LITMIR.BIZ

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the gym with me.”

      Cool and patrician, Paige gave a graceful shrug. “Nothing much to tell. He was just my escort to a fund-raiser.”

      Five heads around the table perked up. “Spill it,” Kelly demanded.

      Paige shook her head and the blond layers of her expensive haircut swished and settled perfectly. “His name is Landon, and—”

      “That should have sent you running right there,” Cilla interjected. “Never date a guy with a trust-fund name. I know these guys, Paige. You’re just asking for death by boredom.”

      “Says the trust-fund kid herself,” Trish jabbed lightly.

      “I don’t have a trust fund.”

      Trish rolled her eyes. “I’m sorry, a chain of department stores.”

      “The stores belong to my dad.” Cilla twisted her chunky amethyst David Yurman cocktail ring. “I’m just a working stiff like the rest of you, remember? Anyway, we’re not talking about me. The guy sounds like a preppster. Where did he grow up, Paige?”

      “Greenwich, Connecticut.”

      “I rest my case,” Cilla said smugly.

      “He was nice enough. Smart, well-informed.” She paused while the waitress set plates of quesadillas in front of them. “Good job in the legal department at Fox.”

      “Yeah, yeah, yeah.” Delaney wrinkled her snub nose. “Get to the good stuff. How did he kiss?”

      Paige aimed a chilly look at Delaney, who merely grinned.

      “Give it up, Paige. We’ve seen you cleaning the bathroom in your underwear.”

      The cool look evaporated and Paige laughed. “I knew I was out of my mind when I moved in with you guys back then.”

      “Are you kidding? We taught you how to have a good time. Now tell us about the kiss,” Kelly ordered.

      Paige eyed them. “Too wet. Too much tongue, too quickly.”

      “Sounds like a first kiss,” Thea muttered, taking a sip of her iced tea.

      “Was that how your first kiss was?” Cilla asked her. “That’s too bad. Mine was pretty good. Jason Stilton, third grade.”

      “Third grade?” Paige raised an eyebrow.

      “He was precocious,” Cilla said.

      “Or someone was,” Delaney said. “I didn’t get my first kiss until eighth grade. “Jake Gordon, boyfriend number one.” She sighed a little dreamily.

      “I don’t remember the name of my first kiss, but I bet the location’s got you all beat,” Kelly wagered.

      “I’ll bite,” Sabrina said. “Where?”

      “On the Matterhorn at Disneyland.”

      “The Matterhorn?” Sabrina reached out for a slice of quesadilla. “You know the make-out ride was the Haunted Mansion.”

      “Hey, you take what you can get when you can get it.”

      Delaney snorted. “And when can you get it on the Matterhorn? Try it there, you lose some teeth.”

      “You know the part where you’re getting pulled up the first hill? My girlfriend and I had met him and his buddy in line, so he was sitting behind me in the bobsled. I leaned back to say something to him and wham, full tongue and everything.”

      “Nothing like jumping in at the deep end,” Trish said.

      “Shocked the heck out of me. I was thirteen. I thought kissing was about lips. Then we got to the top of the hill and the ride started.”

      “You didn’t keep kissing, did you?”

      “God no. We’d have dislocated our necks, or at least lost our tongues.”

      “Well, I don’t know about the first kiss, but my best kiss is still Carl Reynolds, that guy I dated last year,” said Cilla, reaching out for a pickled carrot.

      “I thought you said he was a waste of a human being,” Paige objected.

      “Oh, he was. But he was still a great kisser,” Cilla said.

      “My best kisser was the guy I went out with last week, I think,” Kelly threw in. “Of course, that’s always subject to change,” she said with an appraising glance around the room. “What about you, Sabrina?”

      “What, best kiss or first kiss?”

      “Best kiss. First kiss is too easy.”

      Sabrina took a thoughtful drink of her beer and set it down. “Stef Costas, the first time we kissed.”

      “Definite waste of a human being,” Kelly said decisively.

      “But a great kisser.”

      SABRINA OPENED HER PURSE and pulled out a couple of bills to toss on the table. “Okay, that’s all for me.”

      Delaney stared at her. “It’s only nine-thirty.”

      “I’ve got a night shoot starting in an hour,” she explained.

      “A night shoot?” Kelly might have worked for Hot Ticket magazine for her day job, but as near as Sabrina could tell, she was never off shift.

      “For the Hollywood ghost documentary. We’re going to the Château Mirabelle, where Elaine Chandler overdosed. Supposedly there’s a cold spot in her room and guests who’ve stayed there swear they’ve seen an apparition.”

      “Brrr. That’s creepy,” Trish said with a grimace.

      “Don’t tell me you believe in ghosts.” Kelly gave her an amused glance.

      “I’m not so cynical that I don’t believe there are things out there we don’t understand.”

      “Hah. You just pretend to be a cynic. Deep inside, you’re a mushy romantic,” Kelly corrected, pulling her plate forward with relish. “I’m the cynic. Forget about Mr. Right. Me, I’ll settle for Mr. Right Now. It’s a lot less trouble,” she said, eyeing the waiter speculatively. “What I don’t believe, Sabrina, is that you, with your multimillion-dollar trust fund, are playing the working schlep. In your shoes, I’d quit in a minute.”

      Trish broke in. “You are so full of it. You’d report for Hot Ticket for free and you know it. Where else would you have official license to poke into things that don’t concern you?”

      Kelly ran her tongue around her teeth. “Okay, guilty as charged. But seriously, Sabrina, why work so hard if you don’t have to?”

      “You know why. I want to work for myself.”

      “So do it. You’ve got the bankroll,” Paige pointed out, patting her mouth with her napkin and setting it on the table.

      “That’s my family’s money, not mine. Plus I don’t have the know-how, or at least I didn’t. You know the deal I made with Uncle Gus—I work, he teaches.”

      “But you have worked,” Trish protested.

      “She’s right, Rina,” Thea said mildly. “You’ve been at this for almost five years. Whatever happened to that idea you were talking about for a cable documentary?”

      Should she say something or would she jinx herself? “Funny you should ask,” Sabrina began, a ridiculously broad grin spreading across her face. “I’m just about ready to start shooting.”

      A chorus of congratulations erupted around the table.

      “What does your family think?” asked Cilla, who knew a thing or two about family legacies, having grown up in her father’s retail empire.

      Sabrina slanted her a dry look. “You know what my family

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