‘Well, he’s younger than me, for a start.’
‘No, he isn’t? Not really.’
‘Not—he either is or he isn’t,’ I respond, matching her frown.
‘Looks to me like you haven’t taken the time to find out,’ she responds slyly. ‘Too busy, huh?’
‘Just.. . don’t, okay?’
‘Why? What exactly have you got against him?’
On a good day? All of me. Naked and pressed up to him from the strong lines of his thighs to the comforting coarseness of the hair on his chest. Not that I say any of that.
‘His age, for one thing,’ I repeat.
‘For God’s sake, he’s twenty-nine!’
‘And I’ll be thirty soon.’Not thinking about it. Soo not thinking about it.
‘Whoopdee-frickin’-do!’
‘And he must be twenty-nine years minus twenty, the way he behaves.’
‘Does that not ring any bells? He likes you, so he’s pulling your pigtails, trying to get your attention.’
I inhale deeply, pushing out the air superfast. ‘Flynn strikes me as the kind of man who likes lots of girls.’
‘I wouldn’t know. I’m also going to suggest that you won’t either unless you talk to him. That’s assuming you want to get to know him. You know, beyond just fucking him.’ Swallowing, I lift my head to look at her. ‘And that’s okay, too, you know.’
‘If not a little awkward later.’ Meeting him at social gatherings. Seeing him turn up to meet our joint friends with another woman on his arm. My dark thoughts are no doubt reflected on my face as Paisley places her hand on my arm.
‘It’s only awkward if you make it. Flynn is one of the nicest people I know, excluding you, of course. But as much as I like him as a person, he doesn’t have to be mister right. Mister Right Now works, so long as you’re both on the same page.’
‘Flynn and I...’ I halt. This isn’t the time or place, but the words are suddenly stuck in my throat—though they’re fighting for escape. I look across the room to where Stephen stands, now dressed in the robe we’ve provided. Hillary is nearby, the pair chatting amiably. Thankfully, the coconut oil is nowhere to be seen.
‘Five minutes, guys,’ I call across the room, then take Paisley’s hand and pull her out of the studio and into my office, closing the door.
‘What is it?’ Her arms wrapped across her waist, she looks suddenly concerned.
‘I slept with Flynn at the wedding.’
‘Duh!’
‘But for six months following, I haven’t been able to orgasm.’
‘Not at all?’ She frowns. ‘Not since? Do you mean he just didn’t do it for you?’
‘No, that’s not what I mean. I did, have, with him. Lots! Then nothing,’ I reply, making a circular motion in the general vicinity of the offending equipment. ‘It’s like it’s all broken.’
‘Oh, honey. Have you seen a doctor?’
‘A doct—no, of course I didn’t! I’m not ill or else things wouldn’t improve with the inclusion of Flynn. No, I’m not ill, just fucking. . . frustrated. Anyway, the bottom line is, sleeping with Flynn was clearly a mistake in the first place. I was fine up until that point.’
‘It’s no use crying over spilt jizz.’
‘I’m pleased one of us is laughing,’ I say snippily.
‘Sorry. Sorry. But six months?’ she repeats with a look of disbelief. ‘That’s not right, right?’You’re telling me?‘It’s a wonder you haven’t exploded.’
