I make a face at that idea. I believe in stars and sure, I'm a hopeless romantic, but that's a little far-fetched.
"Star-crossed at best," I say dryly and finally take a sip, trying to unwind.
The window is open and there is a nice soft breeze coming in that tricks you into believing things might still end well.
There's a pause while I pick at my nails, deciding how to tell her the next thing.
She'll probably make fun of me, but she's my best friend—actually, my only friend since I came back—and I need to get itout before it eats me alive.
"The biggest problem now is that I... had a dream about him."
She studies my nervous fidgeting with a cocked brow. "What kind of dream?"
"A..." I clear my throat. "A wet one."
Her brow shoots up even higher and she lets out a low whistle, more entertained by my filthy subconscious than I am. "You used to talk about that one kiss like he was some sex god who descended from Mount Olympus, so that tracks."
"Yeah, but for most of our friendship, there was nothing sexual. He wasn't just that for me. It was more. Like, way more."
"Mm. Like what more?" She purposely pins me with her eyes because she knows I avoid talking feelings.
And I don't even know how to explain gravity, so I stay silent.
Lu leans in, her fingers running through my hair, leaving red specks behind. "Your hair's dry."
I frown at it. "What does my hair have to do with it? And it can't be dry."
"Sex is the best conditioner and you—" she pats my head for emphasis, "—baby girl, are brittle. Which might explain your delicate mood."
I roll my eyes. Sex has nothing to do with it. It's the three years I spent learning how to file Ben into some invisible drawer in my mind, and now that he's back, I'm terrified it's all going to spill out again.
"That's bullshit. And I already told you it's not about sex."
"It's not bullshit. It's an ancient knowledge." She puts on a mock-offended face, then tilts her head. "So? How long has it been since Richard last checked your oil?"
I throw the coaster at her stupid face, but she ducks it, grinning with that waiting-for-it expression.
I stare at her flatly but reluctantly count in my mind. Damn, I don't even know anymore.
"Maybe three weeks? Or four?" I admit, a little humiliated.
"Shit." Her lips purse in shock. "Should I brew something for Richard's little problem?"
I sputter a laugh before I can stop it, then catch myself and straighten, giving her my best lady-of-the-manor glare that Richard would award me for. "Screw you. My husband doesn't have a problem—"
Lu raises a brow. "Richard's got a lot of problems. One of them being too busy admiring himself in the mirror."
"Stop." I level her with a sharp glare.
Lu isn't a fan of Richard either. It started pretty much from the first dinner we had together in Seattle before our wedding. We got into the logistics, and he insisted I take his last name, even swap it on my books, calling it a rebrand. Lucy fumed, asked him why, he started preaching about 'traditional values,' and she told him he was fucking medieval. End of story. End of civil conversation.
"Richard is very busy with work, building an empire."
"How can he have you in his bed and not touch you? Your relationship's weird."
"It's not!" I fling my arms, too defensive. "Our love wasnever really in the skin. And it's the last thing on my mind now."
"Apparently itison your mind," she deadpans. "Just not for your husband."
