All Over You. Sarah MayberryЧитать онлайн книгу.
what it boiled down to. Once she’d accepted that concept, her life had become so much easier. She’d become mistress of her own domain, so to speak.
So what was the whole yearning-pain-in-chest thing about?
Out of the corner of her eye, she saw that Sadie and Dylan were kissing again. She was just marveling at their endurance and the fact that they hadn’t been arrested for indecent happiness or something similar when the penny dropped— it was the sex.
Of course.
It had been a long time since she’d felt the warmth of another body against her own, a long time since she’d found release in a man’s arms. That was all. Who wouldn’t look at Sadie and Dylan’s obvious passion and feel a little…empty?
She shifted uncomfortably as she registered her own choice of words. Empty. Did she really feel empty? Her lips firmed. No, she did not. Definitely, she did not.
“Gracie, sorry I’m late.” It was Claudia, dressed in her signature black, her small frame vibrating with energy as always. Her Greek-American heritage was evident in the sparkle of her near-black eyes, the olive tone of her skin and the take- no-shit attitude in her straight shoulders.
“You’re not late, I was early,” Grace said.
As one, their gazes drifted to the front window where Sadie and Dylan were still kissing each other goodbye.
“How long has that been going on?” Claudia asked.
Grace sighed. “About five minutes. I figure one of them will need oxygen any second now.”
“We could turn a hose on them,” Claudia mused.
“Shame to ruin those nice leather jackets.”
“I guess.”
Claudia met Grace’s gaze across the table and laughed.
“Listen to us—envy dripping from every word.”
Grace shook her head, her claret-colored hair swishing around her shoulders.
“Not guilty, sorry.”
“Really?” Claudia sighed, eyes on Sadie and Dylan again. “Not even a little bit? Even though I’m way too busy to think about men at the moment, I still can’t help looking at them and feeling a little I-want-what-she’s-having.”
“Nope,” Grace said, ignoring the odd feeling she’d experienced mere minutes earlier. “Unless I can stuff a man and turn him into an umbrella stand, there’s no place for one in my home.”
Claudia choked out a laugh.
“Sorry, guys. Dylan and I just had some last-minute things to sort out.” Sadie was pink-faced and faintly breathless as she slid into the last chair at their table.
“Like whose tongue belongs to who, that kind of thing?” Claudia asked wryly.
“Yeah,” Sadie said, grinning unrepentantly.
All three of them smiled at each other and Grace registered how great it was to have some quality time with her friends. It was one thing to see each other every day in the production offices of Ocean Boulevard, the daytime soap where they all worked—Claudia as producer, Sadie as script producer and Grace as script editor—but it wasn’t quite the same as having time to laugh and talk without the pressures of work interfering.
“Cocktail time, ladies,” Grace said, passing around the menu.
“Excellent. I could slaughter something sweet and creamy,” Sadie said, smacking her lips together.
“Martini for me. Dirty,” Claudia said, wiggling her eyebrows suggestively.
“Now there’s a surprise,” Grace said.
Twisting in her seat, Grace made eye contact with the waiter. He shot to their table as though he’d been pulled on a string, his eyes lighting up as his gaze slid from Sadie to Claudia and back again.
That Sadie was many men’s idea of the perfect woman hadn’t escaped Grace’s notice over the years. And if men didn’t go for Sadie’s tall, blond, leggy good looks, they were usually pretty damn partial to Claudia’s petite perfection. Mentally resigning herself to being ignored, Grace adopted her best Bette Davis demeanor. Bette was a take-no-prisoners kind of woman, the type who didn’t give a snap of her fingers if men were attracted to her or not. It helped that Grace was wearing one of her favorite Bette Davis-era dresses, a 1940s dark-green crepe sundress with cap sleeves, a sailor collar and a short white tie.
Arching one eyebrow, she tapped a varnished nail on the menu to get the waiter’s attention. He managed to drag his gaze from Sadie and Claudia’s cleavage, only for his eyes to widen as he took in Grace’s substantial twin endowments. Grace growled low in the back of her throat. Just her luck, their waiter was a breast man. If there was one thing she hated more than being ignored, it was being ogled. Inevitably, his gaze would make it up to her face and she’d see the same old disappointment there as always. She was used to being the odd one out, the ugly duckling among the swans—but for four years now she’d opted to skip the part where men tried to weigh up the relative merits of her stupendous bosom versus her plain-Jane face—she much preferred to cut straight to the bit where she froze them in their tracks. It had become something of a hobby, in fact.
“Hey, up here,” she said, waving her fingers in his sight- line and directing his attention to her face.
He blushed and she tapped the menu again.
“One dirty martini, a Fluffy Duck—that’s right, isn’t it, Sadie?” she asked, checking with her friend even though she knew it was Sadie’s favorite cocktail. Sadie nodded and Grace eyed their waiter steadily as she delivered her own order, daring him to maintain eye contact with her and not check out her breasts again. “And I’ll have a Mojito.”
“Sure. Any meals?”
“We’re not ready yet. We’ll let you know when we are,” she said, waggling her fingers dismissively.
He nodded obediently and shot toward the bar to put their order in.
Claudia was shaking her head when Grace turned her attention back to the table.
“The way you treat men is almost a form of cruelty,” Claudia said. “Almost.”
“I know. I can never decide whether to be appalled or amused,” Sadie agreed.
“He deserved it.” Grace shrugged. “Imagine if women went around staring at men’s packages the way they stare at our boobs.”
“You do have a great rack, Gracie,” Claudia said, eyeing Grace’s chest impartially.
“Then he needs to learn to be more subtle and I’ve just taught him a powerful lesson,” Grace said.
“Sometimes I think you really hate men,” Sadie said sadly.
“Oh, I don’t care enough to hate them,” Grace drawled.
Sadie leaned forward, her expression earnest.
“Not everyone is a rat like Owen.”
“I know that.”
“I wonder if you do,” Sadie mused. “When was the last time you went on a date?”
“I honestly can’t remember. But do I look like a woman who’s pining for a man?” Grace asked, gesturing toward herself.
Sadie’s gaze traveled over Grace, obviously assessing her dead-straight burgundy-colored hairstyle, her severely straight bangs, her lush, full mouth outlined in deep-red lipstick, her ever-present chunky black-framed glasses and the smooth creaminess of her skin—her one acknowledged vanity.
“No. As always, you look fabulous. Except for the glasses.”
“There we go, then. And I love these glasses,” Grace said.