Total pages in book: 85
Estimated words: 87629 (not accurate)
Estimated Reading Time in minutes: 438(@200wpm)___ 351(@250wpm)___ 292(@300wpm)
Estimated words: 87629 (not accurate)
Estimated Reading Time in minutes: 438(@200wpm)___ 351(@250wpm)___ 292(@300wpm)
Our moms were pregnant at the same time, too. Mandy came early, and she’s actually a month and three days older than I am.
When I say we’ve been best friends since we were in diapers, I’m not exaggerating.
The waiter nods and heads to the bar.
Mandy picks up her pencil and her menu. “I’m in the mood for some unagi today.”
“You’re always in the mood for unagi.”
“It’s my favorite.”
“But it’s cooked.”
“So what? Sushi doesn’t have to be raw to be good.”
“Let me guess. Dragon roll, right? Salmon skin roll. Plus a few pieces of nigiri unagi.”
She shakes her head, sighing. “You know what? No. No unagi tonight. Just like no sidecar.”
“Mandy…”
“It’s time to expand my horizons, Jack. I’m wearing a corset, and I’m having a dirty martini. Let’s change things up in the sushi area as well.” She glances at her menu and makes several checkmarks with her small pencil.
And I’m ridiculously curious. I wait for her to tell me what she’s ordering.
But she doesn’t.
And for God’s sake, it’s driving me up the wall. Why? Why do I care what she’s ordering?
I regard my own menu, check off all my favorites. Spicy tuna roll. Salmon, tuna, escolar. Chile yellowtail roll.
All the while, I have an obsessive desire to know what Mandy has ordered.
The waiter—Haru—returns with our drinks, and Mandy takes a sip of her martini. Her eyes widen slightly—only slightly, but I notice.
Did she forget that she hates martinis? Or maybe she hates gin martinis. By the look of her, she’s not fond of vodka martinis, either.
“Delicious,” she says.
The waiter grabs her paper. “Finished here?”
“Yes, thank you.”
Then he lifts his eyebrows at me.
I hand him mine. “Here you go. Thanks.”
“I’ll get this started for you right away.”
What did you order, Mandy?
The words sit at the tip of my tongue. Why do I care so much?
She doesn’t seem to worry about what I’ve ordered. She already knows. She knows all my sushi favorites, just like I know hers.
“So…?” she says.
“So…what?”
“You called me three times today. You clearly want to talk to me about something. Maybe you want to explain why you left my house in the middle of the night?”
I have no answer. At least not one my conscious mind is going to let me say.
“It’s nothing, Mandy. Everything’s fine.”
“Everything’s not fine, Jackson. Something was bothering you last night. It was bothering you enough that you ended up at my apartment, standing over me while I slept. Now spill it.”
Spill it. That’s what Mandy always says when something’s bothering me. Normally I can spill it pretty quickly.
This?
I’m not even sure what there is to spill.
Except I do know, and I’m just not willing to face it yet. My guilt about Blossom. My emerging feelings for my best friend. My knowledge that I can never commit to her and give her what she deserves. All this and then some.
“What made you buy a corset?” comes out of my mouth instead.
“I don’t know. What made you buy those jeans you’re wearing?”
“Okay. Who are you and what have you done with Amanda Thomas?”
“I am Amanda Thomas. Who are you, and what have you done with Jackson Paris?”
“I am who I’ve always been, Mandy. I’m wearing the same clothes I always wear on a Saturday—jeans and a button-down.”
“Don’t give me that. You have a”—she clears her throat—“sex life I knew nothing about until days ago. And you came to me last night, and you weren’t okay then.”
“Maybe I got over it.”
“And maybe you’re lying.”
“Tell you what… Let’s make a deal. You tell me why you’re wearing a corset, and I’ll tell you why I came to your place last night.”
She smiles. “Okay, if you want to play it that way. I bought a corset because I’ve never owned one before. I’m intrigued by the idea.”
“You’re intrigued by a corset?”
She glances down at the table. “Yeah. Is that so hard to believe?”
“It’s absolutely hard to believe. Corsets went out of style about two hundred years ago. They’re restrictive and really, really sexist.” There. That ought to get her. Mandy’s nothing if not an ardent feminist.
“It just so happens that Mary, the salesclerk who sold me this one, mentioned she’s fit men for corsets before. And as for being in style, I seem to recall seeing a couple women wearing them at your club.”
I jerk my head around. “Mandy, you can’t mention that place here.”
“I can’t mention that I went to a club? I didn’t say where it was. I’ll never say its name. I understand the document I signed.”
She’s right, of course. Talking about a club is not against her nondisclosure agreement. And talking about it with me—the person who took her there—is certainly fine as well.
The damned place didn’t scare her.
It didn’t scare her at all.
But maybe it still could. Maybe I can get her off Lustr once and for all.