Patting the seat next to me, I hope she takes the cue, because this feels like that time I got caught looking at one of Joe’s naughty magazines. Both of my parents stood over me as I cowered on the sofa for that lecture.
Fortunately, she does sit. I’ve decided to approach this differently. “He told me he loved me.”
“Oh. My. God.” She squeaks, then claps, then bounces up and down all while seated. “What did you say? You told him you loved him too, right? Because I know you love him. I just knew he loved you. God.” She’s barely taken a breath.
“I told him, yes.”
Deena’s eyes start to get shiny like she’s going to cry. Deena never cries. Ever. “Then…” She sniffles. “It really was perfect.”
I reach out and hug my best friend. In her ear I repeat what she just said. “It really was perfect.”
“Good,” she whispers back. “That’s what I wanted for you. I wanted it to be perfect.”
And now it’s my turn to sniffle.
“And hot. I wanted it to be fucking hot. Tell me it was hot.”
I giggle in her ear, because now she’s got me wrapped up tight. “It was so hot, girl. Swear to you. When I get more comfortable with all of it, I’ll tell you more. But, for now, I’m just still processing everything.”
Pulling away, she nods and swipes away a couple of tears on her cheek. “Fair enough.” Standing, she heads back into the kitchen, picking up her coffee cup like none of that happened. “When you’re ready to talk, I’ll tell you about Theo.”
“Not fair,” I grumble. Because I really do enjoy her bedtime stories. (And by that, I mean tales of her escapades in bed.)
“Let me just say this.” She sets her cup down, places her palms on the counter, and leans in. “I didn’t have sex with Theo Blazek.”
“What?” Good thing I wasn’t eating or drinking anything right then, because it would have ended up all over the coffee table.
Her smile is huge, from ear to ear. “He turned me down.”
Oh, no. Wait… “And you’re happy about it?”
Shrugging, Deena winks. “It’showhe turned me down.”
“How?” I sound a bit breathless. She’s killing me here drawing this story out.
“He said, and I quote, ‘Deena, babe, when we do it for the first time, it’s gonna mean something.’”
I’m confused. “What did he mean by that? What did you say?”
Holding up her hand to stop the questions, she continues. “He told me he’d been waiting for me to cut his roommate loose for weeks. That I’ve been haunting his dreams.” She covers her mouth and giggles. “His dreams. And that he’s spent his nights thinking of all the things he wanted to do to me.”
“Wow.” I wonder what those things are? I should ask Lucky….
“Then he said, ‘When we make love for the first time’”—she winks—“It’s not going to be at your apartment after some random party. It’s going to be somewhere special. I’m going to make sure it’s everything you deserve, my queen.”
“My queen?” I squeak. “I’ve always wanted someone to call me that.” I have. Honest to goodness. I’ve read it in several books, and it always makes me swoon.
“That’s right, bitch. I’m his queen.”
“That’s. So. Freaking. Awesome.” And I mean every single one of those words. That’s exactly what my best friend deserves. Finally, a guy who sees what a prize she is. Sure, she’s annoying occasionally, but who isn’t. She’s genuine and sweet and generous, and above all else, she’s loyal. I feel the burn of tears again. “I’m so happy for you.”
She shrugs, but her smile hasn’t left her face. “I’ve got a good feeling about him.”
“Me too.”
“I just hope he isn’t doing this because he’s got a micropenis or something.”
And bam, the tears are gone. Replaced with gales of laughter.
