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“Owen? Never. He’s not the type.”
“Why do you almost sound disappointed by that?”
I immediately retrain my voice. “I don’t. I mean, the guy was great, we just weren’t a good match.”
“Our little Emelia likes it…a certain kind of way, and Owen was too vanilla.”
“SONYA.”
“What?! It’s the truth. Don’t be shy. The guy was a total dud—I can’t imagine what sex with him was like. Straight missionary, no talking, in and out like a medical procedure.”
Sadly, she’s not wrong.
But still, I feel the need to explain. “I just want to feel free, and Owen almost made sex feel dirty, and not in a fun way. It’s like he thought it was something we shouldn’t be doing, something to hide and feel bad about.”
CJ waggles his eyebrows. “You know I can show you a good time if you want.”
“I’m not your type.”
He shrugs then catches sight of a cute guy walking past us on the sidewalk, and he’s already forgotten his offer.
Inside The Roosevelt Room, our outfits are immediately noticed and appreciated. CJ and Sonya lap up the attention, and Annette and I hang back, trying to be good sports.
“I need another drink,” Annette tells me, and I wholeheartedly agree.
The only way I’m making it through tonight is if I’m three sheets to the wind.
