I can’t help but smile. “I’d do the same for you, you know.”
“Oh, I do,” she states. “No one fucks with my friend. Now, what’s this bad thing you did? I need to mentally prepare myself for the level of lying I’m going to have to do.”
Memories. Oh, they’re parading through my mind, all happy and colorful like the Thanksgiving Day parade I always watch on TV.
“It’s not exactly what I did…it’s who.”
Sommer gasps. “What? Tell me everything!”
“I shouldn’t,” I whisper, even though I know I will.
“Nope. You have to tell me. Remember the pinky promise we made after I slept with Jason Hunsinger in the back of his dad’s Chevy Nova?”
Oh, I remember. She told me all the dirty details the next morning, and we promised to always share those amazing sexual experiences that leave an imprint on our minds. The bad ones, ehhh, not so much. If they were that terrible, why would you want to share those details with a friend? You’d want to forget it ever happened and move on, right?
Probably why I never talked about sex with Richard…
“I remember,” I say.
Silence hangs between us, and I know she’s just waiting me out. I called her for a reason, right?
“If I tell you who?—”
“Whenyou tell me who…”
I exhale dramatically and stand up from my couch to pace. I’ve been doing that a lot since I got home. I haven’t even carried the dirty laundry into my condo, if that says anything. All I’ve done is replay what happened, and tried to ignore the fact I really,reallyliked it.
“Fine,whenI tell you who, you have to promise not to make a big deal of it.”
There’s a pregnant pause for a moment before she asks, “You didn’t sleep with Richard, did you?”
“What? Fuck no. I wouldn’t touch that man with someone else’s vag.”
“Okay, thank God. I was about to drive over there and slap some sense into you.”
I snort, shaking my head. “No way. Not after he cheated on me with Gabby. That ship hasn’t just sailed, it burned and sank at sea.”
“All right, so if it wasn’t Richard, who would you sleep with and be afraid to tell me?” she asks, almost absently to herself.
Then, I hear the gasp.
“Oh my God, Charlotte Ann Miller! You slept with…Quinn!”
My face is a thousand degrees and as red as a tomato, I can feel it. “Shhhhh!”
“No one is here,” she insists. “Holy shit, I’m coming over.”
“No, that’s not?—”
“I’m on my way! Don’t you dare leave, you little hussy. I need all the dirty details, and something tells me I need to hear them face-to-face.”
Before I can say another word, the line disconnects, which is completely overly dramatic, because we can talk on the phone while she drives over here.
I set my phone on the kitchen table and decide to go out and get the laundry bag. At least I’ll be getting something done, other than just pacing the living room floor and freaking out.
I move to my attached garage and pop the hatch on my SUV. The garage door is still open, since it’s such a gorgeous day, so there’s no missing the sound of Sommer pulling into my driveway on two wheels. No, not literally, but that girl was flying down the road and practically tore into my driveway like she’s making some NASCAR move.
My mouth drops open as she leaps from the driver’s seat. “What the hell? How fast did you go to get here?”
