Manwhore (The Manwhore Book 1)

Gina and Wynn are worried that I blew up at my mother’s house yesterday morning.

After Malcolm drives me home, I ask Gina to give me half an hour to shower and change. I hop into the shower, daydreaming a little bit as I rub my body and feel how tender I am between my legs. Gina is scowling and clearly concerned when I come out.

“What’s going on? Talk to me,” she goads as we head to meet Wynn that afternoon. “You were with Saint all this time?”

“Yes,” I admit.

“And? Did you break it off? Or did you call Helen? What’s going on? I’ve been deliberating and I don’t think dumping your career for a man is a good move. Especially a man with a reputation. When he breaks your heart, you can’t even say you didn’t see it coming, Rachel!”

I tune out a little bit as she keeps going because, at this point, my empty stomach is filling with bile over my own decision—the one I have to make soon.

When I don’t agree with or reject her suggestions, Gina switches gears and suddenly can’t stop talking about how great it is to be single. Does she want to make me feel better because obviously Saint and I are going nowhere? Or is she concerned and thinking I would actually dare go out with Saint publicly and expose myself to the same scrutiny he’s subjected to?

No. She’s in full protective mode, and she wants me to end it, and end it now.

“I plan to live my life eating cake without being judged, painting my nails in whimsical colors, spending my own money my way, and leaving with debt. That’s the way I want to go. It means I took risks,” Gina says.

“Huge risks, Gina,” Wynn says sarcastically. She seems to be arguing the opposite side today as we sit in our usual booth. “Painting your nails and eating cake and spending money—the real risk is getting out there even after asshole Paul broke up with you.

“For a while now the only touch you’ve gotten is from your manicurist. That’s how you and Rachel were both getting touched, just to get someone to touch you in any capacity.”

“For your information, Rachel and I have been boinking our brains out. See, Rachel hardly has any left. She’s in love with a guy who I bet slept with some waitress around here or something. And maybe even a few more. Maybe even one of us!”

“Gina!” I cry.

“Who are you boinking?” Wynn dares.

“My dildo!”

“Woo-hoo.”

She narrows her eyes. “He broke my heart, Wynn! You’re the one who always drops your boys. You both lose steam and you’re gone. I love with my whole heart! He took my heart, all his warm shirts I loved sleeping in, all my trust. Even my coffeemaker walked out that door with him.”

“Gina, Wynn, it’s okay,” I try to placate.

Gina stands. “I thought we didn’t judge each other. I’m going to get a massage—and continue living my ideal life whether you like it or not!”

“Wynn, way harsh,” I chide when Gina walks away.

“I don’t judge, Rachel! I was arguing my point that at least I put myself out there and you two don’t.”

“We all do. What’s wrong if sometimes it’s so scary we want to do it in private in case we fuck up? Sometimes we’re drawn out of our shells whether we want to be or not.”

“I’ve never known anything to draw you out of yours. You’ve got your ideas and your safe zone and that’s it.”

“I’m in love, Wynn.”

I sit here, and once the words are out, the feeling—inside me so long—suddenly has a name, and it’s real. And it hurts. All this talk about the guy’s shirts and coffeemakers and I realize I do sleep in his shirt, but I’d do anything to sleep in his arms more than a few times. To have more than one shirt to sleep in. I don’t share a coffeemaker but I’d do anything to wake up another morning with him and have coffee with him while his hair is rumpled.

“I’m in love with Saint,” I say softly.

Wynn is staring at me in complete worry and confusion, her blue eyes wide in shock. A lock of red hair had fallen over her eye a few minutes ago, but suddenly she has to reach out and push it back so she can stare straight at me.

“I’ve fallen completely in love. Spectacularly so. If you want a front seat for the debacle, I’m sure there’ll be blood.”

Wynn sighs, then grabs my hand. “There’s never a right time for you to fall. It’s why they call it falling. It’s an accident. In one second. Just pray that wherever you land, you’re not there alone.”

“Wynn, I didn’t even know I wanted it. That I wanted to be worshipped this way. Even with no makeup and completely bare. I’d never wanted someone to touch me every chance he got. I’d never wanted to make excuses to touch someone else just so I can feel his warmth and how solid he is and know I didn’t imagine him. My life has been inside this box and then he’s solid and there and makes me feel something that is endless . . . I thought I knew what I wanted. Then I met him, and I don’t know anything anymore.”

“You want something else and that’s fine,” Wynn says, like it’s as easy as changing nail color.

“It’s not fine. Do you realize who he is? I’m setting myself up! I want the impossible. Men like him don’t change.”

“I beg to differ! People are always changing, it’s the law of evolution; we change. For the better. To survive.”

“Who thinks it’s for the better?”

“He will. Because being with you means something, it means he gets to be a good guy. You can give him purpose. He can give you safety. A girl who challenges you and brings out the best in you, that’s what a smart man values . . . even if he doesn’t know it until he meets her. And Saint’s a smart one, Rachel. Do you think he doesn’t know what ninety-nine percent of the people surrounding him want from him? You’re a good girl, Rachel. You can’t cook to save a recipe, but any guy would be lucky to have you.” She pauses. “Does he know?”

I shake my head and softly say, “Not yet.” I’ve got a farmful of critters in my stomach just thinking of telling him, and the biggest of them is called fear. “Like you just said . . . I’m afraid to go out on a limb and then find myself just standing out there alone.”

“Is he seeing other people?” Wynn asks, her expression concerned.

I wait for the waitress to leave a basket of Italian focaccia with a little plate of olive oil on the side before I continue. “I never went in having any expectations of him being exclusive, but . . . I don’t think he is seeing anyone else. He still hangs out with floozies but . . . he and I are having a lot of sex. A lot of sex, Wynn.”

Her eyes brighten. “For a nonmonogamous animal like he is, this is huge! Sex with only you?”

I feel myself blush hotly; all the talk about sex only reminds me of the powerful high of having Saint inside me.

“Don’t be restrained by rules,” she then chides. “Just go with your emotions. All those great romances, they’re not planned, they just happen.”

“That’s the thing—no matter how crazy it sounds, I want to be swept away. I do. I want to believe it could happen to me for once.”

“So?” she dares. “You’re already headed that way. Wouldn’t you rather go with it than fight some war you might not even want to win?”

“It’s not that simple, Wynn.” I fall back in my chair with a weary sigh. “I don’t know how Helen will take it when I let her know I’m not doing this. Edge is on its last breath. Even if Saint could change and want something real with me, I’d be putting my own happiness before how many people’s jobs? It’s killing me.”

“Edge will die anyway.”

“No.” I instinctively deny it with a shake of my head. “This would have injected new life. . . .”

“And you, Rachel?” She looks at me as if to her, my well-being is worth so much more than the well-being of the dozens of people working at Edge. She looks at me as if one small card—me—trumps all the rest. “And my friend Rachel, what about her?”