Page 85 of Revenge Puck
“You had lots and lots of sexy sex with one of his teammates—I’d say that constitutes a thing. Or a fling.”
“Okay,” I concede. “It makes it a small thing.”
“A medium thing,” she corrects.
“Fine.” I pull a face. “A medium thing.”
She laughs. “Why are you spiraling?”
“Because it’s messy.”
“Messy how?”
“Because. If my brother finds out, he’ll assume the worst. He’ll assume I’m being naïve. Or need saving.”
“And are you any of those things?”
I hesitate. “No.”
“Then what’s the problem?”
I sink back into the couch, staring at the ceiling.
“The problem is that I liked it,” I admit quietly. “Not just physically. I like being with him.”
She reaches for the bottle and tops off both our glasses like we’re commemorating something historic. “Say all this again, but slower.”
“I don’t want it to be complicated.” I laugh.
“Too late!”
And then?—
My stomach growls.
Loudly.
Blaire freezes mid-sip. “…Was that you?”
“I don’t know, maybe it was the couch?”
It growls again.
She bursts out laughing. “You are starving.”
“I forgot to eat.”
“You forgot to eat because you were too busy daydreaming about lover boy and his giant dic?—”
“Finish that sentence and I’m leaving,” I warn.
She cackles. “You can’t leave. You’re weak from hunger and poor decision-making.”
“I came straight here from work,” I defend. “I assumed you’d have food.”
Blaire giggles. “See, that’s where you’re wrong. What do I look like, a planner? Someone who grocery shops on a regular basis?” More laughing. “See! I was meant for the WAG life!”
She gestures broadly toward her kitchen.
