “That’s what a good relationship—small R or large R—does. It empowers us. Don’t you think?”

  “I hope so,” Georgia murmured. So far, with Woody, that was how it felt. When they broke up, it wouldn’t shatter her because she knew it was inevitable. They were both in this for only the short term. So, she’d remain empowered.

  Sad, though. She’d miss him. In such a short time, he’d become a big part of her life.

  Oh God, surely she wasn’t turning into a woman like her mom. One who based her life and identity on a man. No, she’d never let that happen.

  “What if a relationship doesn’t empower us?” Kim asked softly.

  “Then it’s bad,” Marielle said decisively, “and we leave. We deserve better than that.”

  “Things are always
so easy for you, Marielle,” Lily said. “Wait until you’re my age.”

  “Wait until you fall in love,” Kim put in.

  Marielle shook her head vigorously. “I refuse to even think about love and commitment until I’m, like, seriously over thirty. More likely thirty-five. Or forty!”

  Georgia toyed with her wineglass, reflecting. Lily was married and Kim had been with her boyfriend for a while. Supposedly they loved their mates, yet neither sounded ecstatic about their relationships. Marielle was the happy one, and she was all about casual sex. And the same was true of Georgia, though she had to admit that, as fabulous as her fling with Woody was, in the long run she’d want more.

  More, in fact, than she’d ever had before, she realized with a start. More than the other three women had. Some people must have relationships that paired incredible sex with loving commitment, mustn’t they? If Georgia took what she’d had with Anthony, that sense of being soul mates and knowing they’d love each other forever, and added in the kind of amazing sex she had with Woody …

  What would that perfect man look like?

  Oddly, the image that sprang to mind was Woody’s. Woody, in a dozen different varieties from naked in his whirlpool tub, to blazing down the ice, to wincing as she helped him wrap his injured shoulder with ice, to gazing intensely into her eyes during sex.

  How disconcerting. And scary …

  Since Lily had turned down a ticket for the Tuesday game, Georgia persuaded Viv to attend. The four of them—in Beavers jerseys except for Viv—met after work. The streets were full of fans and excited chatter about the game. The foursome grabbed a taxi to Rogers Arena, where they joined the boisterous crowd.

  Kim, her hair streaks and fingernails caramel today in honor of the team, said to Georgia and Viv, “You two are so lucky, working with Woody Hanrahan. Guess you couldn’t squeeze me in to see one of those photo shoots? Pretend I’m an assistant?”

  “The guy’d see through it when you drooled all over him,” Marielle teased.

  In high spirits, the women got drinks and snacks, then found their seats. These weren’t as close to the ice as on Sunday. It must have taken some doing for Woody to get four seats together in the first game of the playoffs.

  When the players skated onto the ice, Woody gazed in their direction. Georgia knew that, in this sea of Beavers’ jerseys, he’d never be able to pick her out. Just as well, since she didn’t want Viv or her book club friends to find out about their secret fling.

  Once the game began, all four of the women were on the edges of their seats, even Viv, who said, “I never realized it was so fast! So exciting!”

  For Georgia, it still felt surreal to watch Woody power across the ice, slash at the puck, slam into another player—and to know he was her lover.

  In the first period, he had an assist, and the Capitals also got a goal. In the second period, Woody scored and she cheered enthusiastically along with the rest of the crowd. She stopped worrying about giving away her secret, because Marielle and Kim were just as enthusiastic as she was, and Viv came a close second.

  The period ended with the Beavers up by one.

  In the intermission, the women went to get drinks. Four cute guys in Beavers jerseys, in line ahead of them, said, “Hey, let us buy the pretty ladies a drink.”

  “Thanks,” Marielle said promptly. “That’s nice of you.”

  Viv leaned close to Georgia and murmured, “Seriously?”

  “What can I say? She’s friendly.”

  The eight of them clustered together, chatting about the game and exchanging first names. Georgia was entertained by how each of the women behaved. Marielle was outgoing and genuine. Kim, who was in a serious relationship, was surprisingly friendly too, especially with a tall, sandy-haired guy who told her he loved the caramel streaks in her hair. Viv, who was a few years older than the rest of them, was friendly but in an impersonal way.

  As for Georgia, she got into an involved conversation about hockey with a blond guy named Glen, who had a great tan, sparkling greenish-blue eyes, and a dimple. He was well-informed and she was intrigued by his analysis of the game. When he praised Woody’s playing, she grinned and hugged her secret tight to her heart.

  When it was time to head back inside the arena, the guys suggested they all get together for drinks afterward. Marielle and Kim agreed, and Viv and Georgia both said they had other plans. Glen looked mildly crushed and caught Georgia’s arm, holding her back as the other women headed for their seats. “Maybe I could get your number? We could go to the next home game together.”

