Chapter One

Carla

"Casual Sex," I say, twisting the phrase so it sounds like a bad thing. "There. I said it." I look across the table and meet my best friend's dark, knowing gaze. "Happy now?" Unable to hold her penetrating stare any longer, I reach for my tepid chai latte, grateful it's tasty even cold.

"I know you think I'm being a shrewish bitch, Carla. But it's for your own good." Heather picks up her favorite vanilla cappuccino and takes a drink.

"And why is that, exactly?" Regret gnaws at my stomach. Why did I let myself get dragged into this conversation during my lunch hour? "Sure, you found your great ‘one–and–only' guy, but I don't think that's going to happen with me."

Heather ignores me and taps her finger on the small sheet of paper on the table between us. "Next one."

Geez, this feels like a one–woman intervention, and despite the jokes I could make over that realization, I'm really not enjoying it. The pleading on her compassionate face has me glancing at the slip of paper once more. "Friends with Benefits. Oh, come on, that too? I kind of like that one. Makes it much easier to stay friends when the guy winds up being dumb, but not bad in bed."

Heather's mouth sets in a firm line and I plow ahead to the last item on her unhelpful "list" of what she sees as my love life faults. "Avoidance of Intimacy. Seriously? You think I do all this crap?" A knot of anxiety sits in my throat. "I'm not a fun–loving chick all the time, you know. I have been searching for the right guy." The right guy who's perfect in the sack and magically disappears before dawn. "Just haven't found him yet."

"Really?" she counters, showing a touch of backbone my once–shy friend didn't have a month ago. "And none of them were worthy of your time after you slept with them, huh?"

A grimace twists my face and I try to smooth my features. "It's not like that—I swear." Secretly I fear it's exactly like that. And what the hell does that say about me? That I'm a slut? I'm not. I like sex but I don't sleep with just anyone like her darned unasked for list of faults implies. "They weren't good matches for me."

"Uh–huh. Sure."

"Why are we discussing this...," I gesture to the paper between us, "list of yours? I'm a careful woman. I always make sure they use a condom. My instincts are good. I've never been in a situation I couldn't handle. What happened to make you think I needed—no wanted—your input in my love life?"

Heather's strength deflates and I feel like I've kicked a puppy. "It's because I care about you, Carla, and want to see you happy. You keep up with this casual approach to relationships and you're going to be alone for the rest of your life."

A snort erupts from me. "Like that's a bad thing? I'm not afraid of being alone. In fact, I'm quite all right with it." I resist the urge, just barely, to throw her words from a few weeks ago in her face. She was the one afraid of winding up alone and eating microwave meals–for–one her whole life. Not me. Never me.

My goal has always been to find an exciting, independent man—one who's a great lover and wants nothing emotional from me in return. I gaze out the window of our favorite coffee shop, staring at the pelting rain washing the city streets. Maybe my relaxed attitude would be better suited in Europe. Seems like the Puritanical ideals of America are still going strong, no matter how much women struggle with equality. If I were a guy no one would bat an eye at my desire for a lover with no emotional attachments weighing us down.

An exciting man who's good in bed. That's not too much to ask is it? We're in "the city that never sleeps" for crying out loud. There's got to be a few guys who learned something in the sack since college, right? Maybe I can find one who isn't emotionally scarred from a long–term relationship and where the woman taught him a thing or two. That would be hitting the relationship lottery in my book.

Don't forget good looking, great body, successful career, a big dick...

Yeah, a girl can dream, right?

Aware I need to get back to work, I glance at my watch then gather the remains of my meal. We say our goodbyes and I race into the rain, pulling up the hood on my stylish raincoat for the three–block trek to the office.

Heather likes to forget—I'm not like her. I've always known what I want in my life and in my bed. She and Tony met at the exact time she was ready to blossom. My sexuality bloomed a long time ago and I quickly became disappointed with the unknowledgeable lovers I invited into my bed. Hell, when the first few trysts were a let down, why go back for more?

It's pretty sad, really. They all appeared to be so promising during our initial dates.

Despite Heather's list making me sound like a "good–time girl," a phrase I hear a lot from my mom, I actually practice a lot of decorum when choosing a lover. They all have ambitious careers, their own apartments, aren't married, and know how to treat a lady with manners. I don't have a set laundry list of physical attributes the guy has to have, but I do want a man who cares enough about his health and appearance to not be slovenly or obese.

Unlike Heather, I never sit on the sidelines waiting for life to come to me—I actively seek adventure and always will. Who says a woman needs a man to be happy? I'm happy as I am on my own.