Gwen shoots off the couch and walks into the kitchen. “We are talking about you, remember? Not me. Stop avoiding the questions.”
“Me avoiding? That’s the pot calling the kettle black,” I yell over my shoulder.
“I’m not listening,” she shouts as I hear another bottle of wine being opened. She returns to me sitting on the couch, fills up her glass first and then mine.
“Be nice, or I won’t tell you anything,” I say quickly. It succeeds in shutting her up. If there is one thing that always gets her to stop it’s the threat of being shut out from gossip. Gwen looks down at her glass and takes another sip, drawing out the moment.
“It’s just been a long time since I’ve seen you with anyone,” she says. “And hell, I’ve never seen you with anyone like that.”
I laugh. She’s right. We’ve seen each other in some pretty compromised situations, but I am sure that topped them all.
“I’m serious, Ev,” my best friend continues. “I’m talking more than just the raging hormones and groping that I walked in on. I’m talking about that spark.”
My eyes shoot up.
“Holy hell, lady. I could feel that shit and I wasn’t even the one that started the fire.” She fans herself and lets out a whistle. “Even when you guys stopped, it was like you were still going at it. I was uncomfortable just being in the room with you two, like I was still intruding or something.”
“You were,” I laugh. “How long were you standing there watching?”
“Long enough,” she says. A sense of sadness fills her eyes, and for the first time, I see heartbreak there. Something I haven’t seen since she lost her sister. “I just want to make sure that you’re not getting in over your head. You’re a strong woman, I know that. But you have dreams and plans. I just don’t want to see a guy come along and make you change your mind. Even if the guy might ooze more sex appeal than Justin Timberlake and Ryan Gosling combined.”
I laugh as she reaches over and squeezes my knee.
“Good Lord, woman, I’m not joking. It’s like Paul Newman’s eyes on Channing Tatum’s body with James Dean’s rugged good looks.”
I giggle, taking another sip of wine.
“I’m not gonna lie, I would totally take even like the smallest slice of that three-way.” I begin to laugh harder when she doesn’t ease up on her comparisons. “I mean hell, he’s like Chris Pine mixed with a little Tom Hardy then rolled into Elvis Presley’s ‘it just comes natural to be this sexy’ kinda swagger.” I laugh even harder. “I’m not lying. I saw the way he rolls his hips girl,” she continues, starting to giggle herself. “Shit, he could ‘love me tender’ all night long. Or rough. Hell, beggars can’t be choosers.”
We’re now laughing hysterically, spilling our wine, and holding on to each other for dear life.
“Lord, I missed you, lady,” I say, catching my breath.
She smiles at me as we sit there silently, knowing how much our friendship means to one another without having to say another word. After a moment, my mind slowly drifts back to the words she’s just said. Not the long list of ways she compared Noah to some of the amazing men we have always admired, but her words before that.
Sure, he’s sexy, and God only knows how badly I want him. But I have never let anyone or anything stop me from pursuing anything before. I don’t intend to let someone now. I have no intention of letting this beautiful distraction stop me from the plans that I have had in place long before we ever crossed paths, no matter how strong our chemistry is.
When I still haven’t spoken after a few minutes, Gwen decides to switch speeds. Getting up from the couch, she starts once again towards the kitchen.
“So, are we going out? Because I’m starving!”
“Oh my God, the groceries,” I exclaim, remembering they’re still sitting in my car.
Jumping to my feet, I’m thankful it’s cold outside and they most likely haven’t spoiled. I grab my coat and keys and hurry out the door, down the stairs, and to my car. Opening the trunk, I grab the few bags I had bought and rush back inside. The night has cooled off quickly. Even with a coat, it is much cooler than it was a week ago.
Setting the bags on the counter, I begin unloading the perishables into the fridge when Gwen slams the cupboard door and turns around to face me.
“Screw this!” Gwen exclaims as I put the last of the items away. “We’re going out. Get dressed.”
“Gwen, I can’t go out. I have to work in the morning. Hell, I am supposed to get some work done tonight,” I try to reason with her.
“Whatever, stop being such a grandma.” She makes her way toward the living room, grabs her bag, and heads down the hallway. “If you’re going off the market soon, I’m making sure to enjoy every last second until then.”
“I never said I was thinking about getting serious—” I start to say.
“Save it. I already contacted Uber. Fifteen minutes, lady. Is that club of your brother’s still as swanky as I remember?”
I can hear her rummaging through her bag and roll my eyes as I make my way down the hallway. Not only do I not want to go out tonight, but I definitely am not in the mood for Gatsby’s. Glancing into the spare room, I see Gwen holding up a scrap of fabric that can hardly be called a dress.
