How could I forget our regular debriefs after sexual encounters and misadventures?
“I’m not talking about this with you, Charm,” I say with neutral determination. “It’s not appropriate.”
“Oh, Bris, come on.” Charm levels a knowing look at me because in a past life, she did know all my dirt. “Remember we had a threesome with that guy from Penn? The one with the bumpy dick? I know how you sound when you come. I’m pretty sure telling me if your boyfriend is well hung doesn’t cross any lines we didn’t cross a long time ago.”
I groan because I try to forget that night with Crooked Dick. “Please don’t mention that when Grip gets here.”
I haven’t seen him in two weeks, and he’s coming straight from the airport. He did a few shows in Europe and recorded with some Danish producer Rhyson has been raving about. Needless to say, after not seeing him for thirteen days, under Charm’s watchful eyes, I’ll have to restrain myself from dry-humping him.
“Also,” I tell Charm, “I faked that orgasm, so don’t presume you know how I sound when I come.”
“You faked that?” Charm looks aghast then impressed. “Damn, you’re good.”
“Lots of practice.” I glance at my phone one more time to make sure I haven’t missed a text from Grip. “I’m serious, no talk of threesomes in front of Grip. His plane landed thirty minutes ago. I sent him the address and he should be here any minute.”
“He doesn’t know you did threes?”
“He doesn’t like that I did. Believe me, I do not want to hear about his either. We’re both pretty possessive, but I know he’s had his share.” I give her a flinty look. “Speaking of sharing, I don’t anymore, not him, so don’t even think about it.”
“Okay, okay.” Charm throws up her hands in defense. “I get it.”
“What do you get?” Charm often thinks she “gets” things about which she’s actually clueless, and I’m guessing my relationship with Grip qualifies as one of them.
“You’re exploring your options.” Charm’s smile is as dirty as a smudge on pristine paper. “Trying something different.”
“He’s not some exotic experiment.” I wince at the picture I think she’s forming in her head.
“You’re not . . .” Charm’s eyes narrow, speculate, and then widen. “You don’t think he’s, like, the one, do you?”
Before I can assure her he most definitely is the one, she goes on. “I assumed you’d land with someone like Parker.” She pours scandal and conjecture into her glance and shakes vigorously. “I mean, before he went to prison, of course, but anyone with that much money can always be redeemed.”
“Parker?” Revulsion is on spin cycle in my stomach. “Parker is a miscreant who cares only about himself. He’s cruel and perverted.”
I sit up straighter and tell her what used to be the unpardonable sin in her book.
“And he fucks like a boy. I practically had to hold his hand when we had sex.” I look at her meaningfully. “I mean that quite literally. I got myself off more often than not.”
“Through the years, my standards have lowered by necessity. I could live with DIY if I had all his millions.” Charm laughs at the disgust I know is evident on my face. “I’m just saying, men like Parker, that’s who we marry. We kno
w what it is. We’re UES, Bris.”
“I may have grown up on the Upper East Side, but you know it’s not all it’s cracked up to be.”
“Actually, it was every bit that it was cracked up to be for me.” Charm laughs in that way that always made me want to join in. She is outrageous, and what Grip would call “siditty,” but underneath all the posturing, she’s a good friend.
“But that was never enough for me,” I remind her quietly with a sad smile for the holiday breaks I spent at her house when my family was on the road. Our eyes exchange those memories before she goes on.
“And he’s enough?” she asks. “Grip is enough?”
“Oh, he’s more than enough.” I chuckle, a rich, satisfied sound even to my own ears.
“Is that your subtle way of telling me he has a big dick?” Her eyes light up with humor and curiosity.
“Believe me, there’s nothing subtle about it.” We share the kind of secret grin I only have with Charm and Jimmi, my two wildest friends.
“Now that I understand.” Charm’s glance turns contrite. “I didn’t mean to sound . . . like I sounded before, but you must admit, he’s a bit of a departure from the guys we’ve dated, the guys you’ve dated in the past.”
“I know that, but you have these labels for us. Everyone does. I’m Upper East Side, Hamptons, debutante, Ivy league. I’m Angela Gray’s daughter.” I lift my brows in expectation. “And he’s a rapper from Compton, right?”