“Train wreck,” Iris said, collapsing back in her chair with a sigh.
“Are you both kidding me?” Delilah asked. “That’s exactly what you wanted.”
Claire stiffened, her thigh moving away from Delilah’s. “No, it’s not. We wanted... we—”
“Wanted her to question what the hell she’s doing with Spencer when he’s the complete opposite of everything she’s ever dreamed of?” Delilah said.
Claire’s whole body slumped, which sent her leg into Delilah’s once again. “Yeah, but not like this. Not like... like she’s hurt.”
“Honey,” Iris said softly, leaning forward. “If Astrid realizes she’s made a mistake with Spencer, it’s going to hurt.”
Claire’s face crumpled, but only for a second before her expression cleared and she nodded. “I know. I just...” She groaned and rubbed her eyes under her glasses. “Goddammit, why do men have to suck so much?”
“Not all of them do,” Iris said.
“Most of them do,” Delilah said.
Iris tapped her chin in thought for a second, then blew out a breath. “Okay, yeah, you’re right. Most of them do. Thank fuck I’m bi.”
Claire laughed, leg pressing more firmly against Delilah’s. Delilah had to fight to keep her hand in place, the desire to reach out and squeeze the other woman’s thigh almost irresistible. Claire was ridiculously adorable. And sweet. Jesus, how did she get so sweet? Being a teenage mom, raising a preteen daughter mostly on her own, running a business, dealing with her half-assed ex—Delilah would be a complete disaster if she was in her shoes. And yet, here Claire was, agonizing over her best friend’s heart.
Iris lifted her glass. “To shitty men and the women who put them in their goddamn place.”
“I’ll drink to that,” Delilah said, raising her own glass.
Claire followed suit, and the three women clinked over the lilies and drank, then dug into their food, which arrived a few minutes later. They proceeded to talk about easier things—movies, books, how they could cut through the filet mignon like it was butter. They laughed about how every time Iris drank even just one glass of red wine, her face blazed bright red and with the heat of a million suns, always leaving her with a wicked headache, but she loved the stuff anyway. They talked about Ruby and how she still slept with the stuffed purple unicorn Iris had given her when she was born and Claire was dreading the day she stopped.
Delilah had completely cleared her plate and drained her third glass of wine before she realized it.
She’d been laughing.
A lot.
With Claire and Iris.
Like they were actually friends and not a tangle of complicated histories simply tolerating each other for the night.
Chapter Thirteen
CLAIRE FLOPPED ONTOthe bed, her head pleasantly fuzzy, a smile still on her lips from the fun night.
Well, mostly fun. Thinking about Astrid made her stomach hurt, but the wine was helping keep the ache at a distance.
So was the fact that Delilah was in the bathroom right now, changing into... whatever she slept in. Pajamas? A nightie? Nothing at all?
Claire squeezed her eyes shut. She’d already completed her nightly routine—teeth, face, lotion—and was now keenly aware that she was wearing a pair of sleep shorts and a tank top with no bra. She hadn’t even thought about it when she was changing in the bathroom a few minutes ago. The wine, the constant laughing at dinner, it had all distracted her from this very moment when she and Delilah would both slide in between the sheets, their skin inches away from each other, and—
Ruby.
She needed to call Ruby.
It was only ten thirty, and she was almost positive her daughterwould still be up, probably stuffing her face with raw cookie dough and watching an R-rated movie. For once, she was glad for Josh’s lax rules. She sat up, ignoring the sound of running water in the bathroom, and tapped Josh’s name on her phone’s favorites list. Ruby didn’t have her own phone yet, and Claire refused to cave to her whining about it. She shuddered to think of her daughter on social media, but knew it was coming, looming like a storm just offshore.
“Hey,” Josh said.
“Hey.”
“How’s the spa? Please tell me you got a massage. Or five.”
