“Hi. Is this…” I trailed off, ripping my gaze back to Naomi. “Wait. I don’t actually know his real name. What if he thinks it’s a wrong number?”
“He won’t. Just tell him it’s his Southern belle.”
“I’m not his. Nor will I ever be.”
“Trust me. Men love that shit. He’ll dig it. Go on.”
I pushed out a deep breath, then returned to this ludicrous fake phone call. “Hi, Chris,” I said in a chipper voice. “It’s Belle.”
Naomi held up a hand. “I’m going to stop you right there. You sound like you’re reading off a script. Or doing a cheer.”
“What do you expect? This isn’t real.”
“Pretend it is. I need less infomercial. More Mrs. Robinson.”
“This is ridiculous,” I muttered, then stood, thinking it would be easier if I didn’t look at Naomi. “Chris, it’s Belle,” I said evenly, purposefully trying to sound less like a news anchor.
“Belle,” Naomi replied in a flirtatious tone. “I wondered if you would call.”
“Well, it would have been rude of me to not thank you for the delicious treats you sent.”
“I’m glad you like them.”
I stared ahead, not knowing what to say next. After several moments of silence, Naomi cleared her throat, drawing my attention back to her.
Take what you want, she mouthed.
I nodded, looking past her once more and focusing on the floral beds lining the stone pathway leading up to the house. “Actually, there’s another reason I called.”
“Oh? And what’s that?”
I drew in a breath. This wasn’t real, but the thought of saying it still rattled me with nerves.
Could I do this if he were on the other end of the phone?
There was once a time I had no problem approaching guys at a bar and convincing them to buy me a drink. That was all this was, too. I just needed to channel the old Julia. The Julia I was before Nick molded me into the person he wanted me to be.
“A proposition of sorts.”
“You have my attention. What kind of proposition did you have in mind?”
I paced, as if this were a real conversation. “I’m in Hawaii for the next week.”
“Okay.” She drew out, encouraging me to continue.
“Right. So I think we should spend the next week…” I trailed off, struggling to find the correct words.
Naomi gave me a reassuring look, reminding me to just lay it all out there.
“I think we should spend the next week as lovers.”
She snorted. “Lovers, Jules? Really? That’s really how you want to proposition your Australian Adonis to spend the next week with you? By asking him to be your lover?”
I held my head high as I returned to my chair, grabbing my glass and taking a sip of wine. “I thought it sounded…mature. And it was the least crass term I could come up with.”
“Screw that. Just speak your mind. Tell him exactly what you want. Leave no question as to your intentions.”
“Okay.” I forced a sardonic smile. “How’s this? ‘Chris, my Australian Adonis and incredible kisser, would you spend the next week pounding your cock into my pussy in every sexual position known to man? Making me come so hard I forget my name? Fucking me so raw I’ll barely be able to walk for a week afterward? Because that’s what I’m looking for. No real names. No boring sob stories. No expectations other than a week of sinful, lust-filled, depraved sex.’”