“Not me. Where are the others?”
“Oh, Greer was feeling a little under so she and Taylor are going to meet us at the bridal shop. Audrey’s working, of course. Kat’s in Germany for a publishing thing. Edie had a cat thing.” Gretchen flipped through a few more pages. “What about . . . Grecian and hoop skirts?”
“How about no?” Chelsea adjusted her crown.
“You might get outvoted.”
“Oh, somehow I doubt that.”
Gretchen pointed at the magazine. “You’re not jealous, are you? Of the fact that I get to be bridezilla for a year and you hauled off to New Orleans for the world’s quickest wedding? Because if you are, I can totally shut up.”
“No, I like hearing about the bridal stuff,” Chelsea said, smiling. “I don’t mind in the slightest.” Actually, her mood was pretty fucking spectacular at the moment. It felt like nothing could bring her down. “And I’m glad we didn’t have a big wedding. You saw all the photographers outside the house. That was because we quietly got married. Imagine what it’d be like if there was a big to-do?”
And it’d have taken her that much longer to sleep with Sebastian. The idea seemed criminal.
“I’m still not entirely sure why you two jumped the gun,” Gretchen said, flipping open a perfume insert in the magazine and sniffing it.
“We just . . . fell in love.” The lie felt weird on her tongue, and Chelsea frowned, her mood deflating a little. The story was starting to feel a little thin. Especially now that their relationship was moving away from just friends to something else. What were they now, exactly? Married friends with benefits? She didn’t know what to call it.
She still didn’t know what they were, and it was a little depressing, especially after last night. When they’d gotten out of the shower, they’d made love again, slow and sweet, Chelsea in her uniform once more. Then he’d held her for hours and they’d just talked while he lightly traced the veins under her skin. She’d felt cherished, adored, and loved.
Whole.
But that might all be in her imagination. He called her “baby” and “love” but she knew he didn’t think she was a baby, so “love” might have been just another pet name that meant nothing. And he only said he loved her in front of his family, when they were lying about their relationship.
And why was she so darn fixated on whether he loved her or not? Chelsea worried it was because she was in love with him, too. And that was bad news if it was one sided. Actually, it was bad news all around. Just because she’d had great sex didn’t mean she was fixed. She knew that. She still had issues. She’d still have them for a while yet. So was she clinging to Sebastian because his dick had temporarily “fixed” her?
The problem was that when she wasn’t Chesty LaRude, brutal but fun derby girl, she was a shattered mess who lacked confidence. She didn’t trust her own judgment.
Gretchen made a face and re-sealed the perfume sample. “Woof. That shit was terrible. Your soaps smell way better than any of that crap.”
“Gee, thanks.” She tuned back in to Gretchen’s chatter, watching her friend page through the magazine as the car crawled through the congested streets of Manhattan.
“Oh, speaking of soaps,” Gretchen said, glancing at Chelsea. “I want to give some rose-scented stuff away as wedding party favors. I thought it’d be kind of cool, what with Hunter so big into roses. Plus, the soaps you make are badass. You game?”
“For you? Of course!” Hearing Gretchen’s praise gave her a warm flush of pleasure. “I’ll mock up a few different scents and looks and you can tell me which ones you like the best.”