“Not as bad as itsounds?”
He felt her sense of betrayal, felt it down to his marrow, and he scrubbed his hands over his face. He was such an idiot. He’d been wondering all afternoon if Josie’s tits were as soft as they looked under the pink sweater—hell, all afternoon? Touching Josie had been the primary refrain in his brain for quite some time now—and when she’d stretched up to press her lips to his, everything in his body had turned staticky, hot, and hard.
Then he’d heard Gina’s voice, and it all came rushing back: who he was, who Josie was, how impossible it was for the two of them to be together like this. And his brain had thrown the emergency brake in the worst way possible.
What a shame it worked so damn well.
“How is my putting my tongue into someone else’s fiancé’s mouth ‘not as bad as it sounds’?” Her incredulous tone lacerated, and she backed into the living room, putting the length of his apartment between them. “Why didn’t you ever tell me?”
He opened his mouth helplessly, but before he could figure out how to unfuck what he’d just fucked, there was a knock at the door. Josie stomped to the door and yanked it open.
“Hi. Gina, is it?” Her aggressively perky greeting caused Erik’s lifelong friend to pause uncertainly in the doorway, as anybody would when faced with a seething redheaded stranger.
“Um, hi?” Gina’s broad forehead creased in confusion, and her eyes found him where he was slumped against the far wall. “Is this a bad time? I tried texting.”
He forced himself to stand up straight and own this mess as best as he could. “Josie, this is Gina Trendall. My fiancée.”
The lines on Gina’s forehead deepened. “What? No I’m not.” She stepped into the apartment, lugging a suitcase almost as tall as she was, and said to the grim-faced Josie, “I’m really not.”
“Okay, cool. That’s nice. You two obviously have things to work out.”
Erik winced at the thick sarcasm in Josie’s voice. He hadn’t heard that level of venom from her since their earliest encounters.
She walked briskly to the corner where they’d set up the makeshift photo studio and started cramming equipment into the various bags she’d brought with her. “You have Richard’s cell phone number, right?” Her tone was coolly polite as she settled the camera into its padded container.
“Yes,” he said, wary about her change of subject and demeanor as she folded up the last of the lights.
Gina ruffled a hand through her short brown hair and shot him awhat’s happening here?glance, but he held up a finger to hold off her questions.
Josie slung the various equipment over her shoulders until she had a hoop skirt of black vinyl bags surrounding her. “Okay. Tell you what, why don’t you talk directly to him about the last of the wedding-cake details? Cut out the middleman. I’ll email you when I get these pictures uploaded to your website.”
He followed helplessly in her wake as she stalked toward the door. “Wait.”
“For what?” She paused at the threshold, and when she swung around, he was startled to see not anger on her face but bleakness.
His words failed him, as they always did when it mattered the most, and she turned toward Gina. “He never said anything about a fiancée, so that’s on me for assuming. Sorry I—” She shook her head, then looked his way with glassy eyes. “Sorry I forced you into all this, I guess.”
Without another word, she was gone, leaving behind a phalanx of unspoken words, an apartment full of cake, and the woman Erik had once promised to marry.
“Can I have some?” Gina asked, gesturing toward the pile of baked goods.
Same old Gina. Leading with her stomach. “Sure. Whatever. Eat everything in the apartment.”
“Challenge accepted.” She grabbed one of the slices and settled onto the couch, kicking off her orange Chuck Taylors. “So what did I just interrupt?”
He plopped onto the couch next to her. “Nothing.” Everything.
She shrugged and speared a chunk of cake. “Fine, don’t tell me,” she said around a mouthful of chocolate raspberry. She looked around the apartment as she chewed. “You haven’t changed a thing since I was here for Thanksgiving.”
“Why would I?” he asked irritably. “I’ve been busy.”
“With what? You quit the bakery. Unless Fancy’s making you jump through hoops.”
“She doesn’t make me do anything.” He glared at his best friend, who smiled broadly in return. Everything about Gina was agreeable: her voice, her body, her demeanor. She’d been the nicest girl in school when they were kids, and he’d made a long-ago promise to keep her safe from the world in any way he could. He still wanted to protect her, but he’d handled it all wrong today. Blame whatever was happening with Josie for twisting up his feelings.
She crossed her legs and settled her plate on her lap. “Of course not. Nobody makes you do anything you don’t want to do.” When he didn’t respond, she leaned forward to pat his knee fondly. “So what does she think she talked you into doing that you really wanted to do anyway? And what does it have to do with finally selling Pops’s land?”
He sagged back against the couch, reminded of the twin comfort and irritation of someone who knew you better than you knew yourself.
