Page 54 of A Tempting Seduction

Only, I had to pee.

Dang it, nothing was going my way.

As soon as I took care of business in the bathroom, I decided a shower was in order. A long, long shower.

It didn’t help.

I needed someone to talk me out of my freak-out. Someone who would tell me I hadn't completely ruined everything with my mortifying display of neediness.

I scrolled through my contacts and hit Maddie's number.

“Hi, you've reached Maddie. Leave a message and I'll get back to you.”

Dang.

Maddie would have been perfect. Social workers knew how to handle emotional meltdowns without making you feel like a complete disaster.

I tried Fallon next.

“You've reached Fallon Vickers. I can't come to the phone right now, but please leave a message.”

Double dang.

Fallon would have been sweet and understanding too. She'd have reassured me that everything was fine and maybe shared some embarrassing story about her early dates with Michael to make me feel better.

I stared at my phone, scrolling through my contacts. Chloe would be sympathetic, but I couldn't call her. Not after last night's conversation about being brave like Seris. I'd been the opposite of brave. I'd been a soggy mess who'd fallen apart at the first sign of genuine intimacy.

That left Zoe.

I hesitated, my thumb hovering over her name. Zoe Avery was smart and funny and fiercely loyal, but she was also brutally honest and had zero patience for self-pity. She'd probably laugh at my mortification and tell me to get over myself.

But she was my last lifeline. If she wasn’t available, I’d have to call Miss Gladiola or Little Grandma. Then my life would be absolutely, for-sure, in the toilet.

I hit the call button before I could lose my nerve.

“Ruby?” Zoe's voice came through the phone bright and alert despite it being barely ten in the morning.

“Hey,” I answered.

“What's wrong? You sound awful.”

“I need someone to talk to,” I said, my voice smaller than I intended. “Do you have time to talk?”

“Where are you?”

“Uhm,”

“You’re at your place, aren’t you? I’ll be right there.”

Oh shoot. She’d actually see me while we were talking.

Eighteen minutes later, I heard the distinctive rumble of Zoe's motorcycle pulling into my driveway. She knocked on my door wearing black jeans, motorcycle boots and her leathers, holding her helmet.

“Okay,” she said, pushing past me into the living room. “Spill everything. And don't even think about leaving out the good parts.” She went to my fridge and pulled out a bottle of water, leaving her helmet on my spotless kitchen island. The kitchen that Ford had cleaned last night.

I shook my head. He was too good for me.

“Don’t shake your head at me, you’re going to tell me everything.” She grabbed my hand and drew me to my couch, and we both sat down. “Now talk.”