Total pages in book: 87
Estimated words: 82034 (not accurate)
Estimated Reading Time in minutes: 410(@200wpm)___ 328(@250wpm)___ 273(@300wpm)
Estimated words: 82034 (not accurate)
Estimated Reading Time in minutes: 410(@200wpm)___ 328(@250wpm)___ 273(@300wpm)
“Looks like we’re Ubering back to my place tonight,” I say to make small talk. “You get the couch.”
“I always get the couch when I stay with you,” she replies.
Which is true. Avril has stayed with me on various occasions, particularly when we worked super late and she didn’t feel like making the trip home. Or sometimes when Jamie was out of town at a seminar and she didn’t want to be alone. I have a one-bedroom condo and even though I always offered her the master bedroom, she’d never take it.
But that’s just Avril. She’s not prissy or demanding. Not an entitled bone in her body. She’s a woman who’s fine sleeping on the couch with just a blanket and a pillow without a need for more.
It’s why I’m still infuriated over what Jamie did to her. She’s putting on a brave face for sure, but if I know Avril—and I do—she’s both hurt and seething mad. I’d even bet that she’s probably more mad than hurt, and I have to assume that’s driving a lot of the reasoning why we’re both standing here tonight, on the verge of entering a sex club.
Avril passes the bottle back to me, and I shake my head. She shrugs and puts the cap on before pushing away from the car. She tosses the mostly empty liquor bottle into the backseat, and then locks her car. Turning to me, she squares her shoulders and says, “Let’s do this.”
“Let’s do this,” I say in agreement, and we start walking to the elevator that will take us up to the forty-sixth floor, which houses The Wicked Horse, Vegas’ premiere private sex club. I can’t believe we’re fucking doing this.
“Wait,” I say as something occurs to me, and I come to a dead halt. Avril stops and turns to face me, her head tilted in question. She’s wearing a very un-Avril like dress of blood red that fits her body like a second glove, and I have to admit it looks fucking fantastic on her. “If one of us decides to hook up with someone, the other can’t watch, okay?”
“Deal,” she says with a grin, and then wrinkles her nose. “Because… ewwww.”
I let out a sigh of relief, and I have to note I’m not sure why this was bothering me. Sure, Avril’s my best friend, but I don’t think of her as a sister. I don’t get grossed out when I think of her naked, and I’d be lying if I said there haven’t been times over the years I may have had a wickedly dirty dream about her.
I think I’m mostly feeling awkward because I know deep in my heart there is nothing that would ever prevent Avril and me from crossing that line. We already know each other so well. We’ve shared so many things with each other that there is no mystery as to who exactly the other person is. Both of us respect the shit out of each other.
We love each other the way best friends can.
But I don’t look at her like she’s a sibling, and despite her declaration of “ewwww” just now, I don’t really think she feels that way about me.
Which makes tonight actually dangerous in a place like this. I don’t want to watch Avril because I’m afraid of what I might want, and it always brings up the age-old question… If friends cross that line, will it ruin the friendship?
Not willing to take that chance.
“Okay, let’s go,” I say and turn toward the elevator. Avril starts walking alongside me, the click of her high heels echoing in the garage. She crosses her arms almost protectively across her chest while holding a tiny black clutch purse in one hand, and I know her so well I know that move has nothing to do with nervousness. She’s just cold.
Without a word, I put my arm around her shoulder and pull her into me, my hand curving around one of her bare arms to help warm her up. She snuggles in, and we walk in perfect cadence with each other to the elevator.
I push the button, and it takes a few minutes for the car to arrive. Before we step in, Avril pulls slightly away from me so she can look up to catch my eyes. “No matter what happens in here tonight, it doesn’t change how we look at each other tomorrow, right?”
“Right,” I tell her confidently, because I don’t care if she’s here to get her rocks off. Good for her, I say. She’s been hurt and she’s pissed, and if she can spend just an hour or so tonight getting lost in good feelings, that would make me happy. I didn’t have the satisfaction that Dane had of landing a solid upper cut into Jamie’s stomach on Wednesday when he came by to pick up his stuff. I wasn’t surprised Dane had lurked on Avril’s porch waiting for Jamie to show up, and not surprised he punched the douche.