Page 119 of 10 Rings I Hate About You
“Yes.”
“Well, I guess you shouldn’t leave the man waiting.”
I glared at her. “You’re a terrible friend.”
“I’m asupportivefriend.” She winked at me. “Now text him something filthy so we can get back to our conversation.”
I typed three different responses to Marc’s text and deleted all of them with Adele staring at me. Finally, I gave up. “What do you want to know?”
She sat at the table and fixed me with the look—chin in hand, eyes soft, the expression she only broke out for truly romantic intel. The woman lived for this stuff. “Why didn’t you text me last night?”
“I was tired. I went to bed.”
“After four orgasms I would be tired, too, but it’s not that.” She paused. “You were avoiding me. Which tells me there’s something more about last night than just a hookup.”
I groaned and stared at the ceiling. “Maybe. I don’t know. What if it was a one-time thing?”
She gestured at my phone. “The sexts say otherwise.”
“We didn’t even—we didn’t go all the way.”
Adele went quiet. “I don’t believe that.”
“It’s true. He said last night was all about me.”
Adele said nothing. Which was very unlike her.
“What?” I finally asked.
“You found the holy grail.”
“The holy … what are you even talking about?”
“Do you know how many women struggle to get tooneorgasm … you hadfourif your self-reporting text is right and he didn’t—” She pressed her fingers to her lips. “I need a moment. I’m struggling to reconcile the Marc I knew yesterday with the one I know today.”
I smirked. “Who knew under that buttoned-up exterior he was magic in the bedroom?”
“Seriously.” She added cream to her coffee, forgetting she’d already done that. “Four, huh?”
“Do aftershocks count as separate ones?”
We stared at each other. Then completely lost it—it was the kind of laughter that makes your stomach hurt and your eyeswater, the kind you can only have in a kitchen at eight in the morning with your best friend.
Adele wiped her eyes. “Want to grab breakfast at Matt’s before work?”
“No fucking way. I’m not subjecting myself to Mrs. Crawford and the rest of the gossip brigade before I’ve finished my coffee.”
“Spoilsport.” She stood and grabbed her bag off the floor. I hadn’t even noticed her bring it in. “I guess it might be hard to explain the limping anyway.”
“Adele!”
“What? I’m being supportive. You might scandalize Mrs. Crawford if you have to tell her it’s because your vagina is broken.” She grinned, wicked and unrepentant.
“You need to leave.”
She laughed. “Only because I’m going to do recon for you.”
“I thought you were getting breakfast.”
