Damien, I think, and it feels like my whole body is smiling. It has to be Damien.
Jamie bends down to snag the card and has it out of the envelope before I can reach her. I silently seethe until she looks up at me, a grin tugging at the side of her mouth.
I hold out my hand for the card, which she hands over with a gleam in her eye.
There is one word printed on it: Delicious. Beneath that are the initials D.S.
And me, the girl who never blushes, does so for about the millionth time that night.
Jamie picks up the arrangement, then carts it over to the dining table. I poke my head out the door, but there’s no one there.
“Just how good a time did you have at that party?” Jamie asks.
“Not the party,” I say, because we’ve reached the point where I either fill Jamie in or find a new best friend. “The ride home.” I drop down onto the sofa that backs up to the wall separating the living area from the kitchen. I pull my feet up and tug my favorite purple afghan over me. I’m suddenly very tired. It’s been a long and interesting day.
“No, you don’t,” Jamie says, plonking down on the antique cherrywood coffee table I’d brought with me from Texas. That puts her right in front of me. She leans forward, getting even more in my face. “Don’t even think of claiming you’re sleepy. You can’t drop a bombshell like that and not explain. The ride home? So, what? You guys went up and parked on Mulholland for some late night delight?”
“He sent me home in a limo,” I say bluntly, because I want to watch her reaction. “Alone.”
“You are such a liar. Seriously?” she adds when she sees my face.
I nod, and then—damn me—I giggle. “It was one hell of a ride.”
“Oh. My. God.” Her eyes are wide. “Okay, spill. And don’t give me any of that bullshit about privacy or being discreet or a lady doesn’t tell. You’re not your mother. I want the dirt. All of it.”
I comply. Well, not all of it, but I share the high points, starting with our bizarrely cold introduction at Evelyn’s and moving on to the testosterone-laden interchange between Stark and Ollie.
“I haven’t seen Ollie in ages,” Jamie interrupts. “The little shit. Why hasn’t he called?”
She’s not really interested in the answer, though, and urges me to keep going with my tale. I do. My exhaustion has faded along with my reticence. Jamie is my best friend, and it feels good to share, even if I do find myself mumbling and talking in euphemisms once I get to the part of the story that features me, my phone, Stark’s commanding voice, and the backseat of a limo.
“Holy fuck,” she says when I finish. It’s the third time she’s said it during my rundown.
“And I left the panties in the car,” I add. I feel devilish admitting it, even more so when Jamie’s eyes widen and she rocks with laughter.
“Holy fuck,” she repeats, this time with even more enthusiasm. “So he was really in a restaurant the whole time? God, he must have some serious blue balls.”
I experience a little trill of feminine satisfaction at the thought, then frown as another thought occurs to me. “How did he get flowers to me so fast? I was probably home less than ten minutes before they arrived.” It’s weird, the same way him already knowing my home address is odd.
“Who cares?”
It’s a fair point, but I shift around on the couch so that I can see the kitchen table and the flowers. My smile blooms wide again.
“You need to toss some condoms in your purse,” Jamie says.
“I what?”
“I’ve got a box in the bathroom. Take a few. Phone sex is the only safe sex there is, girlfriend, and he may be hot, but you don’t know where that boy’s been.” Her mouth twitches with suppressed laughter. “Or who he’s been in.”