Only Oscar (Wattys 2022 Shortlist!)

Chapter One

"It's time we took control of our love lives," Callie Morris proclaimed with a decisive palm slap to the table.

Those of her friends foolish enough to leave their glasses resting on coasters reached out to steady them as the colorful contents splashed over the edges.

"In order to take control of them, we should probably have them to begin with," Beth replied, stoically. "And if we did, would we all be sitting here on a Friday night?"

She gestured at the crowded room of the neon-lit cocktail bar Callie selected for their regular catch-up, while Talia nodded in agreement. "I'd dump you losers in a heartbeat for a night of dirty, wanton sex."

"Says the only one of us currently getting any," Callie retorted. "All you have to do is snap your fingers and Aaron comes running."

She frowned when it took three attempts to make a snapping motion with her thumb and forefinger. How many cocktails did they have in the last few hours? It couldn't have been that many. Though, to be fair, Talia ordered a pitcher of margaritas when she arrived. That probably hadn't helped.

"Oh, bless. You're still so young," Talia sighed. "Men can't come running. That's doing two things at once and they all have difficulty with that."

Callie found the statement much funnier than she would if she was stone-cold sober. But while the others began tossing around combinations of things men couldn't do while having an orgasm - count to ten, work a TV remote, juggle, perform brain surgery - she took a moment to study each of her friends.

Avery was the Grace Kelly of the group, with cool, serene poise and a pristine, Chanel-inspired wardrobe. Elegant and beautiful, with an inner light which made her glow. A small part of Callie wanted to be her when she grew up. She secretly hoped the position came with a tiara. She'd always wanted one of those.

Talia was more like Sophia Loren, with dark, sultry coloring and sensual, curve-hugging attire which highlighted her ample assets. Fiery and devilishly sexy, intense and dangerous when riled. Callie had a teeny bit of a crush on her, too. Not that following Talia's example when it came to sexual conquests did her any good.

Then there was Beth, who was harder to peg, but had the potential to be a show-stopper if she loosened her corset a little and ditched the endlessly monotone selection of business suits. Did all English people dress like the weather in their country? Callie knew it rained a lot there, particularly in summer. Beth mentioned it several times, shattering all of Callie's golden-hued illusions of a British summertime filled with cricket and crumpets and cravats.

Downton Abbey had a lot to answer for.

The final member of the quartet was Callie, whose dress style was eclectic, artsy and free. She could be a bit of a tomboy at times but liked to think being a girlie-girl who loved shiny, pretty things helped balance that out. Though some things she simply had to grin and bear, like the wavy red hair which never did what she wanted it to do and freckles which multiplied like bacteria in sunshine.

To outsiders, they probably looked like an mismatched bunch. Different looks, different styles, ages which ranged from her own twenty-five to Avery's thirty-six.  If they weren't family, what could they possibly have in common? Callie shook her head a little to knock loose some of the alcohol fluff clouding her brain. That wasn't the point. The point was, if they hadn't spent time working together in the same office, their paths might never have crossed. She still thought it was kind of amazing they had. As if someone, somewhere, knew they needed each other. Their bond was something rare and precious, particularly in a city the size of New York where millions of people wore blinkers and focused all their time on the endless pursuit of career satisfaction and money rather than making any meaningful, heartfelt connections.