"Would you listen to yourself?" I demanded. "I leave one guy with blue balls and it's a crime against humanity. You leave half the men in New York City in the same condition and it's a point of pride. Please, explain to me how the situations are different."
Brooke tipped her sangria back and drank deeply. "First things first, I'm the baddest, beastiest bitch New York's ever known. I can't help it when men find that arousing and run after me with their sad little dicks hanging out. But most importantly, I didn't care about any of those guys. Hell, I couldn't even keep track of their names when I was with them."
I stared out at the water and the boats moving through the harbor. It really was the perfect summer day, the kind of day I stored up in my memories to save me in the winter. "I don't care about Jackson," I said.
"You know what's awesome?" she murmured. "How you're so bad at lying. Say that again—about how you don't care for him. Maybe this time you'll be able to look at me while you do it. Oh, and also? Try to say it as if you believe it, too, and you're not asking me a damn question."
I shot a sharp glance across the table. "Okay, fine," I said. "I care about Jackson. He's my neighbor and I see him around town but—"
"Oh my fucking god," Brooke said, groaning. She pushed her sunnies to the top of her head and rubbed the bridge of her nose. "I love you but I also want to slap you. Really hard. Not some quick tap but a full slap, the kind that leaves a handprint on your face and knocks this bullshit out of your head."
"I'd slap you back," I muttered.
"I'd fucking hope so," she replied, tugging up the top on her strapless sundress. "Girl, what is your malfunction? Why are you avoiding that fabulous slab of man?"
"Oh, I don't know," I said, lifting the pitcher of sangria to top off our glasses. "Perhaps it's because I barely know him and I can't hook up with him and then avoid him for the rest of my life."
Brooke shook her head, sending strands of pale blonde hair over her shoulders. "You'd only have to avoid him if you do something unforgiveable. You know, like calling out the wrong name or kneeing him in the balls or passing gas while he goes down on you. You get that, right?" Not waiting for a response, she barreled on. "And don't quote me on this but I'm mostly certain you won't have to announce your sexytimes at the monthly town council meeting. I know Talbott's Cove is behind the times but I don't think it's necessary to present courtship plans to the community anymore. So, to recap, call him now and tell him you're ready to come to your senses."
"Great info. Thanks bunches."
I guzzled my drink. It was all I could do. I was out of explanations for Jackson, for Brooke, for myself. All I knew was that my head had told me to leave, my heart had been on the fence, and my vagina had screeched at me to stay. And that was the crux of it for me, this internal war of wills.
It was go-for-flight with my lady bits, of course. They hadn't been the center of someone else's attention in ages. My heart was still bruised from Owen and my poor judgment, but it also beat a little harder, a little faster when Jackson was near. But with every one of those hard, fast beats, the ache of my semi-imaginary breakup shot through my chest. My brain was taking neither shit nor prisoners. It didn't like the idea of me jumping into it with Jackson and was lobbying hard for me to take it slow, get to know him, keep my panties on.
My major organs were locked in a staring contest.
"Please, just explain to me why you dropped the cock," Brooke said. "I'm actually very curious about this and if you don't tell me now, I will probably hound you for the rest of your natural life. Maybe longer. I've heard there's a witch in Salem, Massachusetts who communicates with the dead. She might be able to tell me, once and for all, why you rejected Jackson Lauafteryou got your hands on his jewels. So, it's fine if you don't explain this shitshow to me now. The witch will get it out of you after you're gone. And that might be very soon because I'm going to strangle you if you keep pussyfooting over a man who is clearly obsessed with you."
I glanced at her, the afternoon sunlight bouncing off her hair. Her sunglasses were enormous, straight out of Jackie O's accessory drawer, and her dress's deep blue and lime green print made her skin look like buttercream. It was amazing how someone so beautiful could also be so relentless.
"He's not obsessed with me," I argued.
"Uh huh, sure, okay," Brooke replied, bobbing her head.
"He's not," I insisted. "He's a really nice guy. He's just being nice."
"Did you realize the juice wasn't worth the squeeze?" Brooke asked. "He's got the meat but not the motion?"
"I can't believe you just said that out loud," I muttered. "It's one thing to think it but entirely another to say those words in the middle of a busy restaurant. I don't understand your brain."
"Few do," she replied. "But can you blame me for asking? You're not giving me anything. You tell me you went to his office with pie—which is the pastry equivalent of come-fuck-me heels—and things quickly heated up. Then you dropped his dick like a hot potato? I can't square that circle, sister. I can't do it. Set me straight or plead insanity."
I tugged my lower lip between my teeth as I considered this. The answers, they weren't the kind of truths I could get my arms around on the first try. I wanted Jackson, there was no mystery there, but it wasn't that simple. I didn't know how to want him while guarding my emotions and I didn't trust myself with those emotions right now.
"He said he wanted to take me back to his place," I started, plucking each word with care, "and he wanted to do things the right way."
Brooke blinked at me for a solid minute. "You're not helping your case here, hun," she said. "Look, I'm all for the quick-and-dirty-on-the-desk routine. I love the Q-and-D. But him saying he wants to take you home, do it right…that's a big neon sign informing you that he wants to go downtown and spend a little while visiting each neighborhood."
"What—what are you talking about right now?" I asked. "Honestly, I'm confused. I thought I knew where this was going but—"
"Vagina licking," she roared.
That drew several surly glances from the people around us.
"I'm sorry," I called to the table beside us, motioning toward Brooke. "She's not…she's not well. It's a condition."
Ignoring me, she continued, "If he only wanted to get his dick wet, he would've fucked you on the desk. I continue to be baffled by your rejection of this guy."