  “Thanks, but I’m not sure I’ll be going.” She didn’t want to be rude, but she also didn’t want to miss a moment of seeing Woody on the ice, so she hurried away.

  When she joined up with her friends, Marielle said, “Man, he’s cute, George, and really into you. You going out with him?”

  Startled, she said, “You mean, as in dating? No, but … Hmm. He did invite me to the next home game, but I don’t think it was a date.” She’d thought he suggested it because they were both fans.

  “It was totally a date,” Kim confirmed.

  “Huh.” She wasn’t used to men finding her attractive. Was it her new look, her increased confidence, or did she give off some kind of sexual vibe she’d never had before?

  “It was obvious,” Viv confirmed. “Same thing with Marco Sanducci, right?”

  “What?”

  “Oh, come on. At the photo shoot yesterday, he was flirting with you, but you didn’t give him an inch.”

  Marco Sanducci was attracted to her?

  Before she could ponder the thought further, the third period started, and she forgot all about Glen and Marco.

  Both teams fought hard, and the score was two all when the period ended, with Woody having a goal and an assist. Four minutes into overtime, the Beavers’ star rookie, first line center Stu Connolly, slipped the puck neatly off his blade and into the net and the crowd went wild.

  “Three more games to go,” Kim screamed, “and they bring home the Cup!”

  After, when they were outside the stadium, Marielle said, “Don’t you envy the girl who’s hooking up with Woody Hanrahan tonight?”

  Tongue in cheek, Georgia said, “He says he doesn’t date during the playoffs because it’s too distracting.”

  “What a waste!” Marielle said; then she raised her arm and waved wildly, and Georgia saw the four guys from intermission heading their way.

  Marielle and Kim went off with them for a drink, Viv said she was meeting a friend for a late dinner, and Georgia headed home to feed Kit-Kat and give her some cuddles before packing a few things to take to Woody’s.

  The logistics of casual sex were complicated when your lover was in the Stanley Cup playoffs and insisted on sleeping in his own bed. She went along with it, knowing Woody was in constant pain. Anything that helped him get a good night’s sleep—and helped the Beavers’ odds—was fine with her.

  It was only for, as Kim had said, three more winning games. After that …

  Georgia didn’t have a clue. Would they keep seeing each other? Or, if she was really only his lucky charm for the playoffs, would he be on to the next willing woman?

  That would hurt, which was dumb. What she’d have to do was move on herself.

  Before she’d met Woody, she was reconciled to being alone for the foreseeable future. Now she couldn’t help but hope that somewhere there was another compatible, loving man like Anthony, one who wanted marriage and kids rather than random lovers. A man who thought that finding his soul mate was the best thing in the world.

  In the meantime, for a few more nights anyhow, she had Woody. She’d make the most of them.

  She drove to Yaletown, let herself in, and changed into the sexy purchase she’d picked up at Agent Provocateur at lunchtime: a black slip-style nightie made of silk and lace, over a matching thong. Then she curled up on his black leather couch and opened her e-reader.

  Twenty-six

  A littl
e Lady Emma was the perfect way to relax and get in the mood for Woody. In the last scene Georgia had read, Emma had met the Comte for an afternoon tryst at a gazebo by the lake, out of sight of the Edgertons’ manor home. The sex had been distinctly steamy.

  Georgia turned to the next chapter.

  Though she wore her drab widow’s garb when she went down for dinner, Emma knew she looked her best, her blond hair gleaming and cheeks glowing. The tingly ache between her legs was a sensual reminder of the afternoon’s erotic adventure.

  As he handed her a glass of sherry, her host, Lord Edgerton, commented, “You look quite a different person from the woman who came to us from the city scant days ago. I do believe the country air suits you.”

  Le Comte de Vergennes joined them. A sly glint in his eye, he said, “I agree entirely. Lady Emma, you look splendid and I’m sure the country air is responsible. Indeed, I am having a most invigorating holiday myself.”

  It was a simple family evening, only Lord and Lady Edgerton, the Comte, and Emma. When they sat down to dinner, Emma was across the table from her paramour, and it was all she could do to remain decorous in word and deed.

  The man used double entendres with sophisticated ease, and she wondered that their host and hostess remained oblivious. Yet, of course, the last thing they’d imagine was a tryst between the rake from France and the genteel widow.

  Emma was torn between wishing the meal to end, and savoring every moment of watching the Comte’s expressive face and graceful hands as he ate and drank. Remembering the caress of those hands on her naked flesh, shivers of pleasure rippled through her. Over the rim of his wine goblet, his eyes offered her a silent toast—and a seductive promise.

  He would come to her chamber that night, when the household had retired. She could hardly wait.

  At the close of the meal, she was not the least bit surprised when, upon Lord Edgerton proposing that the two men retire to his study for brandy and cigars, the Comte said, “I beg your indulgence, but I think not tonight.”