Diving In by Bianca Giovanni Page A

skirt. I pull my
blouse off and change into some yoga pants and a racerback tank
top. I twist my long, brown hair into a bun and dart into the
bathroom to wash off my makeup. I look a little tired from the long
day, but I’m just hanging out with James tonight, so no need to be
a glamazon.
    “Here you go,” James says, handing me a glass
of red wine as I sit at the counter and watch him finish up the
cooking. He looks nice in his worn out jeans and white v-neck
t-shirt as he leans over the stove to stir the pasta.
    James is handsome. Very handsome. Aside from
having the body of a Greek god, he’s also got a square jaw, full,
pouty lips and hazel-green eyes. He wears his hair long, but he
usually pulls it back in a short ponytail or messy bun when he’s
just chilling at home. I’ve heard people compare him to hunky actor
Jason Momoa more than a few times. I understand that James is a
hottie, but he’s been my best friend since I was six and it’s hard
to picture getting sexual with someone you knew since they were a
third grader. Apparently I’m the only girl who doesn’t see him as a
sex god, because James has been the ultimate ladies’ man since
middle school. He’s three years older than me and everything I’ve
learned about sex came from him because he was my next door
neighbor and he’d accrued a library of experiences before I’d even
got my braces off.
    “So, how was work?” I ask, taking another sip
of wine.
    “Good,” he nods, “I had a threesome scene,
but it was a quick one, which is why I went out and got the stuff
to make alfredo tonight.”
    James is an actor … of sorts. He moved out to
L.A. with stars in his eyes after dropping out of college at age
19. With his good looks and charm, he was hoping to become an
action star or some kind of Hollywood heartthrob, but his career
took a little turn and he’s currently a huge superstar in the wild
world of adult films. Most of his friends from back home dropped
him when the word got out and his parents basically disowned him.
Sometimes I feel like the only person from his past who doesn’t
really care about his job. He’s my best friend and always has been,
so who gives a shit if he bangs chicks for a living? It’s not like
he wasn’t screwing hundreds of girls before he started doing it on
camera.
    “Dude! This is so delicious!” I groan as I
take a bite of pasta. James could defeat an Iron Chef with his eyes
closed.
    He chuckles and smiles proudly, watching me
savor another big bite. Aside from cooking me dinner on the
regular, James is always taking care of me. Growing up, he was like
my big brother and he always looked out for me. I remember him
fighting off bullies for me when I was going through my gawky,
tween phase in seventh grade and how he’d intimidate boys who got a
little over-amorous with me once I hit puberty and emerged with a
pair of D cups and a healthy dose of low self-esteem. He’s like my
bodyguard, my protector, and he’s the only person I can share
absolutely everything with.
    “So, how’s that Eric dude?” He asks, zapping
me out of my nostalgic childhood memories.
    “Oh, he’s good. He knew Peter was making me
work through lunch, so he brought me one of those portobello
sandwiches I love,” I reply. Eric is the hot guy who works at the
law firm on my floor. He’s about 6’4” and he works out like crazy.
He’s got blonde hair and blue eyes and he looks like a hulking
viking. At 38, he’s 15 years older than me—which worries James, I
know—but he’s sexy and he flirts with me all the time.
    James raises an eyebrow and gives me a
look.
    “What?” I laugh, feeling my cheeks starting
to flush.
    “He likes you, you know?” He grins with a
teasing undertone in his voice.
    “Maybe he’s just being nice,” I reply,
knowing very well that it’s not true.
    “He’s been really ‘nice’ for the past three
months since you met him,” he teases. “I’m telling you, Lo, dude’s
trying to hit