“She’s engaged?” What the f**k?
“Yes.”
“Did you know?”
“Yes.”
“Are you heartbroken?”
“No.”
“Are you going to answer with more than one word?”
“When you ask me something that’s even remotely your business, I might.” He glares at me over his shoulder.
“How much longer are you going to be a dickwad?”
“For as long as it takes for you to leave me alone about Kelly.” He smiles at me. “Quit being so nosy.” His fake smile falls away, and he glowers some more. “You don’t even like Kelly.”
“I like Kelly,” I protest.
“No, you don’t.”
“Yes, I do.”
“I’m not stupid, Friday. You clam up every time she comes in here.”
I sit down across from him in a rolling chair. My skirt slides up my thighs and his eyes land there, but I don’t care. I’m wearing fishnet stockings. He runs a hand through his blond hair and jerks on it when he gets to the tips. Then he closes his eyes and takes a breath.
“I don’t dislike her,” I say.
“Mmm hmm,” he hums.
“Did you tell her about the kiss?”
“Yes.”
“In detail?”
“No.”
“Why not?”
“Because I don’t know how to talk about that.”
“What do you mean?” I am so confused.
“Do we really have to rehash this?”
“Yes.”
“For how long?”
“Until we’re done with it.”
“I’m done with it now.”
“Fuck you.”
He chuckles. Finally. “Fuck you,” he tosses back. “Look,” he says, “I didn’t mean to ruin everything. Let’s just go back to how it was before.”
“Before what?”
“Before I kissed you.”
“If I remember correctly, I kissed you.”
He grins. “Yeah, you’re right.”
“I thought I was wrong once, but it turned out I was mistaken.” I shrug my shoulders.
“Friday,” he growls, but at least he’s laughing now.
“What?”
“You’re not going to make this easy, are you?”
“Probably not.”
He goes back to unloading the box and putting the ink away.
“So, what did you tell Kelly?” I ask quietly.
“I told her that I couldn’t f**k her anymore.”
“That’s all it was? Fucking.”
He looks up at my mouth and stares at it until I start to squirm in my seat.
“What?” I ask.
“It tears me up inside when you use dirty words. You should do it more often.” He grins at me.
“Like you could stop me.” I snort. Everyone knows I have a colorful vocabulary. My mother called it a potty mouth. When I’m around Paul’s daughter or Matt’s kids, I have to work really hard not to use bad language.
He rolls his eyes.
“So…” I say really slowly, rolling out the O.
He quirks an eyebrow. “So?”
“So, about f**king Kelly.”
He tosses a bottle of ink a little too hard. “I don’t want to talk about f**king Kelly.”
“Was it f**king Kelly or was it making love to Kelly?” I wince because I know that sounds stupid. “That’s a dumb question,” I murmur.
“No.” He shakes his head. “That’s actually a good question. It was scratching an itch. It was easy. You get used to one person because you know what she likes and how to get there. And she knows what you like and how to get you there.” He shrugs. “It was easy.”
“Do you still love her?”
“Nope.”
“How do you know?”
Suddenly, he grabs the edge of my chair, falls to his knees, and rolls me into him. With one gentle hand on each of my knees, he parts my thighs and wiggles until we’re chest to chest. My breath stalls. He’s an inch from my face when he speaks, and his breath becomes mine. “Because you’re all I can think about. I wake up with you on my mind and go to sleep with you in my dreams. I wouldn’t be having these intense thoughts about you if I were in love with anybody else. I’m not that kind of guy.” He kisses the end of my nose. “I know you already know this about me. I’m a stand-up man, Friday, and I’m loyal.”
“I want to tell you I feel the same,” I say. I close my eyes, and he startles me when he places a kiss on each of my eyelids in turn.
“What’s stopping you?”
“That guy I was with yesterday,” I say. I put a hand on his chest to push him back, but I don’t want him to go anywhere.
He leans back on his heels, but he leaves his hands on my knees. I close my legs, because without him there, I just feel…empty.
“Is he your boyfriend?”
“No.”
“Then why was he kissing you?”
“So, I could make you jealous,” I blurt out. I cover my face with my hand because I’m mortified to admit that.
“Well, f**k. It worked.”
Why doesn’t that make me feel good? “I thought you kissed me and then crawled back into bed with Kelly,” I admit.
“I can see how you’d think that.”