Read Online Sex on Tuesdays by June Whyte - Free Book Online Page B

shook my head and began rooting around in my tote bag for the keys to my car. “I’ll leave Joe until tomorrow. After I’ve had a sleep.” Suddenly I couldn’t face the prospect of my brother-in-law’s blustering face and loud voice. “If I go in there now, who knows, the old buzzard might have a heart attack. And I’m in no condition to listen to Penny rant at me at his funeral.”
    â€œOkay, Dani. Go home after you see Megan and I’ll write up a disclaimer for you and add it to your column.”
    â€œAppreciate it.”
    â€œMaybe I’ll ring later and fill you in on what our exulted leader had to say. And remember, if you need to talk, or just want someone to eat pizza and watch a movie with tonight, I’m only a phone call away. Okay? “
    â€œThanks, Simon. You’re a good mate.” Leaning over, I kissed him on the cheek before climbing out of the car. Then, crouching low, so I couldn’t be seen by anyone inside the office, especially Joe, I dodged quickly from car to car until I found my Futura.
    Tuesday, 4:00 p.m.
    Megan Starr amazes and sends me aback all over again, every time.
    When my co-researcher sashayed through the door of the little coffee shop, I thought for the hundredth time, how could this exotic, movie-star-look-alike be a middle-aged ex-prostitute? Hell, the woman looked 28 instead of 48. Flawless skin, model thin and ready to pose for any passing cameraman at the drop of a garter belt.
    Definitely not good karma for a mere mortal’s ego.
    When I’m with Megan, I feel so far down the food chain, the dogs won’t even look at me. And today was no exception. My hair, slipping from its confines, straggled around my face, while Megan could have stepped straight out of a trendy hairdressing salon. Okay, I’d just stepped out of a police station so maybe I had an excuse, but even on my best days, the dogs still didn’t give me a second glance.
    Megan smiled at a passing waiter who almost tripped over his feet in his hurry to attend to her. “We’ll have two caramel lattes and two carrot cakes, please.”
    Dropping several shopping bags under the table, she made a great production of wriggling into the chair opposite me. I could see by the swanky labels, most of the bags were from Le Faye, an exclusive, up-market shoe shop that had only opened a month ago.
    â€œSo,” she drawled, “how the hell are you, Danielle?”
    â€œNot great,” I replied, unable to take my eyes off the woman. How did she do it? She was dressed in red leather—which on me would have been a joke—but on Megan only emphasized her spectacular body. Of course, it also made every male over twelve go weak in the knees. Her feet were resplendent in a pair of strappy high heels that would have cost more than I made in a month. Yet Megan was retired. Just showed how lucrative prostitution was. As opposed to working at McDonald’s part time until I graduated with a useless BA degree, and then spending several unexciting years managing a coffee shop. It wasn’t until my sister Penny coerced her husband into giving me a job writing for the paper that my work suddenly became important to me. More so since I’d taken over the “Sex on…” columns.
    â€œSorry I couldn’t make it for lunch,” I said, leaning forward and catching the overpowering scent of her Poison perfume. I coughed. “As it turned out, I had other things on my plate.”
    Megan lifted one beautifully penciled eyebrow. “From what I hear, it wasn’t a boiled egg with toast fingers, either.”
    Geez. The grape vine moves quickly, but this was ridiculous. Here’s me, spat out of the police station less than two hours ago and the rest of the world knew. I lifted my never-been-plucked-and-not-likely-to-be-plucked eyebrows at her. “How do you know that?”
    â€œAlice.”
    Of course .
    â€œThat woman is