Sexually Satisfied. Melissa Randall

      APHRODISIA

       KENSINGTON BOOKS

       http://www.kensingtonbooks.com

      Contents

      Chapter 1

      Chapter 2

      Chapter 3

      Chapter 4

      Chapter 5

      Chapter 6

      Chapter 7

      Chapter 8

      Chapter 9

      Chapter 10

      Chapter 11

      Chapter 12

      Chapter 13

      Chapter 14

      Chapter 15

      Chapter 16

      Chapter 17

      Chapter 18

      Chapter 19

      Chapter 20

      Chapter 21

      Chapter 22

      Chapter 23

      1

      “Thank you all for coming,” said the casting director, clutching his binder to chest. “You were all terrific, and we’ll be in touch soon.” He gave the six-foot blonde with the huge fake boobs a wide grin, which she returned with a flick of her long bleached hair. If this bimbo can convince the balding old fart that she finds him absolutely devastating, then she’s an Oscar-caliber actress who deserves the job, I thought caustically.

      I sighed, picked up my tote bag and trudged to the door with the other rejects. Another bomb of an audition. I couldn’t even get hired for a tampon commercial. It had been two…no, three months since my last job. If I didn’t land a role soon, I’d have to go back to the grind of office temping.

      As soon as I opened the door and stepped outside, the heat hit me like a blast furnace. I immediately felt sweat beading on my upper lip and trickling between my breasts. Oh, the joy of New York City in August. And now I had to take the subway, the stickiest, stinkiest sauna in the world.

      I staggered up to my third-floor apartment, pushed my way in and kicked off my shoes. “Apartment” was a bit of an exag geration. The ad had described it as a “charming, cozy studio” but “tiny rat hole” was really more accurate. I turned the ancient air conditioner to high; it immediately coughed, sputtered and died. “Goddamnit!” I shouted. I hauled out the floor fan, feeling tears of frustration pricking at my eyes.

      Five minutes later I was sitting half naked in front of the fan, sipping iced tea. I tried to remind myself of all the good things in my life. My boyfriend of three months, Steve, was the sweetest guy I’d ever met—and extremely cute in the bargain. I was beginning to wonder if he was The One. Anita, my best friend since sixth grade, was supportive and fun and loyal. Even on a sweltering summer day, New York was infinitely preferable to boring Hanover, New Hampshire. And I’d had some success with my acting career; if I could just hold on until the big break came…

      My cell phone rang, and before I even flipped it open, my telephonic telepathy set in. I just knew it was Steve. We’d talked about getting together tonight, and now I really needed his company.

      “Hey, Gillian,” he said. “Have you melted yet in this heat?”

      “No, but I wish I could. I had a thoroughly shitty day.” I proceeded to moan and groan and complain, knowing Steve would be sympathetic. He’d been through enough lousy auditions before landing the plum role of Winston on the long-running soap Nights of Passion.

      I finally ran out of complaints. “So, what would you like to do tonight?”

      Steve was strangely silent. Usually he was an expert at pulling me out of a bad mood.

      “Is something wrong, Steve?”

      He hesitated. “No…. Well, yes. I don’t know how to say this, Gillian…. I planned to get together with you tonight to discuss it. But I think it’s better to do it over the phone.”

      I never understood the phrase “my heart sank” until that moment. “You want to break up with me,” I said woodenly.

      He heaved a long sigh. “I’m sorry, really I am. I like you so much, Gillian, and we had some great times together. But I don’t think we’re compatible.”

      My throat tightened. “I don’t understand. We’re interested in the same things, we’re in the same business, we enjoy doing the same things—”

      “It’s not that. I just think we’re not compatible…sexually. In bed. It’s never been very good for either of us.”

      I was stunned. True, Steve and I didn’t have the best sex life, but, god, I had tried to spice things up. He had never seemed interested in trying anything new. It was the same routine every time.

      “Look, Steve, I understand what you’re saying, but we could work on it—”

      “No…Gillian, I’m really sorry. The truth is that I’ve met someone else.”

      My shock deepened. I couldn’t speak. I just sat there as Steve rambled on, apologizing, swearing it wasn’t my fault….

      I finally interrupted him. “Okay, Steve, good luck.” I hung up abruptly and burst into tears.

      Once the worst had subsided, I called Anita’s cell. Voice mail, damnit. “Hi, Anita, please call me back as soon as you can…. Steve just broke up with me.” I hiccupped. “It came out of the blue. I’m feeling lousy right now…. Thanks.”

      I washed my face with cold water, praying Anita would call back soon. I hope she’s not having one of her party-hearty club nights, I thought. When Anita was in that mood, she made Samantha from Sex and the City look like a shrinking violet. But Anita was so honest and grounded, the only person I could really talk to about deep emotional stuff. We’d met when we were both twelve and dreaming of fame and fortune in New York. A few months after high school graduation, we moved together to the city. My success had been modest, but Anita’s modeling career had taken off. She hadn’t reached single-moniker supermodel status, but she was well on her way.

      My cell rang, and I snatched it up. “Anita?”

      “Gillian, are you okay? I got your message…. God, I’m sosorry. What happened?”

      “I don’t know. He just said we weren’t compatible in bed. Then he said he’d met ‘someone else.’ That was it. The end.”