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  Janeane was single as well and worked as a legal assistant while she went to law school at the University of Tulsa. A second-generation Irish immigrant on her mother’s side with strawberry blonde hair, sky blue eyes, and double D cups, she looked like a model, but she had a brain to boot (Highly educated super models are excluded from my stereotypical and unfounded opinion of their IQ, of course).

  Kristina was also married, but she and her husband Jake hadn’t found the time for children. She was an up-and-coming realtor with goals that didn’t allow for children at this time, but was considering freezing her eggs with future children in mind. She had dark-brown hair, a tiny waist, and an ass that rivaled JLo’s.

  Then there was me. I stood five-foot-four on a good day. My legs weren’t long, my boobs weren’t big, and my ass wasn’t bodacious like my friends. However, I had full pouty lips and long, thick, light-blonde hair with shades of gold threaded throughout and it was bone straight.

  The five of us had been friends since high school. They were my soul sisters, my sisters from another mister, the friends who would always be there through thick and thin, and who knew me better than I knew myself. In fact, they knew me so well they only had to look at my face to know that I was in uncharted territory. What they didn’t understand was why. How do you explain the unexplainable to someone who isn’t a writer?

  As a writer, I was constantly running story ideas through my head. If I saw a woman who looked a certain way, I’d build a character around her. If I heard an unusual story on the news, I plotted an outline for a book. If I noticed a devastatingly handsome cop on TV, I’d build a story around him, develop his personality, dream up a heroine for him, and design new sexual positions to fit his personality.

  Since I’d seen the detective on the evening news, I’d determined his personality, built his backstory, and imagined myself as the heroine and all that entailed, i.e. steamy sex scenes. What I’d never dreamed, while I built his character and made love to him in my imagination, was that I’d ever meet him.

  Normally, writers created characters out of thin air. We developed them, matured them through the arc of the story, and then finally let them go. What we didn’t do was ever meet them. Especially since, up until now, my characters had all been medieval and long since dead. Nevertheless, when I watched the news and saw that man, I knew I had to write a story about him. However, he didn’t fit into my historical world since he was of this century. So instead of writing another Highlander book I began thinking about a contemporary romance for him. I made him sensitive, gentle, in touch with his feelings—the way men today seemed to be raised. But never in my wildest dreams did I expect we’d meet. Having a fictional character walk into the coffee house while I had just contemplated writing him into a book about Kasey’s failed attempt at internet dating, was, discombobulating at the very least.

  I was never shy around men since most didn’t faze me. I was always outgoing and if I did see a man I was interested in, I stood up and said hi. Yet, when I ran into the detective and saw how he commanded the space like one of my Highlanders, he shook me to my core. Men weren’t like that nowadays. They didn't own a room when they walked in. Oh, the gorgeous ones might think they did, but there’s a certain arrogance behind their confidence, one that came from knowing they’re good-looking.

  Not this guy, though: he held himself in a way you just knew he controlled his world and all that was in it. The only time I ever encountered a man like that was in fiction. To have one of my characters walk in and then grin at me before leaving, had left me speechless and unnerved. Not to mention the fact that I’d covered him with coffee, groped his chest, and popped him in the jaw with my head. Seriously, I couldn’t have written this scenario any more humiliating if I tried.

  “I know him,” I started, and looked at each one of my friends as they waited for me to continue. “He’s a police officer I saw on TV a few nights ago.”

  “How does that explain your shrinking violet routine?” Kasey asked.

  “I may have cast him in the role of hero in a book I’m thinking about, and it unnerved me to have him standing in front of me.”

  “He’s going to be another one of your Highlanders?” Janeane grinned.

  “Actually, I was thinking of trying my hand at a contemporary romance this time around.”

  “Nic, you promised us. No writing for six months,” Kristina replied, sounding frustrated.

  Placing my coffee on the table, I nodded in agreement with her. “I did, and I am. That doesn’t mean I won’t plot a story while I’m relaxing with my friends and family. Writers’ minds never sleep, ladies. We can’t just turn them off.”

  “Well, let’s hear it then. Tell us your plot starring tall, dark, and dangerous,” Kasey asked.

  “Actually, I didn’t have a specific one in mind for him yet. I’d only built his backstory and personality. But listening to your encounter with the catfish on Plenty of Fish has my imagination running wild right now, Kasey.”

  “You want to write a romance novel about a catfish?” Angela asked.

  “I was thinking more along the lines of a romantic suspense,” I explained. “You’ve seen the news about the Shallow Grave Killer, right? Well, what if I incorporated that type of killings into an online dating story and have the killer be a catfish.”

  “Oh, and Detective Dark and Dangerous can be the hero who saves me from certain death,” Kasey jumped in excitedly.

  “Exactly,” I agreed.

  “Nicola, if you want to do a contemporary romance, you should think about doing it as a BDSM story,” Angela threw out. “Those seem to be all the rage right now with that movie coming out.”

  “I’m not opposed to that, but I don’t know anything about BDSM. Do they have dating websites?”

  “You bet they do,” Kasey jumped back in, “I was curious myself and signed up on a site called “Sub Seeking Dom.”

