“Anytime, babe.” Annabelle grins, nudging me with her elbow, and I shoot her a look. “Don’t look at me like that. You’re as glittery and beautiful as ever. Seriously, though, what happened? You’ve got that crease between your brows that tells me you’re moody as fuck.”
Oh, nothing.Hottie snuck his way under my skin only to drop me like a hot potato, Koen changed me from a functioning alcoholic to a non-functioning dry one, and Captain Bossy made me feel alive after years of numbness, even though I have no idea what he even looks like.
I shrug, trying to keep it vague. “Men.”
“You’re moody overmen?” Annabelle snorts, reaching into the takeout bag. “That’s new and usually my line.” She pulls out a box and hands it to me, then takes one for herself. “Here. Eat. It’ll help.”
“How would food help with that?” I ask as I pull my hair into a loose ponytail.
Shrugging, she opens her box. “Food is better than men.” She twirls some noodles around her chopsticks. “Whoever it is, if he’s already making you feel that way, fuck him. I mean, my ex was all ‘I know a spot’and then brought me to the lowest point in my life.”
I snort, shaking my head. “Men are trash.”
“Yeah, but we love the drama.” She winks at me, then takes another bite. “Spill.”
“I don’t know. I’m just…” I trail off, trying to find the words. “It’s been three days since I hooked up with anyone.” I fiddle with the lid of the takeout box, my appetite flickering.
“Wait, you’re counting?” Annabelle raises an eyebrow, intrigued. “But yeah, that long of a dry spell isn’t like you.”
I snort. “Three days isn’t a dry spell.”
Except she’s right. It is for me. Isn’t it?
I shrug, trying to play it off. “It’s not that I wasn’t looking for somebody. I’ve tried, but…” My words falter as I think about Hottie. The way his touch lingered like an imprint on my skin, and no one else could measure up since.
“But?” she presses, leaning forward like a gossip columnist waiting for the scoop.
I wave her off, forcing a laugh. “But maybe I’m just losing my touch.”
Annabelle gasps in mock horror. “You? Losing your touch? Never.” Then her grin fades, replaced by a knowing look. “Come on. What’s really going on? Did one of them get to you? Like, in arealway?”
Talking about my hookups is second nature to us. No detail too small, no topic too taboo—dick sizes, positions, whether he made me come, or how many times. But admitting it was Hottie? Saying his name out loud? That feels like crossing a line I’m not ready for.
She knows him.Knows him. If I say it, it’ll make everything more real, like admitting that this thing with Hottie is more than just another hookup. And I can’t deal with that. Not when I’m still trying to convince myself he doesn’t matter.
And especially not if he’s ghosting me now.
I shake my head, forcing a smirk. “Please. Nobody’s gotten to me. I’m just moody because I can’t seem to find anyone interesting enough lately. The usual thrill’s not cutting it, you know?”
“Uh-huh.” Annabelle narrows her eyes, studying me like she knows there’s more. “And this sudden dry spell hasnothingto do with whoever you were with three days ago?”
“Nope. Just bad luck.” I pop a piece of orange chicken into my mouth, chewing slowly to avoid elaborating.
She doesn’t push, but her lips twitch like she’s holding back a comment. “Well, when you’re ready to spill, I’m here. And in the meantime…” She clinks her chopsticks against my box like a toast. “To trash men and good food.”
I laugh, clinking mine back. “To food being better than men.”
But as I take another bite, the taste doesn’t quite reach me. My mind is still on him, how his touch lingered and made me feel seen in a way I can’t even admit to myself yet.
“Anyway, what about you? Why the Chinese feast?”
“Oh! Right!” Annabelle’s eyes brighten, and she sits up straighter. “I wanted to check on you, of course, but also, I’m here to pack the rest of my stuff.”
Fuck.
“So you’re moving out for good?”
“Yeah,” she says, smiling sadly. “Michael’s coming over later to help me move the boxes. I know it’s fast, but it feels right, you know?”
