Frenemies(13)

“Chris Starling is your boss!” I was scandalized. Being that scandalized made my head throb, and I rubbed at my temples. “He’s married! He’s practically twice your age! And—hello—bald!”

“Yes, I’m aware of that. The true horror is that I was so lonely, I actually flirted back,” Georgia confessed.

“No!”

“It was only for about thirty seconds, but it was a scary thirty seconds.” Georgia shuddered. “I blame Des Moines, or wherever the hell I was. It was so boring that I actually considered the idea. I actually considered sleeping with him.”

I blinked, but then thought about it for a moment.

“I bet he would be surprisingly good in bed,” I said. “I mean, there’s something to be said for men who can’t coast by on their looks, right?”

“How would I know?” Georgia asked wryly. “The only men I ever meet are entirely too good-looking, know it, and are complete *s.”

“You have to get over that,” I told her. “I mean, where does it end?”

“Please don’t tell me you’re suggesting …” She couldn’t finish. She looked at me. “What exactly are you suggesting?”

I looked at my gorgeous friend, who spent all of her emotional energy on the kind of career-driven, flashy guys who had already maxed out their emotional energy banks on themselves. They all talked the same high-power, adrenaline-infused game, and they all left Georgia sobbing in her empty apartment when they were through with her.

“If you don’t have the whole young-and-pretty thing going for you, you have to make up for it,” I theorized. “Guys like Chris Starling are almost forced to develop other skills.” I frowned. “Although not actually Chris Starling himself, because he’s married. Ew.”

“What are you talking about? Relationship skills?” Georgia smirked. “The kind where you learn how to say, ‘My needs aren’t being met’ in words, not in suddenly moving to Jacksonville?” I winced. Georgia’s last breakup had been particularly harsh.

“Among other things,” I said.

Georgia shifted from one foot to the other. “I think Chris Starling might be one of those average, older guys who thinks of himself as hot just because he has money. One of those guys who thinks, okay, maybe he’s not Brad Pitt, but he’s rich, so that makes up for it.”

“Presumably missing the key point about Brad Pitt,” I said. “That being that he’s hot and rich.”

“It’s a guy thing,” Georgia said. “They truly believe that money makes them good-looking. It’s such a strange delusion. Because let’s be honest—it makes them rich, which isn’t the same as good-looking, although it will garner you the same results. That being a hot chick.”

“A money-grubbing hot chick,” I amended.

“Yes, but what do you care? You get to sleep with a hot chick.” Georgia ran her hand through her dramatic hair and rolled her eyes as she scrunched a handful of it in her palm. “We shouldn’t talk. Women do nutty things, too.”

“Like what?” I asked. “Women don’t think a good job makes them a supermodel.”

“No, but let’s say you had sex and it was lame.” Georgia looked speculative. “You would absolutely do that girl thing where you tell yourself that, you know, he was just nervous and then you keep trying but it’s still lame and then you just shut up about it, because sex isn’t that important and there are so many other facets to a relationship, and it’s not like it’s bad, exactly—”

I glared at her. “Why would I do that?”

“I’m using the general you.” Georgia made a face at me. “I think that women are always putting up with a whole lot less than they should. It’s like a reverse delusion. Men think they deserve better, women think they deserve less. That’s just how it goes.”

“With that kind of attitude, I’m not surprised you’re still single!” singsonged Helen, rearing back up in front of us. I jumped about five feet in the air, while Georgia looked as if she’d turned to stone.

“What?” I asked, not even pretending to be polite.

“Nate and I were just talking, and we have the best idea!” Helen continued blissfully.

“I very much doubt that,” Georgia snapped at her.

“What you two need to do is get in the game!” Helen exclaimed. “And lucky for you, I have a surprise. Two guys you will not—”

“If you’re leading where I think you’re leading,” I told her, “I think I might actually—”

“Helen.” Georgia interrupted me and leaned in. She towered over Helen, and looked as if she might reach over and pluck off Helen’s wings. “Whatever you think is happening here, you need to stop. Back off.”

“They’re brothers,” Helen continued as if she hadn’t heard us. “And okay—not exactly Luke and Owen Wilson, but who is? It’s not like we girls can afford to care that much about looks once we cross the Big Three Oh!”

“Excuse me?” Georgia was even more appalled. “No one here is thirty yet, for the love of God!” Helen ignored her.

Once again, it was like I was trapped on a train, and there was no getting off. There was only the inevitable horror.