She shrugged. “There’s something depressingly comforting, reading about other people’s problems and reminding yourself you’re not the only screwup in this world. See here.” Layla tapped a shell-hued fingernail to the page. “One reader told her that her husband of five years asked her about her body count before they were married and was horrified by the total. Now he wants a divorce.”
“Are we talking people she slept with, or actual bodies?” I leaned an elbow on the back of the couch, catching a tendril of her leafy-green hair and twirling it over my index finger.So. Soft.“I mean, neither is a deal-breaker, but I want to know what we’re talking about.”
Layla giggled. “Sex, of course.”
“Well, what was the number?” I was more occupied with her velvety hair than the advice column.
“Thirty. Do you think that’s a lot?”
I hitched a shoulder up. “Don’t think it matters, as long as they’re faithful right now. Why? What’syourbody count?”
“I never actually counted. I think it’s pretty weird to, you know?” She took a pull of her drink. “Like it’s a competition or something. I don’t keep track. But I also don’t think it was more than twenty. Probably close to fifteen.”
I nodded thoughtfully. At some point Layla and I had stopped showing each other clean health bills. There was trust there. I knew she’d never compromise my health, or vice versa.
But we also always,alwaysused condoms.
“What about you?” she asked.
“Thirteen women, you included.”
“That’s a great number. Not too much. Not too little.”
She grabbed our bowls, handing mine to me. We clicked them like they were wineglasses, and she took a large bite, groaning. “Hmm. Heaven.”
We put our show on, neither of us really paying it any attention.
“So, remind me why you have a subscription toGlossagain?” Layla elevated an eyebrow, the magazine still in her lap.
“My mom loves their coupons and freebies. She uses almost all of them. If you calculate all the discounts and samples, it is actually worth more than the annual subscription.”
“This speaks to my thrifty heart.” She laughed. “Also, you are an amazing son.”
“I know.”
“And lover.”
I bowed my head in fake modesty.
“Remind me why you’re single?”
“I’m too busy finding the cure to cancer to have a life.” I tossed a nugget into my mouth, pointing at her with my chopsticks. “Addaltruisticto my list of flawless traits. And my dick. Twelve inches. Put that down.”
“Ten on a good day.” She laughed, shoving me playfully. “But hey, I’ll take it. All puns intended.”
We finished our food, and Layla washed the dishes while I cleaned the table. I didn’t want to initiate sex, because she already knew I’d dropped everything to run to her, and there was a difference between being a good friend and being plain pathetic.
Plus, I didn’t want to pressure her into anything. Maybe she wasn’t in a headspace to ride a dick when she’d just come face to face with one.
“Do you want to watch another episode?” I called out to the kitchen as I grabbed the remote.
“I actually have a better idea how to spend the rest of the night.” Dainty arms circled me from behind.
My dang heart nearly ripped out of its arteries, bursting from my chest. I smirked, feigning nonchalance. “Wrestling? I can take you.”
“Don’t be so sure. What I lack in size I make up for in pure female rage.” Layla proceeded to try to drag my six-one former professional rower’s ass to my bedroom, all five feet of her, and I nearly doubled over laughing.
“Is this an invitation?” I turned around and hooked my finger into the spaghetti strap of her satin pale-pink dress. Her nipples strained against the flimsy fabric. I couldn’t wait to have them in my mouth. To lick every single inch of her.