  “You were looking for a Dom?” I breathed out.

  “A little domination can be hot. I’m surprised you never thought about that considering how alpha-dominant your Highlanders are.”

  “If that’s the case,” Kristina jumped in, “you’ll need to set up a fake account so you can talk to Kasey’s catfish, and set up an account on one of those Dom sites so you can learn the lingo.”

  “Speaking of a dominant man, you should probably hunt down that delicious piece of male you dumped coffee on for research as well,” Angela threw in. “Don’t you need a cop’s perspective to understand how their minds work, or how they investigate a killer?”

  My eyes widened at her suggestion and I started shaking my head in the negative. I’d plotted love scenes with me in the starring role with the man. I’d never be able to look him in the eyes.

  “Oh, yeah, she definitely needs a one-on-one with that hunka hunka burnin’ luuuve. Did you see the way he smiled at her?” Janeane laughed.

  Knowing full well they wouldn’t let this drop, I laughed with them as if the idea of talking with the man didn’t make me feel ill. “Of all the coffee joints, in all the towns, in all the world, he walks into mine…,” I mumbled to myself.

  “What was that?” Janeane laughed.

  “Nothing, ignore me. Hey, Kris, you mentioned I needed a fake account to research these guys, and I agree. But won’t I need pictures to set up an account?”

  “Yeah, you’re right. I hadn’t thought about that.”

  “We need someone leggy, curvy, with a great ass and blonde hair,” Kasey announced.

  “Agreed,” we all said in unison.

  Leaning back into the couch, I searched my memory for someone who matched the description. Kasey crossed her long slender legs while I scanned my internal photo album, then I looked at Janeane’s boobs, Kristina’s ass, Angela’s eyes and thought about my long flowing hair and pouty lips. If we were to combine the five of us into one woman, she’d be so far beyond a ten most tens would be embarrassed.

  “I’ve got it,” I shouted and then lowered
my voice when other coffee patrons looked in my direction. “We each have assets that rival any woman. I say we take a picture of those assets and combine them to make one woman.”

  “How would we combine them to make one woman?” Kristina asked, confused.

  “Maybe not combine, per se, but we upload individual pictures like women do on those sites showing off their figures and that should be all it takes.”

  When they didn’t look convinced, I stood up with my purse. ”Just trust me and follow me to my house. I’ll show you what I mean when we get there.”

  “Hold up,” Janeane said before we could make our way to leave. “Nicola, I want you to make a pact with us before you go any further with this new story.”

  “What kind of pact?”

  “I want you to agree right now that you will only work on this book and messaging men on POF or SSD with us present. It can be a collaboration of sorts. You’ll spend time with us, we get to see your creative process at work, and we all get what we want in the end: time with each other. Do you agree?”

  “I can only plot this story with all of you?”

  “On Tuesdays and Thursdays at Gypsy’s after work,” she added.

  “Um.”

  “You have to pinky swear,” Kristina announced.

  Looking at the faces of the women I loved most in this world, I could hardly decline. Besides, it’d be fun to work on this together. Smiling, I stuck out my pinky and the others did as well. We laced our pinkies together, and I repeated the oath we’d used all those years ago in high school.

  “I, Nicola Grace Royse, hereby pinky swear that I won’t work on this book without the participation of Angela, Kristina, Kasey, or Janeane. I furthermore acknowledge that if I break this oath, I will set into motion events that will mean the destruction of this sisterhood.”

  I knew they were dire words, but dire words were needed when you were seventeen and more than one of your group liked the same boy. However, we usually only pulled them out in extreme circumstances . . . such as forgetting to tell a friend about a sale on shoes. They seemed silly now that we were grown women, but if it made them feel better, I was happy to give them some reassurance. After all, what could happen while plotting fiction?

  Three

  It’s often been said if you remained friends with someone for seven years, you’d be friends for a lifetime. After fifteen years with these women, I’d say that’s true. I could go months without talking to them—I have a unique form writer’s block and forget the world around —yet, pick right back up where we left off, never missing a beat. Our connection was forged from love, sweat, and tears. There were no other women in my life, short of my mother, that I trusted more, which is why I’d agreed to let them see my process, to see the inner working of my mind as I plotted my next book.

  After leaving Gypsy’s, the girls followed me home. I was now lying on my bed, waiting for Kasey to put on my star-spangled bikini. Kristina was mixing amaretto sour in my kitchen while Angela and Janeane laughed about something Angela’s husband had said. The sound of laughter and cocktails being shaken, not stirred, made it seem as if time had stood still. Laying around my bedroom just as we did in high school gossiping about one boy or another was a familiar scene. Even Kristina mixing drinks like she did when my parents weren’t home hasn’t changed.

  Lying there watching as the girls laughed and Kristina served drinks I felt the restlessness that seemed to be my constant companion melting away. It hit me then why I’d been out of sorts recently. It was the familiar comfort of laughter and friends that I’d been missing these past few months, and having it back again was like a salve to my soul.

  Kasey had to get home to her kids since her parents watched them during the day while she was at work, and later on Tuesdays and Thursdays so she could have nights out with the girls. With this in mind, we wanted to take pictures of her legs first, and then the others would have their turn in front of the camera.

