9.3
Once upon a time, I thought I could have a normal life in Denver, far removed from Washington, D.C. politics and my parents' careers. What a joke. Normal people don't get ph
one calls from the President when they're masturbating.
"I don’t know what's gotten into you, but I love the new Georgina. I wish I were there to see it in person."
"There's no ‘New Georgina’, Vi," I protest into the phone, flipping a page of the newspaper even though I've read nothing on it. The words are a blur, the large block print of the headlines melting together to become undecipherable. My evening routine involves reading several newspapers – it's old-fashioned, given that all of the news is online now, but I like it – except that tonight I've been staring at the same newspaper for an hour without seeing a single word on the pages.
"Are you sure about that?" Vi asks.
Am I sure? Hell, no.
I agreed to spend two weeks on a ranch with two of the hottest, most available professional athletes in the world, one of whom I've seen nearly naked and the other of whom has had his hands on my breasts. I've now had too many fantasies about both of them fucking me – at the same time – to be in any way normal, and the other day I had to shut my office door behind me to masturbate thirty seconds after they left because I couldn't contain myself.
I don't even know where the hell Old Georgina – the girl who has been functioning just fine on a diet of all work and no sex – is right now. New Georgina seems to have taken over my body.
"Totally sure," I lie.
"Because it seems to me that New Georgina could be a bit of a ho," Vi jokes.
"I am not!" I protest, trying to suppress the image that flashes into my head of me bent over my desk, finger-fucking myself to the thought of Adriano and Nathaniel both taking me. "I only agreed to this because it's a good idea for the charity. Two professional athletes at the camp will be great for the kids. They're going to love it."
"Right. This has nothing to do with having the hots for those professional athletes."
"Okay," I admit, my voice faltering. "This thing on the ranch might be the worst idea ever. What's gotten into me?"
Vi snorts. "Well, it's obvious what you'd like to get into you..."
"I don't want either of them getting into me, thank you very much. They're – completely inappropriate. Adriano flew a blow-up doll over my house because he wanted to get my attention!"
"It worked, didn't it? I mean, he already grabbed your attention pretty well when he answered the door naked, let's be honest."
"Sure, Adriano is attractive. Obviously. He's all ripped and tattooed and he definitely has a bad boy thing going, but –"
"So does Nathaniel," Vi points out.
"Nathaniel is different." Nathaniel isn't over-the-top the way Adriano is, the one who's clearly used to women throwing themselves at him. He's quieter than Adriano, more intense. When I think about the way he looked at me that night of the event, like he wanted to consume me, it makes me wet. I clear my throat. "Neither of them is a good choice. They're both about as far from appropriate as you can get."
"Are you trying to convince me or yourself?" Vi asks. "Because I'm not the one who conveniently arranged to have a private two week getaway in the middle of nowhere with two of the most eligible bachelors in professional football."
"I did not ‘arrange for a getaway’," I state firmly. "This is a charity camp, and I do it every year for the first set of campers, thank you very much. I didn't start doing the camp because Adriano Jackson and Nathaniel Ashby showed up to volunteer their time." I'm suddenly very defensive, my words spilling out more and more rapidly.
Vi laughs. "Whoa, girl. Slow down. I didn't say you started doing the camp because two hot-ass football players showed up."
I swallow hard. "Obviously. Because that's clearly not what's going on here."
"I just said that you arranged for two of the most eligible professional athletes to be alone with you while chopping wood shirtless and building fires and –"
"Do you have any idea what we do at the camp?"
"Well, right now I'm picturing Nathaniel Ashby and Adriano Jackson shirtless and sweaty."
Great. Now I can't help but picture Nathaniel and Adriano shirtless. Apparently I pause for longer than I think, because Vi laughs. "Clearly you are, too," she observes.
"The summer camp isn't going to be a problem," I declare, more for my benefit than for hers.
"Keep telling yourself that, Georgina."
Adriano
"Oh my Lord," Mama Ashby says, her hand flying to her mouth.
She stands in the middle of the living room in the same tiny split-level house she and her husband Paul have lived in for the past forty years. Nathaniel periodically tries to buy them a new house, but they refuse every time. Bess Ashby jokingly accuses him of trying to get them to settle in a retirement village full of old people, “and we're not old!"
"Do you like it?" Annie pauses just inside the living room.
"Where did half of your hair go? And did you fall into a vat of fruit punch?" Bess wipes her flour-covered hands across the front of her apron, giving Annie a half-amused, half-appalled glare.
Annie grins, pleased with herself for eliciting the reaction from Bess, practically running across the room and dodging four yippy Jack Russell terriers to throw her arms around the woman. "It's cute, right?" she asks, her hand going to her head.
I roll my eyes. "Cute isn't exactly the word I'd use."
"Shut up, Adriano. You're so old, how would you know what's hot right now? I like it and my friends like it.” Annie sticks her tongue out at me.
“Super mature, Banannie.”
"It's very…pink," Mama Ashby observes, looking at me from across the room, her eyebrows raised. I give her a what-can-you-do gesture, then return to surfing the internet on my phone. Nathaniel sits on the other side of the room, half-sprawled across the sofa because that's about all of him that can fit on the furniture, pointedly ignoring me. Ever since the whole Georgina Aschberg thing, he's been cranky as hell.
"Thanks! I figured I'd try something different."
"I need a change, too," Bess says, laughing. "Should I go pink?" She pats her greying hair, pulled back into a bun on the top of her head.
"Definitely," Annie says. "Paul would love it. He's cool. He has tattoos and works at a garage. You could rock the pink hair, Bess."
Bess laughs warmly. "Those tattoos are from his Navy days back when he was eighteen years old. Can you imagine? I'd be the only one at the Thursday night bridge game with pink hair."
Annie wanders over to the kitchen counter and picks through baked goods. "Did you make raisin bread for me?"
"Of course I did," Mama Ashby says, "Five loaves. Just in case your brother and Nathaniel want a little light snack."
"Light snack," Annie scoffs. "You need to watch your weight, big brother."
"Whatever. I'm in my prime."
Even if I were watching my weight, I'd throw that right out the window with Mama Ashby's cooking in play. She's always been of the belief that family dinners and a good dessert could solve most any problem, which is why come hell or high water, Nathaniel, Annie and I are required to come back to West Bend for monthly dinners. I missed last month – the first time in a year – and got an earful from Bess.
"You know I made apple pie for after dinner," Bess calls from the kitchen.
"Did Adriano tell you what he did for my birthday?" Annie asks. She leans back against the counter, biting into a piece of raisin bread.
"Are you going to just eat that right in front of me?" I yell. "Why don't you get me some while you're up?"
"You're so lazy, Adriano," she calls back. "Get up and make a piece of toast yourself."
"Just toss the rest of the loaf of bread at me. You know I'm going to eat it anyway."
"Were you raised in a barn, Adriano Jackson?" Bess stands with her hands on her hips, her expression stern but her eyes twinkling, indicating she’s not at all angry.
I immediately jump up anyhow, crossing the kitchen to kiss her on the cheek. “No ma’am.”
She swats me on the arm. “Don’t you forget your manners just because you’re rich and famous now.”
I grab my sister’s toast from her hand before she can object and shove half of it in my mouth, jumping backwards when she tries to hit me. “He doesn’t have any manners!” Annie yells.
