About Last Night.... Stephanie Bond

just wish you had let me hire some live entertainment,” her sister said, breaking into her thoughts.

      Janine flushed, relenting silently that her sense of modesty was perhaps above average. “You know that’s not my style.”

      Marie scoffed. “After that story about doing it on a penthouse balcony?”

      “Oh, that.” Janine smiled sheepishly. “I, um, might have stretched the truth a tad.”

      “How much?”

      “Like a piece of warm taffy.”

      Her sister laughed. “You have a great imagination—that part about you dropping a shoe really had me going.”

      The details were specific because she’d relived the hot summer-night scene in her head so many times. She suspected her claustrophobia made her fantasize about open spaces, and she suspected her celibacy made her fantasize, period.

      “And I thought your penis was pretty impressive,” Marie continued, her lips pursed.

      “Thanks,” Janine said a bit wistfully. “I didn’t think it was half-bad myself.” Marie’s brainchild of seeing who could sculpt the best penis out of a Popsicle before it melted had been a big hit, especially after the wine had started flowing.

      “I guess Steve was your inspiration.”

      Janine pushed her long hair behind her ears to avoid eye contact. “I got an A in anatomy.”

      Marie’s eyes lit with curiosity. “Oh? Is the infamous plastic surgeon’s operating equipment lacking?”

      For all she knew, Steve’s equipment could be as blue as her Popsicle prizewinner, but she decided to cover. “Marie, I’m not going to discuss my future husband’s physical assets.”

      Marie pouted, then assumed a dreamy look, already distracted. “Can you believe that in less than forty-eight hours you’ll be a married woman?”

      She stared at the ring on her left hand, the cluster of huge diamonds perched atop a wide platinum band—a priceless heirloom that once belonged to Steve’s grandmother. “Yeah, married.” She wished the light-headed anticipation and breathless impatience she’d read about in Bride magazine would sweep down and roll away the stone of anguish in her stomach. Wasn’t cold feet a malady for the groom?

      Marie held up a troll doll wearing a bridal gown. “Ugh. Who gave you this?”

      “Lisa. It’s kind of scary, don’t you think?”

      “Well, she’s still bitter over her divorce. She told me she ran her husband’s Armani suits through the wood shredder and mulched her azalea bushes. Cold, huh?”

      “Brrr.”

      “Heeeey, what about this sexy little number?”

      She had to hold her temple when she turned her head. Upon seeing the pink and black bustier and garter belt, she frowned. “Sandy.”

      Marie pushed herself to her feet, holding the outfit in front of her curvaceous figure, and posed in the mirror. “Why the attitude? I think it’s hot.”

      Propping herself up on her elbow, Janine twirled a strand of honey-colored hair around her finger. Her split ends needed to be trimmed before the rehearsal dinner tomorrow—how would she be able to fit in an appointment? “It might have something to do with the fact that she assured me pink was Steve’s favorite color on a woman.”

      Marie’s mouth formed a silent O. “Well, she’s his receptionist. She should know, I suppose.”

      “I didn’t know,” Janine murmured, feeling ridiculously close to tears.

      “Oh, come on. You don’t think there’s anything going on between Steve and that bimbo, do you?”

      She shook her head. “Honestly, I don’t think he has enough sex drive to have an affair.” Her fingers flew to her mouth. Had she actually said that?

      Marie’s eyes flew wide. “Oh? You should get drunk more often.” She bounced on the corner of the bed, scattering more boxes. “Do tell.”

      Janine hesitated, wondering how much of her musings could be attributed to last-minute jitters.

      “Come on,” Marie urged. “I gathered that you and Steve don’t exactly set the sheets on fire, but I figured it wasn’t all that important to you.”

      “Should it be?”

      “What?”

      “Important to me. Sex, I mean.”

      Marie’s eyes widened. “You’re asking me?”

      She smirked. “Try to be objective, sis. Haven’t you ever had a good relationship without great sex?”

      “Let me think—no.”

      “You’re a big help.”

      “Okay, I’m sorry.” She crossed her arms and donned a serious expression. “What seems to be the problem? Foreplay? Duration? Frequency?”

      “Frequency would cover it, I think.”

      “Hey, lots of couples abstain for several weeks before the wedding to, you know—” she pedaled the air with her fists “—shake things up a little.”

      “We’ve abstained for longer than a few weeks.”

      “How long?”

      “A year.”

      Marie’s eyes bulged and she guffawed. “No, really.”

      “Really.”

      “But you’ve only known the man for a year!”

      “Precisely.”

      Her sister’s head jutted forward. “You’ve never had sex with Steve?”

      “Bingo.”

      “Unbelievable!” Jumping to her feet, Marie began pacing and waving her arms. “How come you never said anything?”

      At the moment she was wishing she still hadn’t said anything, and now she darn sure wasn’t going to admit she was a virgin on top of everything else. “I started to mention it several times, but I was just too…I don’t know—embarrassed, I guess.”

      “So have you two ever talked about it?”

      “I’ve brought up the subject lots of times, but he only said that he wanted to wait until we’re married.”

      “Which explains why he proposed so quickly.”

      Janine frowned.

      “And the fact that he loves you, of course,” Marie added hastily. “Maybe you need to be more aggressive. You know, take the bull by the horns, so to speak.”

      She reflected on the few awkward episodes when she’d tried to make her physical needs known to Steve. “I’ve tried everything short of throwing myself at him.”

      “Hmm. Maybe he’s truly trying to be chivalrous.”

      She pursed her lips and nodded. “And I’m glad he respects me. But it’s more than not having sex. He gets angry when I bring it up, and he shuts me out. Sometimes he doesn’t call for days afterward.”

      Marie let out a low whistle. “Sounds like he might have some hang-ups. Maybe he’s burnt out from fixing all those breasts and butts and lips and chins.”

      “Maybe,” she agreed.

      “Well, you know he’s a full-fledged hetero—Steve’s other girlfriends weren’t known for their, ahem, virtuous restraint.”

      Janine closed her eyes, suddenly sick to her stomach. “That’s what worries me. I’ve heard him say there are two kinds of women—the ones you sleep with and the ones you marry.”

      Marie