Bryn laughs, a wink in her tone as she says, “Nothing wrong with busy.”
Then all my friends raise their mugs, lifting their coffees and teas high and clinking.
Toasting to being too busy.
Because they are too busy. With each other. With love. With being together.
My heart squeezes like someone’s hugging it. This is what I love. This is what I need.
These people. This gorgeous image of my newfound family.
Not another round of hot sex.
And not hot sex that gets ruined by my own strange bloom of feelings.
Because hot sex and blooming feelings can destroy this second chance at happiness that I have with my friends.
When I look at Ransom and he flashes a friendly smile at me, I’m sure he must be thinking the same: Thank God we didn’t blow this by wanting more than we should have.
Because showing up here as the brand-new couple—the couple that will never stick because we aren’t serious people and neither one of us wants a lasting thing—would snarl this ball of yarn that we both need.
Love might work for these other people.
But for people like us? It’s not in the cards.
After we order, the conversation returns to the auction, and Fitz clears his throat, his eyes locking with mine as he gestures to Ransom. “So, you won our guy. Well done. We knew Ransom would be the prize cat and beat out Carnale and Martinez.”
I blow on my fingernails. “Meow indeed.”
Oliver runs a hand across the back of his neck and tilts his head. “Question though. Who won the Yankees closer?”
“I can only presume his grandma was phoning in a bid,” Fitz chimes in, then nods to Ransom. “Sound about right?”
I laugh. “No doubt. Or maybe one of his cats.”
“Puss? Boots?” Ransom offers. “Or Puss, backed by Boots?”
We laugh, then proceed to guess who might have been angling for the closer, and I’m grateful that Ransom and I can talk like this, sliding right back into the crew on the morning after a night like the one the two of us had.
Even though this brunch hurts my heart a bit more than I expected.
Because when the meal ends, everyone else goes home together, arm in arm, holding hands.
Ransom and I go home in opposite directions, alone.
Last night truly was a one-time thing.
I need to remember that last night was a hookup—one with a friend I care about but still a one-off—especially when Bryn messages me several hours later, demanding all the details from the auction.
* * *
Bryn: About that later. It’s later now, and I want details, and I’m pretty sure the details are going to be my favorite kind—dirty.
* * *
Teagan: Ah, yes, you do love that variety.
* * *
Bryn: I do, and therefore . . . gimme, gimme, gimme.
* * *
I’m dying to clutch a pillow, tuck into my couch, and serve it up with a glass of wine and a side dish of girl talk. But it’s best to keep the convo simple, since that’s how I’m keeping things with Ransom.
* * *
Teagan: In a nutshell, we got it out of our systems, and we’re back to normal.
* * *
Bryn: Out of your systems? Has anyone ever wanted less sex after having good sex? It was good sex, right?
* * *
When I don’t answer immediately, Bryn calls me two seconds later.
“Spill.”
I laugh as I empty my dishwasher, setting plates in the cupboard. “We went home together. We slept together. We agreed it wouldn’t change a thing.”
She squeals. “How was it?”
“Amazing.” My chest flips as I remember how it felt to be with him.
“Did you just sigh?”
“No! That was not a sigh!” I say, denying, denying, and then denying some more.
“So it wasn’t sigh-worthy?”
It was song-worthy, album-worthy, skywriter-worthy.
And while a lady doesn’t kiss and tell, Bryn and I tell each other everything. Also, I know there’s a good chance the gist of this will get back to Logan, and I would never do Ransom the disservice of selling him short. Especially since there is nothing short about Ransom.
“It was amazing, as in multiples, as in insert adjectives like toe-curling and sheet-grabbing,” I say as she squeals like we’re both curled up on the couch clutching our pillows. But I try to tell the story matter-of-factly. “And I slept over too. And the best part is, brunch proves that we did all that banging and it doesn’t have to change a thing,” I say, focusing on the deal Ransom and I made, adding a cheery grin for good measure as I slide a glass to the back of the cupboard.
Bryn chuckles. “You said he rocked your world. That is the literal definition of changing things.”
“I mean it won’t change a thing today. In the daytime. Not in bed,” I say, sticking to logic.
“But why?”
“Because we won’t let it. We don’t want it to,” I say.
