“If that’s the case, son, neither will you.”
Chapter Two
BRISTOL
“So, how’s premarital life with needle dick?”
“Jesus, Kira, people can hear you,” I seethe as I drag my best friend by her arm to a table in the back of the coffee shop. It’s a rainy day in Washington State and I’m meeting my soon-to-be-ex-best friend for coffee. We aren’t off to a great start. It’s no secret that she hates my fiancé, but could she be a little more discreet when it comes to announcing the size of his junk?
Pushing Kira into one of the wooden chairs, I take a seat across from her, shooting a lethal look in her direction. “Could you say that a little louder next time?”
Kira shrugs, her long box braids swaying around her face from the movement. “Probably. I can surely try next time if you’d like.” She smirks, and it’s so hard to be mad at her when she’s feisty and playful like this, even if it’s at my expense.
I cock my head to the side, leveling her with pursed lips and squinted eyes. “You would, wouldn’t you?” I challenge.
“Hey, you’re the one who said your fiancé had a tiny dick, not me.” She holds up her hands defensively. “I just gave him the nickname.” A man walks by at that exact moment, his eyes tracing over her warm brown skin with an appreciative glance. She bats her big doe eyes at him innocently until my foot connects with her shin under the table. All eyes go to my best friend whenever she’s out, and it’s times like this—when she’s talking unashamedly about my sex life—that I wish we were invisible.
I lift my latte to my lips, gently blowing across the frothy heart in the center while rain trickles down the window next to me. “I did not say Blake has a—” I look around briefly, waiting for another patron to move along out of earshot before dropping my voice and continuing. “I did not say Blake has a tiny dick, Kira, and you know it.”
She levels me with a stare, calling me on my bullshit. We’ve been friends for most of our lives and know each other inside and out. Some days it’s a good thing, others, not so much. Like right now.
“Uhm, pretty sure you did. You said, ‘the sex is kinda lackluster, I can hardly feel him when he’s inside me,’” Kira says in her best impression of me, which, truthfully, sounds nothing like me at all.Brat. To be annoyingly fair to her, I did say that. But I was trying to convey that the sex between us just isn’t great. There’s no passion, no real chemistry. Instead of an eager rush to strip each other of our clothes in a desperate, primal race to connect, it feels almost transactional—if only one party is benefiting and the other is just being used in a lackluster attempt at giving them something that just doesn’t ever come.Literally.
Kira looks amused with herself as she looks around the coffee shop, always people watching. I snap my fingers between us, bringing her attention back to me. “It’s my time. You can dream up stories based on the people you see around you later,” I demand. Kira is a successful romance author, writing the most elaborate romantic fantasy stories that people absolutely eat up. I’m convinced her writing career is her first real love, even though I came before it. “I admit that I did say that, but you knew what I meant by it,” I tell her pointedly.
“That he falls on top of you, sticks you with his needle dick, and ruts a few times until he blows. Sounds riveting. I understand the appeal.”
“Oh?” I mock gasp, putting my hand to my heart, knowing that nothing Kira could say would actually offend me. “And what about you, Miss Commitment-phobe? How’s that any better?”
“Honey, because I come. Multiple times. Orgasms that make me see stars. Maybe I’m onto something with the ‘no serious commitment’ right now. No time for anyone to get complacent, and the men want to impress you, so they actuallytry. Plus, I’m happy. Isn’t that what it’s all about? Happiness?” I’m not hating the picture she’s painting, and my core clenches like a desperate hussy in need. Pretty sure I can count on one hand how many times I’ve orgasmed with Blake, and it’s been over a year since my last one that wasn’t self-induced. “He still refuses to eat your pussy?”
I choke on the warm liquid trying to descend down my throat, quickly grabbing a napkin and sputtering into it. “Jesus Christ, do you not have any filter today? Are you drunk? What is wrongwith you?”
“Bristol. C’mon, you know me better than that,” she laughs, way too amused with herself this morning. “Your silence, though, is all the answer I need. don’t worry, I won’t make you say it.”
I roll my eyes dramatically at her. I really need to work on my poker face and maybe get a new best friend. It’s hard to be mad or irritated when she’s annoyingly not wrong. Blake has always said it makes him uncomfortable to go down on me, that he prefers to just get right into it without much foreplay, which is “a waste of time” when you know the end game is a sure thing.
It’s definitely left some lingering self-conscious stains on me. The last thing I’d want to hear from my fiancé is that I’m the problem and it’s not a generality that he doesn’t enjoy it. Bluntly put? My sex life blows. But that doesn’t mean I’m not happy. There are worse things than having a shitty sex life.
I release a pent-up sigh, looking out the window and watching the rain droplets trickle down the glass. “Alright, enough talk about all this.”
“What? That my best friend has been reduced to the equivalent of a Fleshlight?”
My head snaps back in Kira’s direction, my mouth falling open. “Ma’am, are you well? Do I need to take you somewhere? What gives?”
“I had one mind-blowing weekend, and instead of fully enjoying myself, you know what I was thinking about?”
I lift the rim of my mug to my lips. “Hopefully not me, ’cause that would be weird.”
“Yes, you, dumbass. That my beautiful best friend is probably at home hanging out by herself instead of getting her pussy eaten by a man who worships her.” I can’t help it, I actually laugh. She’s so ridiculous. Sex is important, but it’s definitely not the be-all, end-all. Do Blake and I have intense sexual chemistry? No. But not everything revolves around sex. “I mean, really, Bristol, look at your banging body! Those tits! I would kill for them. Mine are basically nonexistent. And your curves? That big ole booty! Girl. A body like yours needs some love.”
“You’re crazy,” I laugh at her. Although, it would be nice.
“Maybe so, but I’ve made two commitments in my life, to you and to my writing. I wouldn’t let my career tumble, so why the hell would I let you? And you not living life to your fullest means that you aren’t the happiest you could be. It’s my problem by proxy. That’s how this whole thing works between us. Your shit is my shit and vice versa.”
God, I love her. She’s my polar opposite in almost every way. Where I’m more reserved, she’s unapologetically extroverted. She thrives off energy in a beautifully magnetic way, pulling everyone into her orbit. She’s fiercely honest, sometimes shockingly so, and I know I’m always going to get the unfiltered, unsoftened version. She’d rather risk discomfort than be anything but authentic. It’s what drew me to her in the first place. She has defended me against shitheads since our elementary school days on the playground, and I know she’s not going to stop now that we’re both pushing thirty.
My threshold for accepting bullshit behavior is unfortunately much higher than hers. I hate major confrontation and will avoid it until I’m pushed way too far, and then I blow up. Suffering in silence until I hit a breaking point is more myspeed. Kira speaks right up rather than letting it build and fester. One of her traits I wish I had, if I’m honest.
