Ginny Blue's Boyfriends Read Online Free

don’t feel sane. And everything you’re saying is insane.” I shook my head and tried to concentrate on traffic. The girl in the BMW lackadaisically stubbed out her cigarette in the ash tray as we hurtled merrily along at an easy 75 miles per hour. You had to love the 10 when there was no traffic. “What do you want to do?”
    “Blue?”
    “Yeah?”
    “Blue, are you there? Blue?”
    The phone went dead in my ear. There are mysterious blank zones on the 10 that cut off cell phones with a distinct click. It’s as if there’s this roguish god, watching, chuckling, touching a magic finger into cell-phone-space and breaking the connection. I glanced upward, expecting a grinning Cheshire cat face to emerge from the puffy clouds, high in the sky. God, it’s a nice day, I thought, and I’m sure my mind would have drifted to Jackson again if the cell phone hadn’t gone through a series of aborted half-rings. Jill was trying to call back and unable to get through.
    Good. I really didn’t feel like talking any longer. Jill has already received two previous marriage proposals. She’s clocking them in at about one per year. The last time I came close to that, if you discount my current live-in relationship with Nate, was when I was dating Dave the Devout, and I was so afraid he would somehow suck me into his obsessive God thing that it makes me shudder to even remember those days.
    Jill is about thirty pounds lighter than I am. She is thin, thin, thin, and would never believe it if you told her she needs to gain weight. The hell of it is: she looks pretty good by today’s unhealthy standards. She’s a few inches shorter than I am and a whole lot narrower. She’s cute and smart and pugnacious and when I’m standing next to her I feel like a water buffalo. We definitely attract different types of men, but hers always seem to be ready to tie the knot.
    The phone was still in my hand. I fiddled with it. Maybe I should call Daphne for moral support. She’d been going through a romantic dry spell recently and needed tons of reassurance. Her problem is she always hankers after the wrong kind of guy. She’s like a magnet for losers. Currently she’s hankering after some guy she works with at Starbucks. Both Daphne and Mr. Starbucks are aspiring actors. Bad karma, I say. Never date an actor. Period. I suppose you can turn that around and make it sound as if I don’t want anyone to date Daphne either, but that’s not entirely true. Daphne is better than most actors. Less egocentric. Less needy. But then, I’ve done the dating-the-actor thing. I’ve even dated a so-called “famous” actor. It just doesn’t work. Too weird. I was at a party once, not long after Mr. Famous Actor and I broke up, and all I had to do was mention that I’d had a relationship with him and the guy I was speaking to suddenly started choking on his shrimp roll and was outta there faster than you can say Chinese Take Out. No one, but NO ONE, wanted to be the guy directly after Mr. Famous Actor. I’ve had to eighty-six that relationship from my personal history just to get guys to talk to me. As far as I’m concerned, Mr. Famous Actor is not a member of the Ex-Files.
    I punched out Daphne’s number then hit the “send” button. A moment later I cut the connection. What was I thinking? I didn’t want to hear her moan about the Starbucks/would-be-actor guy again, did I?
    I set the phone down.
    The girl in the convertible removed her shades for a moment, then studiously put them back on. I did the proverbial double take. It’s Carmen Watkins , I thought, shaken. Carmen and I had met in college and she’d always been wealthy and snobby and gorgeous, apart from a rather prominent nose that she’d clearly had fixed in the intervening years. I’d truly thought the girl in the car was much younger than I was. It was a terrible shock to realize she was thirty-two as well. No way! She looked twenty-two.
    How could she?
    I’m not normally affected