19.3
“How did you know it was a luxury ranch?” I interrupt.
“Let me finish,” Vi chides. “And, please, of course it was luxury. Nathaniel Ashby is a multi-millionaire. He’s not living in a tiny log cabin without indoor plumbing. Anyway, two hot football players, a luxury ranch, and one uptight and repressed Presidential daughter? I don’t need to be a rocket scientist to figure out that you got plugged six ways from Sunday.”
“I’m not uptight and repressed,” I protest, even as I wince at her blunt words. “And plugged? That’s really disgusting.”
“That’s right. Repressed,” Vi reiterates. “And sex is inherently disgusting – bodily fluids, ham-hocks slapping against each other, spooge-shooters spraying spooge…”
“Oh my God. Spooge? Who even uses that word? What is wrong with you?”
“I was just showing you that using the phrase plugged six ways from Sunday is in no way, shape, or form as disgusting as I am capable of being.”
“Can you spare me the evocative descriptions?”
“If you tell me why the hell a women who was spit-roasted by two very fine men is calling me at midnight when she should be in the middle of a football player sandwich.”
“Spit-roasted?!”
“You know, a cock in both ends,” Vi elaborates. “I assume that’s how it went down. Unless you were going right for double penetration from the get-go, in which case you’d have my very enthusiastic congratulations and utmost respect.”
“I’m being serious, Vi.”
“So am I. If you took it up the butt and in the cooch, I would offer you a very sincere congratulations, with only the tiniest hint of jealousy.”
I’m silent for a moment, pointedly ignoring her crude words. “I ran out of the room.”
“Oh my God, Georgina. You fled the scene when they were sticking it to you?”
“No, not when they were sticking it to me,” I clarify, exasperated. “That part was… well, good.”
“Good,” Vi interrupts. “You just had a threesome and all you have to say is that it was good? That doesn’t sound very good.”
The ache between my legs reminds me of exactly how good it was. “It was… crazy, Vi.”
I don't do crazy. I don't do wild or crazy or impulsive. I do… measured. In control.
“Uh huh. And that’s why you’re now hiding under your covers in your room, talking to me in whispers on the phone instead of sucking the spooge out of a football player’s dick.”
“Stop saying spooge.”
“Why. Does it make you hot?”
“Are you high?”
“Sober as a judge,” Vi says. “And for the record, I’m just trying to get you to laugh about this shit. You can’t take everything so fucking seriously or you’re going to drop dead of a heart attack.”
“I screwed two guys. Well, one. I went down on the other one. Vi, this is not what I do.”
“I know. That’s why I’m congratulating you. If you did it all the time, it wouldn’t be special. Georgina Aschberg, the most tightly-wound girl I know, had casual sex with two men at the same time.”
Casual sex. Her words hit me like a punch to the gut. She’s right. That’s all this was and nothing more. Nathaniel and Adriano are professional football players who have women throwing themselves at them all the time, and I’m the daughter of the President. It can’t be anything other than casual… even if I haven’t had sex in two years and I just dove right into the deep end of the pool, making it feel as uncasual as possible for me.
“You hooked up with two men and the world didn’t end,” she continues, but instead of reassuring me it just reminds me again that someone could find out.
“It very well could. We both know that.”
“That’s just slightly dramatic, don’t you think?”
“You know what I mean. The political world would explode if anyone discovered what happened.”
“So don’t let them find out.”
“Everything comes out, Vi,” I hiss. “It’s just a matter of time.”
“Don’t be ridiculous. People keep secrets for years. Think of all of the romance novels written about secret babies. Hell, think of all the politicians hiding affairs and secret babies. The three of you are mature, consenting adults who are perfectly capable of keeping secrets.”
“Well, I don’t know about the mature part,” I joke.
“Do I detect a hint of humor under your overstressed voice?” Vi asks.
“Slightly,” I admit.
“That’s a start,” Vi says. “Now, in all seriousness… tell me everything.”
“I’m not kissing and telling,” I protest, feeling protective of what happened between Nathaniel and Adriano and I.
“But it was good?”
“It was good. Really, really good.” Too good, in fact. Even now, exhausted after being “fucked six ways from Sunday” as Vi put it, my body craves their touch.
This is casual. It needs to be casual.
Someone needs to tell my body that, because right now it feels like it very well could be an addiction.
“So get back in the game,” Vi says. “Go get ‘em, tiger. Break a leg. Suck a cock – or two. Wake those boys up and put them inside you.”
I exhale heavily and roll my eyes, even if she can't see my face. “When you date athletes –"
"Screw," Vi corrects. "When I screw athletes. I occasionally date them, but go on."
"When you screw these jocks who are used to filthy, juvenile locker room talk, are they ever the ones appalled by your dirty mouth?"
"All the time, doll. All the time."
