Page 46 of Reckless Desire

Lo and I barely stifle a laugh.

“If you want more adventure in your life, I’ll take you on one of my trips.” Lo shakes her head.

Paris covers her face and groans, and I can’t help but giggle. “What else is on your list?” I ask.

She starts counting on her fingers. “Sky-diving, learn to speak Portuguese, travel to Italy on a small budget, one-night stand—"

“Careful with that one. I had a friend with benefits who believed we were heading toward happily ever after. It seems like the Lowe sisters are sending confusing signals.” I roll my eyes.

Paris crosses her arms across her chest and pouts.

“Not me.” Lo sighs. “My signals are all straightforward. Fun only. Speaking of which, I went to a swingers’ party,” she whispers, and we both whip our heads in her direction. She shrugs, her eyes sparkling with mischief.

“What?” I sit up straighter.

“With whom?” Paris rolls to her side and puts her hand under her cheek, as if ready for a bedtime story.

“Alone. Women can go alone. Only men need a partner to get in.” London shakes her head, annoyed by our lack of awareness.

“I thought you had a thing with Ash?” I swing my legs over the edge of my bed and lean closer, resting my elbows on my thighs.

Paris climbs across to sit next to me, almost knocking over the small side table between our beds.

“Who is Ash?” She scoots closer. We huddle together like we used to years ago when we shared a room.

London rolls her eyes. “Focus. I want to tell you about the party.”

I chuckle, and a bit of the tension from my shoulders disappears with the laughter. Hanging out with my two carefree sisters is a good idea, after all. “Okay, but please remember this is not a private space.”

To make my point, I look over my shoulder. Our reclining chairs are turned toward the fire with our backs to the lounge. We have more privacy than other guests since we snatched these spots.

Just the same, we garner attention from other guests with Paris’s confession and the ruckus she caused by jumping beds. Her clumsiness has always been a source of entertainment for the family.

A group of women is chatting in the corner and a couple seems to sleep behind us. Whispers and soft laughter hum across the room, so hopefully London will keep the volume down.

“So there were these two couples and they switched partners. One is screwing the other woman in the corner against the wall and the other two are on the couch. This gorgeous banker is eating me out on a sofa beside them.”

I don’t know if I should laugh or run. Actually, for the first time in my life I feel a pang of jealousy for London. I have never envied her wealth, her men, her social status. None of it. She pours herself into many causes and helps so many people that I often don’t even think about all this other stuff.

Right now I yearn for her free personality, her ability to enjoy life without fear or anxiety. Despite the trauma she went through as a young adult with her first love, despite her hard work to raise money for leukemia research, the expectations and burdens that come from her fairly public persona, London chooses fun. Recklessly. Unapologetically.

“The woman on the couch orgasmed and it was loud and looong. I mean she kept going and going. I was jealous. Like come on, bitch, my turn now. Suddenly, a thud and a yelp ripple through the room. The asshole in the corner drops the woman and crosses the place, all red with fury. He pulls the dude off his wife and starts yelling at her that she’s never come this hard with him and has she been faking her orgasms all their marriage. It was epic.”

“Oh, my God. How did it end?” Paris plasters a hand over her mouth, her eyes gleaming.

“The party fell apart, security was called, and needless to say the poor wife was the only one with an orgasm that night.” London shrugs and plops back into her recliner.

“And a memorable one.” My shoulders heave with silent laughter.

“Cheers to that. I wish I had snatched that man at the beginning.” Lo winks.

We sit in silence for a moment to stifle the giggles.

“So what about you and Ash?” I don’t know why I ask, because the topic is dangerously close to the other topic I’m trying to avoid.

“We’re somewhere between casual and over. I can break it off if it bothers you.”

“Who is Ash?” Paris throws her arms up in frustration.

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