The Perfect Homecoming (Pine River #3)

“How do you know?” Libby demanded, but Madeline waved her off and fixed her gaze on Emma again.

Emma picked up the menu and began to peruse it.

“I think it would be nice if you invited Hot Guy for dinner.”

Emma lowered her menu and pinned Madeline with a look of annoyance. “Do you, Madeline? And why would that be nice of me? Would it be nice to invite everyone in town who happens to be from California?”

“No,” Madeline drawled. “But it would be nice of you to invite someone you know, who happens to be in town alone. It’s called hospitality.”

“It’s called manipulation,” Emma said. “And you’re very good at it.”

“Don’t think of it as a date, because I know that’s what you’re thinking,” Madeline doggedly continued, unruffled by Emma’s remark. “We’ll be there, won’t we, Libs?”

“Of course!”

“Do either of you realize how aggressive you’re being right now?” Emma blurted, searching for anything to get them to stop. “It may be your main goal in life to get a man, but it’s not mine. It’s none of your business if I know Cooper or not. And anyway, I don’t like him, okay? Don’t. Like. Him. It’s not my problem if he’s a stranger in town, and honestly, I couldn’t care less. And finally, Madeline, you of all people should know I’m really not hospitable.”

Madeline laughed. “Oh, I know,” she agreed. “But I would love to see you untwist a little.”

“Yeah, well, that’s not going to happen,” Emma said, and lifted her menu again.

“But . . .” Libby squirmed in her seat.

“Don’t you start,” Emma warned her.

“No, no, I’m not starting. You don’t like him, fine. But don’t you ever . . . don’t you ever just want to . . . you know.”

“Have sex,” Madeline said flatly. “It’s not a dirty word.”

There was no way to explain to these women that she didn’t want to have sex. Wait—that wasn’t entirely accurate. Her body wanted sex—real sex, good sex—not the sex she generally had. And if she were going to have really good sex, it would be with someone like Cooper. Okay, it would be with Cooper. And that was definitely outside the realm of possibilities. It was all too complicated in her head. “I’m good.”

“Okay,” Libby said with a shrug. “It’s your life. I’m just surprised, that’s all, because you don’t seem the type to be celibate at all. Madeline, maybe, but not you.”

“Hey!” Madeline protested.

Emma smiled. “What makes you think I’m celibate?”

“You just said—”

“No, you just said. I’m not celibate. Anything but,” she added, and felt a funny little flip of her gut.

“Really?” Madeline leaned forward. “Here’s a question. How many guys have you been with?”

“Well, that’s awfully personal,” Libby said, clearly appalled.

“I know,” Madeline said cheerfully. “But we’re sisters, aren’t we? Seems like something sisters would ask each other. Wouldn’t they? If we’d known each other all our lives instead of a few months, would we not have asked this very question along the way?”

“Are you drunk?” Libby whispered loudly.

“No! Okay, I’ll go first,” Madeline offered. She looked around to see if anyone might overhear, then said low, “I’ve been with four.”

“Congratulations,” Emma said drily.

“You’ve been with four?” Libby exclaimed, as surprised as Emma was unimpressed.

“What? Is that too few or too many? Did you think Luke was my first?”

“Sort of,” Libby admitted, which made Emma laugh with delight.

“Are you kidding? I’m thirty, Libby!” Madeline exclaimed as the waiter arrived with their drinks and deposited them on the table. When he’d gone, Madeline asked Libby, “How many have you been with?”

“Oh gosh.” Libby squinted at the ceiling, her lips moving as she counted. “Five,” she said. “Including Sam, of course. That sounds like a lot, doesn’t it? I’m really not a slut. I mean, I always thought I’d marry my first.”

That earned her a pair of looks from Emma and Madeline.

“Okay, all right, I’m old-fashioned that way,” Libby said, waving her hand, clearly embarrassed now. “What about you, Emma? How many?”

“Too many to count,” Emma said honestly.

“No, seriously,” Libby said, nudging her. “How many?”

“I am serious. Too many to count.” She didn’t know if that was entirely accurate—she fooled around more than she had sex, really—but Emma was almost twenty-eight years old, and the last few years had not been good. She wasn’t going to count, afraid of what she might discover.

“So you’re a slut?” Madeline asked with a snort.

“Basically.”

Madeline wasn’t buying it, judging by the exaggerated roll of her eyes. “Okay, so don’t play our little game. What about this—have you slept with anyone famous?”

Emma thought about that for a moment. “Fame is such a subjective thing—”