Was I wrong to point out Selena's behavior? I don't know much about friendships between women, but that doesn't seem right. Seems like passive-aggressive shit to me.
Something about that woman set my teeth on edge.
The way she talked to Emily, tore her down and disguised her insults as jokes. Apparently, she also basically mastermindedthe card. Why would a real friend set Emily up for potential humiliation? Unless that was her plan?
I file the thought away and decide to keep a close watch on Selena.
No one hurts my Emily.
Over my dead fucking body.
5
EMILY
Istretch on the couch, wincing slightly at the pleasant soreness between my thighs. Six hours since I last saw Alex, and I still feel him everywhere—his hands, his mouth, the weight of him pressing me against the shower wall.
Croissant jumps onto my stomach, kneading my sweater with his paws before settling down. "Hey, buddy," I whisper, scratching under his chin. "You missed all the excitement this morning."
I've been floating through the day in a daze, doing mundane tasks that somehow feel different now. I changed my sheets (smiling at the memory of why they needed changing). Fed Croissant. Watched two episodes of a cooking show (more yelling than cooking, actually) without absorbing anything. My mind keeps circling back to this morning.
The run was torture, but the way he smiled when I dramatically collapsed after the first mile made it worth it. And the croissants ... I touch my lips, remembering the taste of butter and Alex's mouth after.
But there's something else nagging at me, a splinter under my contentment.
Who needs enemies when you have a friend like Selena?
Alex's words loop in my head. Was he right? Am I blind to something obvious?
No, that's not fair. Selena's been my friend for months. She was the first person to welcome me when I moved in—bringing over a bottle of wine, helping me arrange furniture. She's been there through my transition to the building.
Sure, she can be a little ... hard to deal with sometimes. Like when she told me to stop wearing my favorite striped sweater because it made me look thicker than I already was. Or when she patted my arm after I described a complicated wedding flower arrangement and said, "Okay, but arranging flowers isn't really the toughest job."
But that's just Selena—direct, honest. Not everyone sugarcoats things.
Though she was the one who pushed me to write that card. What if Alex had laughed at it? What if he'd shown it to others in the building? What if?—
I shake my head, feeling disloyal for even thinking this way. Selena is my friend. I don't have many of those in this city, so I really can't afford to be picky. Or judge unfairly.
A knock interrupts my thoughts. I lift Croissant off my lap and set him on the cushion beside me.
When I open the door, Selena stands there, mascara slightly smudged beneath her eyes, looking distressed.
"Selena? What's wrong?" I step back. "Come in."
She enters, clutching her purse and whirling around to face me. "Em, I need to tell you something."
My stomach drops. "What happened? Are you okay? Did somebody hurt you?"
She sits on my couch, and I join her, concern washing through me at her uncharacteristic vulnerability. Selena is always put-together, always in control.
"I'm fine," she says, shaking her head. "It's not about me. It's about..." She wrings her hands. "I ran into Alex just now."
"Oh? Did you talk to him?"
Selena nods, not meeting my eyes. "We did. About you, actually. About this morning."
The dread intensifies. "What about this morning?"
