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And it’d have taken her that much longer to sleep with Sebastian. The idea seemed criminal.
“I’m still not entirely sure why you two jumped the gun,” Gretchen said, flipping open a perfume insert in the magazine and sniffing it.
“We just . . . fell in love.” The lie felt weird on her tongue, and Chelsea frowned, her mood deflating a little. The story was starting to feel a little thin. Especially now that their relationship was moving away from just friends to something else. What were they now, exactly? Married friends with benefits? She didn’t know what to call it.
She still didn’t know what they were, and it was a little depressing, especially after last night. When they’d gotten out of the shower, they’d made love again, slow and sweet, Chelsea in her uniform once more. Then he’d held her for hours and they’d just talked while he lightly traced the veins under her skin. She’d felt cherished, adored, and loved.
Whole.
But that might all be in her imagination. He called her “baby” and “love” but she knew he didn’t think she was a baby, so “love” might have been just another pet name that meant nothing. And he only said he loved her in front of his family, when they were lying about their relationship.
And why was she so darn fixated on whether he loved her or not? Chelsea worried it was because she was in love with him, too. And that was bad news if it was one sided. Actually, it was bad news all around. Just because she’d had great sex didn’t mean she was fixed. She knew that. She still had issues. She’d still have them for a while yet. So was she clinging to Sebastian because his dick had temporarily “fixed” her?
The problem was that when she wasn’t Chesty LaRude, brutal but fun derby girl, she was a shattered mess who lacked confidence. She didn’t trust her own judgment.
Gretchen made a face and re-sealed the perfume sample. “Woof. That shit was terrible. Your soaps smell way better than any of that crap.”
“Gee, thanks.” She tuned back in to Gretchen’s chatter, watching her friend page through the magazine as the car crawled through the congested streets of Manhattan.
“Oh, speaking of soaps,” Gretchen said, glancing at Chelsea. “I want to give some rose-scented stuff away as wedding party favors. I thought it’d be kind of cool, what with Hunter so big into roses. Plus, the soaps you make are badass. You game?”
“For you? Of course!” Hearing Gretchen’s praise gave her a warm flush of pleasure. “I’ll mock up a few different scents and looks and you can tell me which ones you like the best.”
“You know your business is going to take off the moment the media gets a hold of the fact that you create artisanal soaps. I figured I’d get my request in early.”
She wrinkled her nose at the thought. Chelsea liked selling her soaps because it was relatively anonymous and a fun, laid-back job that allowed her to devote time to her true passion—derby. If her business picked up, she’d have less time for Sebastian and less time for her Rag Queens. For some reason, that made her unhappy. She’d never wanted to be a soap mogul. She’d never wanted to be rich. She just wanted something that would pay enough (and most of the time, soap making didn’t pay much at all) so she could pursue her other passions. “We’ll see.”
If Gretchen heard the hesitation in Chelsea’s voice, she didn’t comment on it. Instead, she peered at an article about bridegroom gifts. “This whole thing makes me nervous, you know?” Gretchen said. “I joke about being a bridezilla, but I really want things to go well for Hunter and me. I know he’s doing the big wedding because I want one, and I feel protective of him. So I want things to be very much ‘us’ as much as they are part of the wedding. Things have to mean something. Like we’re going to have the wedding in Hunter’s gardens next summer, when the roses are blooming. I want to have a bouquet of his roses to carry. I’m going to pick everything in the menu, and I want it to be from my own recipes, not just what a caterer wants to foist off on me. I want everything to have meaning , even if I have to wrestle the jeweler and hold his arm as he creates the perfect matching bands for us.”
Chelsea smiled at her friend. It was so great that Gretchen was so excited about her wedding. “I think it sounds wonderful.”
“Which is why my soul dies a little when these magazines suggest I get him cigars or some shit as a groom present. Because the gift of lung cancer is the gift that keeps on giving, right?” She sighed unhappily. “But I don’t know what to give him, and these magazines aren’t helping.”
