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Only it might not be…
Fuck, my head hurts.
Downing half my coffee does nothing to help.
Iris leans back in her seat, but there’s nothing relaxed about her posture. Her gaze stays fixed on me.
At least the cafe is quiet. It’s a small place with a dozen tables and a cute, artsy vibe. The kind of place I’d take Ryan just to hear him insult the mass-produced paintings on the walls (they really are generic. Is the Eiffel Tower supposed to make me feel like this cafe really is Parisian?)
“You can’t drop a bomb like ‘he’s over his ex’ and not explain.” She snaps her bacon in half, offers it to me. When I shake my head, she takes a bite.
“He said he isn’t going to the wedding.”
“He’s coming after you.”
“Maybe.” The thought warms my chest. Sends the clouds packing. Makes the air sweeter. I want it to be true. I need it to be true. I need it too badly.
I can’t get my hopes up.
Her voice gets soft. “You were ready to be patient before.”
“It changed.”
“Why?”
“I thought, once we were together…”
“You thought you had a magic pussy?”
I can’t help but laugh. “I guess so.”
“Don’t we all.”
“You kind of do.”
She tilts her head to one side. “Uh-huh.”
The server interrupts us to drop off a plate of giant chocolate chip pancakes.
They smell amazing.
And there’s this beautiful cup of maple syrup.
I pick up a fork, take a slice, dip it in maple.
It dissolves on my tongue. Mmm. Sugar. Chocolate. Flour. I take another bite, chew, swallow.
Iris smiles, victorious.
“You do have a magic pussy,” I say. “You should have seen the way Walker plowed through women before you.”
“That’s my boyfriend.”
“You know he’s a slut.”
“Still. I don’t want to hear about it.”
“Isn’t there something about taming him?”
