Page 63 of Always You (A Lilac Bay Novel)

“I would hope not,” I told her. “Considering the fact that you’re my landlord, not my mother.”

“I’m just saying I support you, dear.”

I raised my wine in her direction. “Thanks, Sher.”

“I notice you’re not denying it,” Cora said. “So you are hooking up with him?”

“I’m not.” I took a swig of my wine and smiled at her. “Yet.”

That, of course, elicited several wolf whistles from the girls, and a little squeak from Jenny.

“You haven’t even been on a date yet!”

“Which is why I’m joking,” I told her.

“Oh.” She looked embarrassed, but then she smiled, her eyes sparkling with mischief. “He is awfully cute. I wouldn’t blame you for hitting that.”

I nearly choked on my wine, and Libby had to pound me on the back. By the time my eyes had stopped watering, Jill was well on the way to redirecting the gossip towards her.

“No one ever cares about my love life,” she said, her usually husky sex-kitten voice sounding very near to whiney. “Why doesn’t anyone ever ask me ifI’mseeing anyone?”

“Because,” Libby told her patiently. “We all know that you’re going to tell us whether we ask you or not.”

“And whether we want to hear it or not,” Iris added.

“Well,” Jill said, taking on an expression of martyrdom that really didn’t fit her in the slightest, “maybe I wouldn’t always be the first to offer up information about my love life if my best girlfriends ever showed the slightest interest in my relationships.”

“Maybe if your relationship stories didn’t so often involve handcuffs and whips, we would be more interested,” Cora said, to a chorus of laughter.

Never one to be embarrassed by her interest in sex, Jill bowed from her stool, a wicked grin on her face. “You’re just jealous, Cora. A few whips and chains might do you good.”

“Oh, God,” Posey muttered. “Do we have to have the whips and chains conversation again?”

“Yeah,” I called out. “You’re going to scare Jenny away.” I was joking, but there was some truth to the statement. Jenny’s wide-eyed gaze was currently flicking back and forth between Cora and Jill, and I couldn’t quite tell if she was fascinated or terrified. Or maybe a little of both. In any case, her bawdy teasing from a few moments ago was long gone.

Jill turned her smile in Jenny’s direction, and I was pretty sure the terror won out on my friend’s face. “I always find that fear heightens the experience, don’t you?”

“Oh, sit down you poser,” Sherry called from the back. “I’ve got years of experience on you in the bedroom department. I could tell you a thing or two.”

Posey slapped her hands over her ears, but the rest of us were laughing.

“Sorry, Jenny,” Libby said, patting the younger woman’s arm. “Some of these girls can’t seem to help devolving into sex talk when they get tipsy. They’re as bad as pre-teen boys.”

“People will assume Jill is the worst because of the whole sexy librarian look,” I added. “But I’d put my money on Sherry. She can be downright filthy when the mood strikes.”

“Does Jill really use handcuffs and whips?” Jenny whispered.

“I think it’s all talk,” Libby assured her.

I wasn’t so sure I bought that, but I figured there was no sense in freaking Jenny out any more than she already was. Though everyone was laughing right now, I knew that there were people in this room who had a pretty low opinion of Jill. And there were definitely people in the town at large who looked down on her. That, apparently, was the consequence of being a woman who enjoyed sex and wasn’t afraid to talk about it. Particularly in a small town. Personally, I’d always found Jill’s frank discussion refreshing and pretty damn amusing. And there was no doubt she looked pretty killer in her endless wardrobe of pencil skirts and tight blouses.

More power to her, I thought, looking down at my normal uniform of faded jeans and old track t-shirt. Not for the first time, I wondered what it would be like to be so confident, so feminine, like Jill. I just wasn’t born with the right genes, I supposed. But that was no reason to blame Jill for flaunting hers.

“I don’t know about that, Sherry,” Jill was saying smugly. “Maybe you should ask Andrew Powell about my bedroom experience.”

Wait—what did she just say?

I turned to gape at her, certain I hadn’t heard that correctly.