Page 14 of This for That (The Edge of Retaliation 1)
“Wait a second,” she gasps, putting her hands over her mouth and muttering through home. “You’re a virgin? But when we were sixteen you told me you and-”
I roll my eyes and cut her off. “I said what everyone was saying, that I’d done it. I haven’t. It’s no big deal.”
“Honey, I cannot believe you kept this from me. You need to do something about this, asap. You’re missing out.”
“I was planning on dealing with it soon . . .”
“Dealing with it.” She rolls her eyes now. “It’s not a naughty child; it’s something pretty important. Don’t just throw it at anyone, but honey, you need to throw it at someone. Say, like, a hot guy at a party on the weekend . . .”
“I’m certain he probably has girls every damned week of his life. It would be awkward. I don’t know . . . anything.”
Her eyes go wide. “Nothing?”
“Well, I’m not stupid. I know how everything works; I’ve read enough books to know what romance is, but when it comes to experience, I don’t have any.”
“What about that guy you were seeing before the accident . . . what was his name?”
“Joshua.”
She claps. “Yeah, him. You two made out all the time. Surely you went further than that?”
“I gave him a blow job.” I shrug. “He very clumsily fingered me. That was it.”
“Oh boy. This is just . . . oh boy.”
“Shocking, I know,” I mutter. “But I didn’t exactly have many opportunities in the last six years.”
Jo’s face falls. “Honey, I’m sorry. That was insensitive. Of course you didn’t.”
I smile at her. “Don’t sweat it. It’ll happen . . .”
“Well, if you want to know anything, I’m your girl. I mean, I’ve only been with Patrick, but I’d say I know enough to answer your questions. Besides we’re not in high school anymore. It’ll all come fairly naturally to you when you’re in the heat of the moment. My only advice? Let the man lead, and make sure he really, really, really gets you worked up before he throws it in.”
I snort, and then laugh. “Throws it in?”
“Well, you know, slips it in.” She giggles.
I shake my head with a grin. “I have a criminal record and yet I’m a virgin. What are the odds?”
“We’ll fix it for you. Don’t you worry.”
“Knock, knock.”
We both turn to see Patrick walking into the room. Patrick is . . . well . . . so damned perfect. In the clean-cut, always-wearing-a-suit kind of way. He’s well-off, no doubt about it. He runs his own company. He’s the handsome billionaire that all the ladies want. Hell, they write books about them, right?
Patrick, yes, he’s good-looking. From his well-styled, ashy-blond hair, to his blue eyes and chiseled features, right to his tall but well-built body. He’s rich. He’s confident. He’s no doubt what a lot of women are looking for.
He also farts during sex. I bet they don’t write that in the romance novels.
I bite my lip at the thought. As I study him and his slick grey suit, all I can imagine is the moment when that happened.
I bite my lip harder. Dammit, why did she have to tell me that?
“Callie, it’s wonderful to see you.” Patrick smiles.
It’s forced. We both know he doesn’t like me.
Whatever.
“You, too. How have you been, Pat?”
He hates Pat. Jo gives me big eyes over her shoulder, but I ignore them. This douchebag has never been my favorite kind of man for my bestie. I hate that she feels like she’s stuck with him. Nobody should ever feel like they’re stuck. Nobody. No matter the circumstances, there is always a way out.
I’ve learned that.
I’ve learned a lot of things.
“Wonderful. I was just dropping in to check if you’d like to go to dinner tonight, darling?”
He’s talking to Jo now, obviously. I want to cringe. Yuck. He’s so . . . fake. So sugary sweet.
He’s a wolf in lamb’s clothing, no doubt about it. There is something—there has always been something about this man. His power, for sure, but something else. A deep underlying bully lies within Patrick. I think Jo knows that. I think Jo knows that better than anyone, and that’s part of the reason she won’t leave. Is she afraid? If so, she won’t speak up.
She doesn’t say much about the man she decided to make her husband.
“Sure,” Jo says, but I see the way her body slumps slightly. She doesn’t want to go. I wish she’d tell me what was really going on. “What time?”
“I’ll come and pick you up at six. Can we have a word outside?”
She nods.
“Good to see you, Patrick,” I call, watching them walk out.
Ten minutes later, Jo comes back inside. She looks . . . withdrawn. Tired, even. Like whatever he just said crushed a little piece of her soul.
