One thing I’ve learned about Laney in the short time I’ve known her is that she has no filter. She’s a lot like Jenna, and I guess that’s why I like her so much.
"Another beer, anyone?" Bea asks, trying to fill the silence by changing the subject, but I beat her to it by instantly replying with "I’ll get it," before heading to grab another round for everyone.
You want him to fuck you senseless.
Laney’s words screech like a broken record, going round and round in my head.
Is it that fucking obvious?
"I’m right, aren’t I?" Her voice startles me, and I realize I’m staring into the fridge, not even looking in the direction of the beer.
"I don’t know what you’re talking about," I lie as I turn to face her, beers finally in hand.
I see why Bea likes her. Not only is she funny and brutally honest, but she’s also stunning, too. Her long, slender, athletic legs are almost always shown off, thanks to the different-colored activewear she sports daily. Her subtle abs are on display tonight as she wears a soft yellow crop that hovers above her belly button, and I have to fight myself to stop staring.
Her hair is long and dark, with tight curls; her skin is naturally tanned from her Argentinian heritage, and her eyes are dark brown. She’s also slightly taller than me.
"Don’t play dumb with me,Herring."She chuckles, mimicking the nickname that only Harley calls me.
"Have I fantasized about being…" I trail off, too uncomfortable to finish the sentence, but I should have known she would finish it for me.
"…fucked senseless by Harley?"
"Fucked senseless by Harley," I repeat reluctantly, clearing my throat. "Maybe once or twice," I lie.
I’ve had the same recurring fantasy since the second I saw him at Wingrove Estates.
"But I would never act on it." I sigh, placing four beer bottles on the countertop, reaching for the bottle opener in my top drawer.
"Why?"
"Because it’s too soon."
"Too soon for who? Who decides if it’s too soon?"
I don’t answer right away, because I don’t know how. Who’s the person that gets to decide how much time is enough time to move on? How long is long enough for you to let yourself stop wallowing in self-pity and allow yourself to actually be happy?
How long is long enough for you to open your heart back up, knowing full well it could get crushed again all the same?
"I just don’t think I’m ready for that yet," I finally say, and she’s quiet for a while before she responds.
"Just don’t let yourself miss out on something good because society tells you that you need towaitto move on. There is no right or wrong time, Cassandra. You have nothing to prove to anyone. He’s an incredible guy and if I were straight, I would have let him fuck me senseless a long time ago," she jokes to lighten the mood, clinking her beer bottle with mine.
"Just don’t close that book yet, okay?"
"Okay."
***
My three visitors stayed later than any of us expected, but Jenna was still up and waiting for my FaceTime call, regardless that it was nearing midnight.
"Jenna, hey," I say, trying to sound excited to speak to her, but my exhaustion is winning out.
I love my best friend, but I hope our conversation is brief.
"Hey C, I miss you. Can you come home?" she asks, her voice has an unmistakable sadness attached to it.
"Iamhome, Jen," I say with a sigh. I know she misses me. I miss her just as much.
