Read Online Friends with Benefits by Melody Mayer - Free Book Online

back!”
    Okay, so Marym had seen Tom naked—another brick of evidence for the theory that Marym had been the one in bed with Tom at the Hotel Bel-Air.
    â€œOh, look!” Marym waved at someone across the room. “Natalie’s finally here. Thank God. Someone who speaks Hebrew besides my father.”
    Kiley turned to spot a young woman who she was pretty sure was Natalie Portman near the front door, looking casually perfect in worn jeans and a black ballet-style tank top.
    â€œExcuse me; I want to say hello.” Marym kissed Tom’s cheek. And then, an afterthought: “Nice to meet you, Kiley.” She moved off through the crowd as the piano player segued into “As Time Goes By.” It was surreal; Kiley felt as if her life had acquired a sound track.
    â€œWow, so she’s seen you—” Kiley began, trying to sound casual, but Tom cut her off before she could utter the word “naked” again. It was becoming a recurrent motif, but not necessarily in the way that she had envisioned.
    â€œYou hungry? I think there’s a buffet by the bar.”
    Suddenly, Kiley was desperate for fresh ocean air. “You go ahead. I’ll be . . . out front . . . on the beach.”
    â€œGreat idea,” Tom agreed.
    As he edged through the crowd to the buffet, Kiley made a beeline for the front door, thoughts tumbling atop one another like a collapsing house of cards. Were Tom and Marym still an item? If so, why had he invited Kiley to this party? It couldn’t possibly be to make Marym jealous. That was a ridiculous notion. Marym could have any man she wanted, and probably a good percentage of the women, too. Maybe they were friends with benefits. If so, what then? What guy would give up a friend like Marym, a friend with the kind of benefits that Kiley had heard—if not seen—her provide?

8
    â€œBilly Martin, who knew you had a romantic soul?”
    Billy had called Lydia’s cell that afternoon to announce that his boss, Eduardo, had decreed they were actually ahead of schedule on set construction for the Yves Saint Laurent show at FAB, and that Billy could have the evening off. Did Lydia want to hang out?
    Definitely.
    In that case, he’d planned a surprise, which turned out to be an elegant picnic at a little-known park just south of the main drag in Pacific Palisades. The park was perched on a cliff overlooking Will Rogers Beach, and featured a view from Redondo Beach in the south all the way up to Malibu in the north. The Santa Monica Pier was only three miles away; Lydia remembered it from the premiere party for
The Ten
that she’d attended with Kiley and Esme.
    Lydia had borrowed her clothes with care: a beige Marc Jacobs cropped cotton jacket with oversized antique buttons, a pale blue Chloé sequined T-shirt, and white Hot Kiss shorts with unfinished hems. She’d recently seen the exact same Marc Jacobs jacket on Jessica Alba at the country club. Kiley had pointed Jessica out to her; otherwise, honestly, Lydia would have had no clue that she was famous.
    Though Billy claimed to be a killer cook, he admitted that he’d picked up a few things at Gelson’s market because time was of the essence. As the sun dropped lower in the sky, he spread out an old-fashioned red plaid blanket and unpacked a feast from a wicker picnic basket: cold roast lemon chicken, curried prawns, giant strawberries dipped in white chocolate, and a bottle of Chassagne-Montrachet ’82 packed in a container that Billy claimed would keep the wine cooled to optimum temperature. He’d even brought a small boom box, from which came a male voice crooning a very sexy song.
    â€œWho’s the singer?” Lydia asked. She sprawled on the blanket, a half-eaten succulent strawberry in hand.
    â€œMarvin Gaye. ‘Sexual Healing.’ ”
    â€œI like it,” Lydia decided, tapping a toe to the funky beat. She bit into the strawberry again; juice ran