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“It’s not bad,” I answered finally, slowly, tentatively drawing each word out. “I guess, in a fucked-up way, it’s kind of similar to Aaron keeping Sharon from you. You really shouldn’t have forgiven him, but you did. I really shouldn’t accept Ivan’s past this easily, but I have.”
Dayton’s lips tugged up at the sides. “You know who forgives easily, don’t you?”
“A person in love,” I said in a cocky voice. “And again, there is a fundamental flaw in your plan, best friend.”
“Yeah, you’re not in love. I gotcha, Ms. In Denial.”
I rolled my eyes. I was not even going to argue with her. She’d continue to tell me that I was in denial and I’d deny being in denial. It’d be like the string cheese conversation all over again. Pointless bullshit.
“Whatever.” I placed my empty glass on the table next to hers and refilled them. “When I fall in love, I’ll be sure to send out a public service announcement so no one misses it.”
“You better.” She grinned and her eyes sparkled. “When will Ivan come back?”
“Tomorrow sometime.” Somberness overshadowed my amusement. We’d barely sealed our relationship with a kiss before he was offered a shoot in Dortmund. He drove out first thing in the morning and that was that.
I was sitting there with an ache in my chest, waiting, just waiting, so we could actually finish our conversation. And I could maybe ask him why he slept with a student.
“And you’re already missing him,” Day stated matter-of-factly.
“That wasn’t a question. I’m not obliged to respond.”
“Are you missing him?”
Shit. Asshole. “No.”
“Fucking liar.”
“Fine! Yes. I am. A little.” I leaned my head back against the back of the sofa. “Okay, a lot. I’m missing him a lot.”
I rubbed my hand down my face as we both took in my admission.
“Like, shit. This isn’t normal. I should not be feeling like I have to pick up the phone and call him just to hear the sound of his voice and make this fucking irritating ache inside go away. I shouldn’t be feeling like I need to get in my own damn car and drive out to Boise to see him.” I squeezed my eyes shut. Voicing it just made it worse. I took a deep breath in and exhaled slowly.
“Wow. You really do have it bad, don’t you?”
“Excuse me, Mr. Conan Doyle? Your Sherlocks are multiplying at a sickening rate. They even come with tits and a vagina now,” I muttered, opening my eyes again.
Dayton laughed loudly, digging her toes into my shin. “Shut up, Brenda. Look, you’re addicted to him, and you know it. It’s different now because you can manage it. Just breathe and try to think about what you’re feeling.”
My eyes flicked to hers and I hit her with a harsh glare. “I’m sorry, Dr. Black. I wasn’t aware you were a fucking therapist.”
She smacked a cushion over my head. “For real, shut your face.” She drunk the rest of her wine and stood up. “Are you going to be okay if I leave you here?”
“Jesus Christ, I’m missing my boyfriend, not contemplating how hard my body would hit the ground if I jumped out of my window.”
“Don’t even joke about it.” She pointed a finger in my direction. “Don’t.”
Guilt twisted my stomach. “Sorry. It’s bad, but if I joke about it, I can cope with it.”
“You ever feel like that, then you call me so I can drag you down these flights of stairs by your hair.” She slid her feet into her shoes and grabbed her purse. “Oh, by the way, did you book the bachelor party yet?”
I fought to stop my eyes from widening. “Yes,” I lied. “Almost.”
Dayton rolled her eyes and opened my door. “Book it, Brend. I am getting married in two months.”
“Excuse me, Ms. Family Woman.”
“Do you want me to Godzilla your ass?”
“Honey, no one wants you to Godzilla anything, but that doesn’t seem to stop you.”
She flipped me the bird then followed it by blowing a kiss. “Goodbye. Love you. Be good.”
She shut the door behind her before I could remind her that “be good” wasn’t a phrase I understood. Unless it involved Ivan and his sexy demands—which were decidedly not classed as “good.” In fact, when I was doing what he told me to, I was being both good and bad, which was quite the contradicting conundrum.
Shit. If I was using big words, I’d had far too much wine.
I glanced at the bottle and decided that the remaining glass sitting in it won’t hurt me. I topped my glass up to the rim and overfilled it. Leaning forward, I slurped up a mouthful without moving the glass.
I opened the laptop and typed in “bachelorette party venues.” Let it be noted that there was no location on the end of the search. Aaron explicitly stated that I had no monetary budget for this. My only budget was her absolute happiness. This seemed to be a goal we both shared.
After sifting through several sites, which weren’t appealing in the slightest, I decided to tweak my search. I typed in “West Coast spas” and hit enter. Dozens of websites came up, some classy, some casual, so I added “expensive” into the search bar.
Jesus. That was hard work already. Or maybe that was the wine.
I filtered through the search, clicking on endless websites before finally coming up with a short list. The clock blinked at me from the bottom corner of my screen, and despite it only being nine thirty, I could feel my eyelids growing heavy.
Yep, that was definitely the wine.
I added all the ‘maybes’ venues into a folder on my bookmarks and shut the laptop down. Angus padded across the floor to me and stared at me woefully.
“I know, buddy. I know. The wine bottle is empty.”
His look turned annoyed. As annoyed as a cat can be, at least. In fact, I didn’t think his expression had changed at all.
Maybe my cat just had perpetual resting bitch face.
With a sigh, I got up and placed a couple handfuls of cat biscuits in his bowl. “I need to go to the store tomorrow, Lord Fussy-Ass!” I snapped, dropping the box on the counter. Damn cat.