  My idea was simple. Each of us would wear the same sexy bikini while our assets were photographed in front of the same background. Boobs, legs, and ass all showing the same outfit would lend to the authenticity of the fake woman. My hair, which was long, thick and light blonde, would be taken from the side so my face would barely show. I decided that not showing a face, only images and a profile of pouty lips gave an air of mystery to the fake woman. Coupled with a picture Angela’s sultry, almond-shaped eyes, beckoning them in, it was sure to grab the attention of any available catfish.

  Janeane was on her computer setting up both accounts. One on Plenty of Fish and one on the BDSM site called Sub Seeking Dom. She kept throwing out questions we needed to answer for the profile and the five of us answered them all as seductively as we could.

  “Oh, are you interested in being a slave?” Janeane chuckled.

  “What? What do they mean by slave?” I laughed.

  “You know, they tell you what to wear, what to eat, order you around in all aspects of your life, and have access to your body pretty much all the time.”

  “So it’s like a marriage but with more sex?” Kasey laughed.

  “I’ve read in some cases, they actually cage you for hours or even days,” Angela replied.

  “Like a dog cage?”

  “I guess. I haven’t seen one.”

  “I’m not sure I want the book to be that authentic. That’s darker than I’m used to writing. I could see hands tied to the bed, maybe some flogging,” I explained.

  “Google that shit,” Kasey told Janeane, so she opened a tab and soon had pictures of naked women in cages. One was built under a bed, and the title said a woman slept there. Others had women in metal cages that looked like dog kennels and my stomach turned a bit. I didn’t understand the mindset of people who adhered to the BDSM lifestyle. I didn’t fault them for it since sexual preference was as individual as eye color. I just didn’t understand why anyone would want to be caged to prove his or her dedication to another person.

  “Oh, wow, I could never do that, could you?” I asked.

  “The orgasms would have to be off the charts to get me to agree to that,” Kristina agreed as she handed me a drink.

  Taking a sip of my amaretto sour, I mulled over being that controlled by a man. The idea of being possessed that completely, to be treated as chattel, didn’t appeal to me. However, I’d admit that the thought of being tied up with a silk scarf, while a man made your body burn in ecstasy, gave me pause. It occurred to me that maybe this was about a loss of control; maybe these women weren’t submissive by nature, but actually so independent that giving up that amount of control in the bedroom was therapeutic for them.

  Fascinating, but definitely not for me.

  “Ok, let’s get these pictures taken so Kasey can get home to the kiddos,” I mumbled as I rose from the bed.

  “Where do you want me?” Kasey asked.

  “I think on the bed, don’t you? That way we have the same background in all the pictures.”

  “Give me two seconds,” Janeane called out as she finished typing, then shut her laptop and stood from the bed.

  “Are you done with the dating profiles?”

  “All but the pictures,” she confirmed. ”I’ll load them once we’re finished here.”

  “Ok, grab my notebook over there and write down the passwords.”

  “Nope,” Kristina answered for Janeane. “We’ve decided that, since you can’t help yourself, the only way you're getting on those websites is with us around. We know you, Nicola: if you have the passwords you’ll cheat and you know it.”

  “But I said the oath,” I argued.

  “Then you don’t need them,” Angela explained with a grin.

  “You only get to work on this book on Tuesdays and Thursdays starting at five, Nicola. That’s the deal. Oh, and don’t forget your yoga gear on Thursday. Relaxation, before we pound out this plot, will get your creative juices flowing,” Kasey ordered.

  “You guys are holding my story hostage, aren’
t you?”

  “Absolutely,” they all agreed.

  It was clear to me now while looking at their faces, seeing the determination in their eyes, they were blackmailing me to keep me in their lives. They had missed me as much as I had missed them, I guess.

  How could I say no?

  “Downward dog it is then,” I smiled.

  While they all smiled at me, Kasey climbed onto the bed. I moved into position for the first shot, but before I could raise my camera to focus on her legs, making sure the bikini was in the frame, Frick and Frack, better known as Bo and Finn, barged into the room.

  “Jesus, Nic, where’s the love?” Finn demanded. “Triplet code clearly states that any and all photo shoots with sexy friends should be supervised by your brothers.”

  “Get out,” I gritted out between my teeth as I framed my shot. Then I saw Kasey’s face through the lens of my camera. She’d had a crush on Finn in high school and now that she was divorced, and if the flirty grin she was throwing his direction was any indicator, it seemed that crush had returned. Her eyes were bright as she grinned at Finn. When I looked over my shoulder and watched him wink at her, matching her grin, I sighed. Oh, boy, here we go again. I only hoped this time around it didn’t include midnight phone calls to analyze every look or comment Finn sent her way.

  ***

  It had been two days since we created the fake profiles on POF and SSD, and I was chomping at the bit to see what kind of messages we received. I’d admit now that the lack of control I had over this process was unnerving me to the point that I considered opening my own accounts in secret, but so far I hadn’t given in to the impulse. Currently, I was in one of Kasey’s yoga classes with the girls on mats, winding down. I was exhaling on a downward facing dog and could feel my muscles relaxing.