Read Sex with the Ex for Free Online Page B

couple. He had described them to me the night before as if they were another of his expensive boy’s-own status toys.
    The sex had been a bit athletic for my taste—at various points of our passion, we broke a speaker, burst a beanbag, tore down a blind and broke the leg off a coffee table. But what the hell, it was his house and I must have burned off, like, I don’t know, a gazillion calories in the process. My tummy already felt miles flatter.
    â€œThat was amazing, Lisa,” he sighed afterward, looking faux lovingly into my eyes and removing a lock of hair from my face as if he truly cared whether I was capable of seeing or not.
    Lisa!
    Who the hell was Lisa? My name was Lola, Lolly to my mates. Still, as a girl of the world, I knew it wasn’t worth correcting him at this late stage of the game. As lovely as he was, with his Caravaggio locks and his olive complexion, he was lovely in an I-don’t-expect-this-to-last sort of way. I wasn’t even sure, in the cool throb of sobriety, if it should even have begun.
    One moment he was introducing himself to me at the bar while I was ordering drinks for the girls, and I remember thinking he was dangerously attractive. Then he had made some corny remark about my name (he had managed at least to get it correct at that stage of the proceedings) and despite not finding it that funny, I laughed and then I thought, well, sometimes a girl just needs an uncomplicated shag.
    Hoping no doubt to break the spell of my run-in with the exes, the girls gave me the thumbs-up and that was that. We’d all done some shots and had a chat and a laugh and I’d replied, “What the hell,” to his offer to go back to his place.
    Maybe that summed up what I hated about my life lately. The “what the hell” attitude I had adopted to love—or rather sex. Suddenly “quirky single” felt more like “irky single.”
    Three years ago, I would never have slept with a guy like David. I’m pretty sure his name was David?
    Three years ago, I thought one-night stands were the preserve of fools setting themselves up for STDs and disappointment. As far as I was concerned, one-night stands were like bad Broadway shows that closed after one night due to lack of interest. But then again, three years ago I was happily married to Richard, enjoying the proceeds and kudos of a play that was never meant to end.
    Before that there was Jeremy and before Jeremy there was Christo. Now, he was a keeper (not), rich, polo playing, trust fund. Shame about the cheating. I don’t think he could help himself, really. He said it was in his genes. I said, “You mean the fact that you can’t stay in them long enough to zip them up?” He just laughed and said I was being “too English about it all.” But even Christo had lasted a year and we’d ended happily. I remember Kitty saying, “Every girl needsto know what true love isn’t. ” Before Christo, of course, there was Hamish.
    I suppose Hamish was the first man to make my heart stop. We’d met in college when Elizabeth was still dating her ex (Mike), only Mike wasn’t actually her ex then, he was her boyfriend and Hamish’s roommate. We were like a cozy little band of couples; the inseparable four, dating for Bristol. Hamish and I, like most college romances, had drifted apart after finals. We had promised to stay in touch but of course we hadn’t. As lovely as it had been, my heart had started again and I just didn’t have the enthusiasm for continuing an affair that had run its course.
    The thing is though, there had always been someone.
    My someone.
    â€œGirls called Lola always have someone.” That was what Clemmie was always telling me during her seemingly perpetual single stages.
    I inevitably rolled my eyes whenever she said that and would say something like, “Clemmie, don’t be so mad, it’s just a name and a really crap one at