“Missed you too.” I squeeze back, realizing just how much I’ve needed my best friend since she’s been gone.
She pulls back, holding me at arm’s length, and studies my face. “You look... different.”
“Different how?”
“I don’t know. Glow-y? Less like a depressed writer hermit and maybe more like someone who’s been getting laid on the reg.”
I feel my cheeks heat. “Sash!”
“Ha! Iknewit!” She claps her hands together in delight. “I want all the steamy details. But first, let me get settled and then we’ll pour some wine.”
We gather her bags and head inside. After dropping them off upstairs, Sasha immediately makes herself at home, kicking off her shoes and heading straight for the kitchen, where she pulls a bottle of white wine from her tote.
“It’s barely three in the afternoon,” I protest weakly.
“As the old cliché goes... it’s five o’clock somewhere.” She grabs two glasses from the cabinet. “Besides, I’ve been driving for over an hour—traffic was a bitch, by the way—and I need to hear about this fictional man come to life who’s got you all fucked and flustered.”
Pouring myself a glass, I take a mouthful. “Okay. But it’s complicated.”
“The best stories always are.” She settles onto the couch, tucking her legs beneath her. “Start from after you hung up with me that first day. And don’t you dare leave out any of the good parts.”
Taking a deep breath, I dive in. “Well, ever since he showed up, things have been... intense. And not just in the way you’re thinking.”
“So, youaresleeping with him?” Sasha’s eyes go wide with delight.
“Wewere,” I say, emphasizing the past tense. “But I put a stop to it.”
Sasha almost chokes on her wine. “You did what? Why the hell would you do something like that?”
“Because it was all happening so fast!” I throw my hands in the air. “One minute he’s magically materializing outta my manuscript, the next I’m?—”
“Getting finger-banged up against a wall?” Sasha supplies helpfully.
“Eventually, yeah.” I play with the hem of my shirt. “He offered to help me with my writer’s block. And in order to do that, he’s started taking me on dates he thinks will help give me inspiration. What we’re doing started off as slow-burn, but then he got frustrated and told me we needed to get me out of my comfort zone.”
I shrug and take another sip of wine. “Then we had sex, and it was fucking mind-blowing, but I write romance novels, Sash. You know and I know how this shit is supposed to work. The best relationships build slowly.”
“So you’re saying you want to go back to ‘slow-burning’ with the hot not-so-fictional tattoo artist who’s already given you multiple orgasms?” she asks, shaking her head in disbelief. “Only you would come up with a shit idea like that, Noia.”
“It’s not that simple, Sash. I need to figure out what’s actually happening between us. What if he’s only here temporarily? What if once my writer’s block is gone, he just… disappears?”
Sasha’s expression softens. “That’s what you’re afraid of? Losing him?”
My heart twists. “Maybe.”
“So, your solution is tostophaving sex with him,” she deadpans.
I groan and bury my face in a couch pillow. “I know how ridiculous it sounds.”
“Yeah,” she agrees, pouring more wine into my glass. “But I get it. You’re protecting yourself.”
“Exactly!” I point at her, grateful she understands. “But when I told him that, he turned it around on me and came up with this slow-burn idea. And now he’s decided to torture me with it.”
“Torture you?” Sasha’s eyebrows shoot up. “How?”
“He’s always finding ways to touch me—brushing by me, putting a hand on my thigh, standing close and talking low in my ear. This morning he wiped syrup off my lip with his thumb and then slowly sucked it off while locking eyes with me.”
“Damn.” Sasha groans, fanning herself dramatically with her hand. “That’s sohot.”
