a Let’s-Have-Sex outfit if I ever saw one,” Trina said with a smile.
Gracie looked down at the slinky halter dress she had on loan from Tess. The four-inch heels belonged to Cat, who never seemed to have any trouble attracting men. “That’s good because I’m definitely aiming for provocative.”
“I know what we should do,” Trina replied. “Let’s ask the expert. Hemingway’s around here somewhere.”
Paul Toscano, an aspiring writer whom Trina had nicknamed Hemingway, was a daily fixture at the bookstore. Every morning he arrived with his laptop and a sack lunch, then settled into his favorite nook to work on his book-in-progress until closing time.
“Hey, Ernest,” Trina bellowed, “come out here. We need your opinion on something.”
Paul emerged from between the bookcases, pushing his wire-rimmed glasses up on his nose. His shirt and jeans fit loosely on his slight build and his auburn hair and beard were in need of a trim. His soulful brown eyes fixed on Trina and Gracie could see a blush form beneath his whiskers.
“You called?” he asked Trina.
“Gracie has a hot date tonight,” Trina began, “and we need someone with a Y chromosome to tell us if this outfit she’s wearing will trip his trigger.”
His blush deepened as he turned his gaze to Gracie. “It’s very nice.”
Gracie wasn’t going for nice. She wanted Gilbert’s eyes to pop when he saw her. She wanted him to drag her up to his hotel room at the Claremont and ravish her. On second thought, she’d do the ravishing. After reading all those romances in her aunt’s collection, she was ready to bring some of those erotic scenes to life.
“Nice?” Trina echoed, staring at Paul. “You’re a writer. A wordsmith. Is that really the best you can do? How about sexy? Stunning? Irresistible?”
“Maybe I should take you with me to the reunion,” Gracie said to her, “in case Gilbert needs some prodding.”
“He won’t,” Paul said. “You look lovely.”
Gracie wished she could be as confident. Gilbert hadn’t responded to her e-mail, which wasn’t like him. So she’d made a call to the reunion coordinator, who’d confirmed that he’d be there.
She took a deep breath, wondering what it would be like to see him again after all these years. Though there had been some gaps in his communications to her the past couple of years, he’d recently started e-mailing her more than ever.
Their exchanges seemed more personal somehow, with a sexual undercurrent that intrigued her, made her feel closer to him than ever. Maybe because they were both nearing thirty and still single. Whatever the reason, it was long past time to discover if their friendship could lead to something more.
“I looked Gilbert up in an old yearbook,” Trina said, pulling one off the shelf. Between the Covers had every yearbook from Kendall High School dating back to 1934. “He’s not exactly what I expected.”
Gracie looked over Trina’s shoulder as she paged to the senior picture section of the yearbook.
“There he is,” Trina said, her finger tapping on his photo.
A stout teenage boy with shaggy dark hair, chipmunk cheeks and Coke-bottle bottom glasses that magnified his brown eyes stared back at Gracie. He wore a frayed denim jacket and a sullen expression, neither of which made him appear very appealing.
“Gilbert was never photogenic,” Gracie said in his defense. “And he told me he lost a bunch of weight five years ago and had Lasik surgery, so the glasses are gone. Besides, I’ve gone out with plenty of guys who looked great on the outside but were jerks on the inside. At least I know Gilbert isn’t a jerk.”
“You’re absolutely right.” Trina closed the yearbook. “Besides, who am I to judge? It’s not like I have a Gilbert or any other man knocking down my door.”
Paul cleared his throat and started to say something, but before he could get the words out, Trina abruptly changed the subject.
“I found a couple of possibilities in the real estate section today.” She moved to the counter and swiped the newspaper off the green marble top. “Not the best locations, but we obviously don’t have time to be picky.”
Gracie looked at the two items circle in red ink, guilt welling up inside of her. She hadn’t given enough attention to their impending eviction, leaving all the work to Trina as she’d worked on the presentation to the historical society. That would change after this weekend. Then she’d make finding a new home for Between the Covers her first priority.
But right now all she could think about was Gilbert.
She wondered if he really had changed much physically since high school. Not that it mattered. He made her feel special and that was more important than a handsome face or a buff body. Still, a few doubts lingered in her seduction plan. What if the sparks simply weren’t there? A wild weekend of hot sex wasn’t worth ruining their friendship.
Was it?
The fact that she could even ponder such a question was proof that her long sex drought had taken its toll. Between running the bookstore and taking care of her sick aunt, Gracie hadn’t been able to find much time for a social life.
“Here,” Trina said, digging into her purse. “You’d better take these.”
Gracie looked up from the newspaper to see Trina pull out a handful of colorful condom packages. Paul made a strangled noise in his throat at the sight of them.
“What?” Trina challenged, looking up at him. “You think a gimp can’t get lucky?”
“You’re not a…I never said…” Paul sputtered.
“Thanks,” Gracie interjected, taking the condoms from her.
Why couldn’t Trina see that the guy was totally in love with her? Or maybe she did see and just chose to ignore it. Paul wasn’t exactly Mr. Exciting.
“Now go out and have fun,” Trina said, propelling her toward the door. “And don’t worry about the store. I can handle everything here.”
“I’ll help her,” Paul said, then added quickly, “not that she needs it.”
Trina laughed and Gracie was surprised by the pinprick of envy inside of her. She’d never had a man look at her the way Paul looked at Trina. The closest she’d come was in high school when Gilbert had asked her to the senior prom. She’d suggested they go out for pizza and bowling instead, fearing he’d only made the offer because she’d whined so much about not having a date. Now, ten years later, she was about to invite him to sleep with her.
She hoped it was an invitation he couldn’t refuse.
ZACH STOOD IN THE BALLROOM of the Claremont Hotel wondering how he ever thought he could pull this off. The class of 1995 milled around him, their excited chatter punctuated by occasional shouts of recognition and giddy laughter.
He’d skipped his own high school reunion last year, where he no doubt would have felt as alien as he did now. Those days were a blur to him, mixed with unhappy
