“Fuck me, Gray. Oh god, fuck me and don’t stop.”
“I got you,” he whispers against my lips, driving his fingers in again just as his tongue thrusts into my mouth. “I got you,” he says again, and he does. I’m addicted to this man. It’s never happened before, but it’s too late to stop it now. I let myself get lost in the sensations he’s creating in my body and try to ignore the fear—at least for now.
“You’re late,” Miranda grumbles as I walk through the diner to the back booth—the same booth Miranda claims every freaking time we eat here. She demands we sit at the back of the room, and she always faces the doors. She’s got more than a few issues. She’s also the one friend besides Jackson that I allow in my life, so I put up with the quirks. God knows I have more than enough of my own.
“I had sex,” I tell her, smiling sweetly and grabbing a menu. “Have you already ordered? I’m starving.”
“Wait… you had sex? You’re smiling and you’re starving? Who are you and what have you done with my best friend who is always grouchy, says men aren’t worth the trouble, and who eats like a horse but usually not until the afternoon so she can wake up?”
“Hmmm… Yes, I had sex, and it was awesome sex, so of course I’m smiling. It’s almost noon, so I’m awake enough and I’m starving because having sex on the regular is exhausting. I need food to keep up my stamina.”
“I’ve entered some kind of alternate universe, haven’t I? That’s the only explanation. Oh, and I think I hate you in this universe, too.”
“Why’s that?”
“Because the beauty of our relationship is: we both bitch and quarrel about men and go long periods without sex and can whine about how lacking our vibrators are.”
“What can I get you girls?” the waitress asks, interrupting us. Miranda orders a chicken salad and an iced tea. Usually I would order the same, but today I really am hungry.
“I’ll have the turkey club, no mayo, and an order of fries, and a tea to drink too, please?”
The waitress leaves, and I catch Miranda staring at me with her mouth open. My best friend since sixth grade, Miranda Kerr is everything I’m not. She’s tiny, small-breasted, and so pretty it hurts. She’s got dark black hair and shining blue eyes that look almost lavender in color. She wears glasses in the newest, trendiest frames and has plump to-die-for lips smothered in dark red lipstick. We don’t match at all—the grease monkey tomboy and the book nerd, girly-girl—but somehow we click on every front. I trust her with my life. She’s as loyal as they come.
“I think I could hate you,” she huffs.
“You can’t. You love me. Besides, you have Kurt, right?”
“Wrong. I kicked him to the curb.”
“What? Why? I thought you two were getting along great?”
“I thought we were, too, and then I discovered he was getting along just as well with a girl in Harvest Corners,” she says, naming a small town two counties over.
“That asshole.”
“Amen to that.”
“Why didn’t you call me?”
“You were gone to Lexington for the weekend. I didn’t want to bother you, and I’ve been so busy with training that I hadn’t been able to check in with you until now. Though, it sounds like I should have. So tell me all about your new boy toy! And leave nothing out.”
“There’s not a lot to tell. I met him in Lexington, and we—”
“You’re kidding me? You are on friendship probation! You should have told me that you met someone!”
“Well, at the time I didn’t think it’d be anything past the weekend…”
“The weekend?”
I feel the blush hit my face before I can stop it, and I shrug. “Yeah, well…”
“How have we lost touch this much?”
“You’ve been busy, Mer. I have, too. It happens.”
“Yeah, well, we need to put the kibosh on that right now.”
“Hey, it’s not completely my fault. Kurt didn’t exactly give you spare time to—”
“You’re right. Let’s not talk about that douchebag anymore. That’s over and done. D. O. N. E.”
“Douche canoe is more like it.”
“Girl, you ain’t lying.”
“So tell me more about Mr. Curl-My-Toes-For-The-Weekend and how it’s still going on! Was it that good?”
“Umm, it was better than good.”
“Better? You’re saying on a scale of one to ten, he’s a…?”
“Off the charts.”
“Holy fluck,” she whispers the fake curse word in awe.
“I know,” I agree, and in my whole life, it’s probably as close as I’ve come to sounding like a giddy teen discussing prom.
“You told him where you lived?” she asks, and again I feel the telltale heat spread on my face. What is up with that? I’m not a blusher! Then again, I’m not the kind of woman who discusses boys at a crowded diner either.
“Well, no. That was by accident?”