does with it that makes the difference.”
The first woman snorted. “Oh, come on, Cilla. The guy’s twenty-two,” she said, taking a swig of her margarita. “He doesn’t know enough to do anything with it. With them, it’s just in and out, with maybe a few hours sleep in between. At least if it’s big, he’s got a fighting chance to do some good.”
Sabrina ducked around the corner. “On the other hand, there’s a limit to size. It has to be big enough for basic purposes, but too much beyond that it just hurts.”
Six sets of eyes stared at her blankly.
“Sabrina? Good to see you, sweetie, but what the hell do you mean?” asked the tawny-haired woman, Kelly Vandervere.
Sabrina pulled up a chair at the table and signaled to the waiter for a beer. “Come on, admit it. We’ve all had to groan through getting pounded by some guy who thinks a monster boner and an ability to recite batting averages in his head is all he needs to send a woman to heaven. Size isn’t everything.” She speared a pickled jalapeño out of the bowl on the table.
“What are you talking about?” asked Cilla Danforth, an amused frown on her triangular, foxy-looking face.
It was Sabrina’s turn to look blank. “Tackle. Aren’t you?”
Laughter rose around her. “Apartments,” said Kelly, wiping her eyes. “We were talking about my little brother’s new apartment. Only someone with your filthy mind would think we were talking about dicks.”
“Sorry. It was the thought of all your dirty minds that made me assume you were talking about sex,” Sabrina said with dignity, taking her beer from the waiter. “So if you’re not talking about it, does that mean that nobody’s getting it?”
“Do you guys realize we’ve talked about sex every single week for the past five years? You’re obsessed. Let’s do something else for a change.” Dark-haired Thea Mitchell, dressed in her perpetual black, scooped up salsa with a chip and crunched it.
Cilla and Kelly looked at each other. “I like talking about sex,” Kelly offered.
“Yeah. It’s the next best thing to having it,” tossed in Delaney Phillips, a corn-silk blonde in a candy-pink lace camisole and a black choker. “I bet you’d change your tune if we just set you up with a man. We could do Trish, too, while we’re at it.”
“No way.” With her curly red hair skinned back from her face and no makeup, Trish almost managed to disguise her gorgeous bone structure. “I’m on dating sabbatical, remember? That’s why I hang out with you guys—to live vicariously.”
“Well, somebody’s got to be getting it.” Sabrina looked around the table.
“Possibly,” Cilla said. “Paige had a date the other night, I know, because she wouldn’t go to the gym with me.”
Cool and patrician, Paige gave a graceful shrug. “Nothing much to tell. He was just my escort to a fund-raiser.”
Five heads around the table perked up. “Spill it,” Kelly demanded.
Paige shook her head and the blond layers of her expensive haircut swished and settled perfectly. “His name is Landon, and—”
“That should have sent you running right there,” Cilla interjected. “Never date a guy with a trust-fund name. I know these guys, Paige. You’re just asking for death by boredom.”
“Says the trust-fund kid herself,” Trish jabbed lightly.
“I don’t have a trust fund.”
Trish rolled her eyes. “I’m sorry, a chain of department stores.”
“The stores belong to my dad.” Cilla twisted her chunky amethyst David Yurman cocktail ring. “I’m just a working stiff like the rest of you, remember? Anyway, we’re not talking about me. The guy sounds like a preppster. Where did he grow up, Paige?”
“Greenwich, Connecticut.”
“I rest my case,” Cilla said smugly.
“He was nice enough. Smart, well-informed.” She paused while the waitress set plates of quesadillas in front of them. “Good job in the legal department at Fox.”
“Yeah, yeah, yeah.” Delaney wrinkled her snub nose. “Get to the good stuff. How did he kiss?”
Paige aimed a chilly look at Delaney, who merely grinned.
“Give it up, Paige. We’ve seen you cleaning the bathroom in your underwear.”
The cool look evaporated and Paige laughed. “I knew I was out of my mind when I moved in with you guys back then.”
“Are you kidding? We taught you how to have a good time. Now tell us about the kiss,” Kelly ordered.
Paige eyed them. “Too wet. Too much tongue, too quickly.”
“Sounds like a first kiss,” Thea muttered, taking a sip of her iced tea.
“Was that how your first kiss was?” Cilla asked her. “That’s too bad. Mine was pretty good. Jason Stilton, third grade.”
“Third grade?” Paige raised an eyebrow.
“He was precocious,” Cilla said.
“Or someone was,” Delaney said. “I didn’t get my first kiss until eighth grade. “Jake Gordon, boyfriend number one.” She sighed a little dreamily.
“I don’t remember the name of my first kiss, but I bet the location’s got you all beat,” Kelly wagered.
“I’ll bite,” Sabrina said. “Where?”
“On the Matterhorn at Disneyland.”
“The Matterhorn?” Sabrina reached out for a slice of quesadilla. “You know the make-out ride was the Haunted Mansion.”
“Hey, you take what you can get when you can get it.”
Delaney snorted. “And when can you get it on the Matterhorn? Try it there, you lose some teeth.”
“You know the part where you’re getting pulled up the first hill? My girlfriend and I had met him and his buddy in line, so he was sitting behind me in the bobsled. I leaned back to say something to him and wham, full tongue and everything.”
“Nothing like jumping in at the deep end,” Trish said.
“Shocked the heck out of me. I was thirteen. I thought kissing was about lips. Then we got to the top of the hill and the ride started.”
“You didn’t keep kissing, did you?”
“God no. We’d have dislocated our necks, or at least lost our tongues.”
“Well, I don’t know about the first kiss, but my best kiss is still Carl Reynolds, that guy I dated last year,” said Cilla, reaching out for a pickled carrot.
“I
