“Middle name?”
She gulped. “Charles.” It could be Charles. It also just happened to be the name of the guy who’d taken their brunch order.
“Favorite breakfast food?”
“Waffles.” At least that’s what Sawyer loved to pop in the toaster for post-coital refreshment—a mental image she didn’t need when her pulse was already jackhammering in her ears.
Daphne took a sip of coffee and looking bored all of a sudden asked, “When are you leaving for Australia?”
“Two and a half weeks.” Finally, one she didn’t have to mislead about.
“Called it!” Daphne raised her arm and pumped her fist. “The whole engagement is bullshit. So what’s the real story?”
Oh crap. If she was getting married, there would be no Australia.
Figuratively cornered by Daphne’s eyes and the power of long-term friendship, her cheeks blazed, her heart slammed against her ribs, and the words rushed out—along with some very unfortunately timed stress tears.
“Just because I’m still going to Australia doesn’t mean the engagement is fake or that I’m dodging my mom’s calls because I hate lying to her or that I’ve been making myself stay away from you guys because I knew you’d figure out the truth.” Breaths coming in short gasps, she looked down at the napkin she’d shredded without realizing it and grabbed a fresh one from the dispenser on the table to dry her cheeks and wipe her runny nose. Damn. She did not mean for all of that to come out. Maybe it hadn’t. If she prayed hard enough maybe it had only happened in her head. She glanced up at Daphne, and she was staring at her with mouth agape. Nope. She’d definitely said it out loud. “Tae.”
“I don’t know what that last word was,” Daphne said, “and I’m still processing the rest.”
“It means shit in Tagalog.” Which was the best possible word for what she’d just said because there would be no stopping the interrogation that was going to happen next.
“Okay, let me get this straight.” Her friend took a quick sip of coffee. “You’re not engaged?”
Clover shook her head. “No.”
“Thank God,” she said and sank back against her seat. “I thought you’d lost your fucking mind or had joined a cult.”
“None of the above.” She reached for her espresso with hands that didn’t shake for the first time since she’d arrived at Grounded Coffee. “I’m Sawyer’s personal buffer.”
“You’re a fluffer?” Daphne asked in a stage whisper. “Like in porn?”
“No!” Clover said, perhaps a bit too forcefully considering the looks they got from some of the people sitting near their table. “Mierda.”
Great. Let’s just add making a public fool of yourself to everything else.
She offered the strangers a smile—a perfectly polite response if she’d been in small town Sparksville, but one that only elicited confused and wary reactions from the good people of Harbor City who learned from birth not to acknowledge each other. The only benefit of that being that they all very quickly turned back to their own tables.
Daphne leaned in close and lowered her voice, “You’re having sex with him, though.”
“What makes you say that?” And there went what little remained of her napkin.
“Because if you weren’t you would have just straight denied it,” she said, bold as brass. “Face it, Clover, you can’t keep shit from me—obviously, since it took about ten minutes to break you. Don’t ever turn to a life of crime. You’d suck at it.”
And didn’t she know it. “Noted.”
“So what’s the real deal?”
Glancing over at the other tables to make sure no one was listening, Clover scooted her chair closer, relief at finally being able to talk to someone loosening the tension tying her guts in a knot. “You can’t tell anyone. Ever.”
“Goodie. That means this is gonna be good.” Daphne held out her hand to the middle of the table and held out her pinkie. “I solemnly swear I’ll keep my big mouth shut. Spill.”
Clover couldn’t help but grin. It was a sign of unity they’d developed one night years ago in their freshman dorm after half a dozen too many cheap beers. Still, the silly action represented them and their unrelenting loyalty. So she held her hand aloft, finger pointing, and touched her pinkie to Daphne’s. Then, she told her everything—minus all the glorious naked details. By the time she got to the end, Daphne had been rendered silent.
“So in a few weeks, we break off the engagement, he finalizes some big deal and gets his mom to cool her matchmaking efforts, and I jet off to Australia fifteen grand richer,” Clover said. “We both walk away happy.”
She relaxed back against her seat, able to enjoy hanging out with Daphne without any weird I’m-lying-my-face-off guilt eating away at her. A lightness filled her, happy and content. All was right with the world. However, judging by the expression on Daphne’s face, she wasn’t feeling the same.
Finally, Daphne spoke up, “But you’re sleeping with him.”
Okay, this was an obvious misunderstanding, but Clover had this one down. “It’s not like I’m an employee, and he’s not paying me for that. It’s just for fun.”
One of her eyebrows popped up practically to her blond hairline. “Uh-huh.”
Clover stiffened, indignation zapping up her spine. “What’s that mean?”
“Well…” Daphne paused, pushing the broken pieces of crust from her quiche around her plate. “You’re not exactly a casual sex kinda girl even with your obsession with new experiences.”
“I’m not a prude.” And why was she having to defend herself? It was her life.
“You can take the girl out of Sparksville,” Daphne said. “But you can’t take Sparksville out of the girl.”
Her chest tightened and Clover pressed her lips together before she said something she’d regret later. Daphne was her friend. Her best friend. They’d disagreed before. They’d disagree again. But that didn’t change the fact that they were always there for each other. It’s just this time, Daphne didn’t understand. Taking a deep breath, she counted to five before letting it all out in a slow exhale.
“It’s just sex,” she said, her voice calmer than she felt. “It’s not like I’m falling in love with him. We just hang out. Did I tell you we renovated a flea market find into a bar cart?”
“He went with you to the flea market?” Daphne squeaked out the question.
Clover relaxed, thankful her attempt to change the subject worked. She could understand why. When she pictured the Sawyer Carlyle from the paparazzi photos and news clips, she had to admit it sounded ridiculous. But there was more to him than just the skyscrapers and the fancy parties—maybe more than even he realized.