CHAPTER One
“Any big plans tonight?”
Gabrielle Pope did her best to conjure up a smile for Lewis, her coworker at the downtown branch of the Atlanta Public Library, as they exited for the commute home.
“Not really…a quiet evening with Mellors.”
Lewis gave her a wry smile. “You spoil that cat rotten.”
“He spoils me back. Do you have plans?”
“John and I are going to an exhibit at the High Museum,” Lewis said of his partner.
“You’re welcome to join us.”
Her chest squeezed with fondness—the couple was concerned she spent too much time alone and often asked her to be a third wheel. “Thanks for the invitation, but I want to finish the book I’m reading.”
Lewis wagged his eyebrows. “Is it one of the books for your red hot book club?”
“It’s the Red Tote Book Club,” she chided and glanced around to make sure no other employees were within earshot.
“Your secret is safe with me,” he whispered. “No one else knows you hold a naughty book club meeting in the library.”
“The books we discuss are classic erotic literature,” she said crisply.
He lifted his hands. “No need to get defensive—I think it’s great. I’m happy for you.”
Gabrielle bit her lip at the unspoken words hanging in the air. Because you don’t have anything else in your life.
Lewis reached over and squeezed her arm. “If you change your mind about the museum, give me a call.”
She nodded. “I will. Be safe driving home.”
“You be safe on the train.”
Lewis waved and moved in the direction of a nearby parking garage. Gabrielle turned and walked up the sidewalk toward the Peachtree Center Marta station, acknowledging the pull of melancholy on her limbs. The day after the regular meeting of the Red Tote Book Club always left her a little blue because it would be an entire month before the group convened again.
There was a whiff of truth to Lewis’s inference about the role the book club played in her social life. She hadn’t realized how dependent she’d become on the camaraderie of the five women who gathered in a forgotten room of the library to drink smuggled-in wine and eat chocolate as they talked about the changes in sexual mores and gender roles over the centuries as portrayed in classic erotic volumes.
The women—Cassie, Page, Wendy, Jacqueline, and Carol—had proved to be the ideal book club group. They were all single, in their early-to mid-thirties, with diverse backgrounds and occupations, and they all brought to the book club a healthy attitude toward sex.
Because the discussions had progressed so well and the women had grown so comfortable with each other, Gabrielle had decided to up the ante. She’d challenged the women to take what they’d learned in the pages of erotic novels like Lady Chatterley’s Lover by D.H.
Lawrence and The Slave by Laura Antoniou, and use those lessons to seduce the man of their dreams. To-date, four out of the five women had done just that and seemed delighted with the outcome. Only one of the members had balked at the challenge, but Gabrielle still held out hope that the last woman, Carol, would change her mind in the wake of the others’ success stories.
As Gabrielle descended the steps in the train station to stand on the platform, her midsection began to thrum with awareness. The success stories of the younger women had made even her dare to dream that someday she might find her own sexual match in a man. She glanced around at male faces in the crowd, seeking another lonely soul, someone looking to make a connection, but no one even made eye contact. When a young blonde dressed in a fitted short skirt suit and high heels stepped in place next to her, Gabrielle felt a pang for her own fading youth.
She took care of herself, but forty had come and gone and instead of sky-high heels and short skirts, she now favored sensible wedges and light cardigan sweaters to navigate the workday and ward off the chill that seemed to permeate the
“Any big plans tonight?”
Gabrielle Pope did her best to conjure up a smile for Lewis, her coworker at the downtown branch of the Atlanta Public Library, as they exited for the commute home.
“Not really…a quiet evening with Mellors.”
Lewis gave her a wry smile. “You spoil that cat rotten.”
“He spoils me back. Do you have plans?”
“John and I are going to an exhibit at the High Museum,” Lewis said of his partner.
“You’re welcome to join us.”
Her chest squeezed with fondness—the couple was concerned she spent too much time alone and often asked her to be a third wheel. “Thanks for the invitation, but I want to finish the book I’m reading.”
Lewis wagged his eyebrows. “Is it one of the books for your red hot book club?”
“It’s the Red Tote Book Club,” she chided and glanced around to make sure no other employees were within earshot.
“Your secret is safe with me,” he whispered. “No one else knows you hold a naughty book club meeting in the library.”
“The books we discuss are classic erotic literature,” she said crisply.
He lifted his hands. “No need to get defensive—I think it’s great. I’m happy for you.”
Gabrielle bit her lip at the unspoken words hanging in the air. Because you don’t have anything else in your life.
Lewis reached over and squeezed her arm. “If you change your mind about the museum, give me a call.”
She nodded. “I will. Be safe driving home.”
“You be safe on the train.”
Lewis waved and moved in the direction of a nearby parking garage. Gabrielle turned and walked up the sidewalk toward the Peachtree Center Marta station, acknowledging the pull of melancholy on her limbs. The day after the regular meeting of the Red Tote Book Club always left her a little blue because it would be an entire month before the group convened again.
There was a whiff of truth to Lewis’s inference about the role the book club played in her social life. She hadn’t realized how dependent she’d become on the camaraderie of the five women who gathered in a forgotten room of the library to drink smuggled-in wine and eat chocolate as they talked about the changes in sexual mores and gender roles over the centuries as portrayed in classic erotic volumes.
The women—Cassie, Page, Wendy, Jacqueline, and Carol—had proved to be the ideal book club group. They were all single, in their early-to mid-thirties, with diverse backgrounds and occupations, and they all brought to the book club a healthy attitude toward sex.
Because the discussions had progressed so well and the women had grown so comfortable with each other, Gabrielle had decided to up the ante. She’d challenged the women to take what they’d learned in the pages of erotic novels like Lady Chatterley’s Lover by D.H.
Lawrence and The Slave by Laura Antoniou, and use those lessons to seduce the man of their dreams. To-date, four out of the five women had done just that and seemed delighted with the outcome. Only one of the members had balked at the challenge, but Gabrielle still held out hope that the last woman, Carol, would change her mind in the wake of the others’ success stories.
As Gabrielle descended the steps in the train station to stand on the platform, her midsection began to thrum with awareness. The success stories of the younger women had made even her dare to dream that someday she might find her own sexual match in a man. She glanced around at male faces in the crowd, seeking another lonely soul, someone looking to make a connection, but no one even made eye contact. When a young blonde dressed in a fitted short skirt suit and high heels stepped in place next to her, Gabrielle felt a pang for her own fading youth.
She took care of herself, but forty had come and gone and instead of sky-high heels and short skirts, she now favored sensible wedges and light cardigan sweaters to navigate the workday and ward off the chill that seemed to permeate the
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