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“So,” I say with false bravado, “is this some sort of cult indoctrination?”
“Oh, for sure.” Sophie reaches over to the built-in bar in front of us. “The cult of caring about super-hot but boneheaded and sometimes clueless men. It’s a blessing and a curse.”
I snort, but secretly, I want to cry. I won’t, though. I refuse to.
“You want an iced tea? Or maybe fruit juice?”
Honestly, I’d expected her to pull out some champagne, diva style. Then again, Sophie is breastfeeding and nowhere close to being a diva. I sigh and try to let go of the cagey feeling tightening my chest. “An iced tea would be good.”
She hands me a bottle of cold tea, then grabs a pink lemonade. Brenna, on the other hand, reaches over and pulls out a beer. I laugh at the side eye she gives Sophie.
“Or we have beer,” Sophie says with a sheepish smile. “I kind of have my alcohol blinders on these days.”
“Tea is fine,” I assure her, taking a long sip. “So, what’s up with the curbside abduction?”
“I’m taking you home with me,” Brenna says.
God, a pity pickup. I should have known. Even though my insides are shaking, I force a light tone. “You’re hot and all, but unfortunately, I don’t swing that way.”
Sophie snorts.
But Brenna simply eyes me. “That’s too bad. You’ve got the whole good girl just waiting to be corrupted vibe going on.”
“It’s a front. I was always corrupted.” And then John broke me by making me believe in forever.
Brenna laughs, but I have the feeling she knows very well that I’m just trying to make it through each minute. “You asked Killian to come home, and now you’re out of one. Where are you staying now?”
Initially, I’d considered going to Hank and Corinne. I’d quickly squashed the idea. I can’t do it. Not again. Call it stupid pride; I don’t care. The idea of telling them that John left me and I have no place to go makes me sick to my stomach. If I’m going to be alone in this world, I have to keep walking on my own two feet.
My fingers tremble as I trace through the condensation beading over the tea bottle, I turn my attention to the traffic we’re crawling through. “Short-term rental. It’s all good.”
Sophie blows a half-hearted raspberry. “A black-light, Pollock-inspired jizz fest? Stella, no.”
Brenna half turns in her seat. “I’m not going to force you, but I have a great place with a lot of room. And I want you to stay with me.”
“Why?” It comes out way too warbled. “You’re John’s friend, his family, really. You don’t need me hanging around like a pall.”
“Jax is my friend,” she agrees. “And I love him like a brother. But that doesn’t mean I can’t be your friend too.”
“I was kind of hoping I’d just go somewhere and lick my wounds in private.”
Sophie touches my knee, her brown eyes wide and pained. “I know what it’s like to feel alone and heartbroken. It blows. But the worst part is not having a shoulder to cry on. Please let us do that. Brenna is right—we like you. It doesn’t have to be about Jax.”
Except it will be. Right now, he’s all I can think about, and it blows. “It would be better for both of us if I just got out of his life completely.”
They’re both silent for a moment, and the sounds of car horns and the general buzz of the city seeps in. I turn away from the window and stare blindly down at my hands. I can’t even enjoy my city; I see him everywhere in it now.
“Do you really believe that?” Brenna asks softly.
My laugh is bitter. “Why shouldn’t I?”
She licks her lips and leans closer. “Jax is going through a rough spot right now. I’m not going to make excuses or try to figure out what he’s thinking. What I do know is that he’s never gotten attached to a woman. He’s never tried before you.”
“I know that.” My fingers clench around the slippery bottle. “I know he tried with me. And it didn’t work …” My voice cracks, and I look away. “Some things don’t work out, no matter how much you want them to.”
Neither of them says anything, and I’m grateful. We’re heading uptown, turning onto Park Avenue, where pretty strips of green grass divide the streets and nannies stroll their charges along sunny sidewalks.
“Stay with me,” Brenna finally says in a gently coaxing voice. “We’ll hang out. We’ll never mention He Who Also Must Not Be Named. We’ll just relax and you can regroup, figure out what you want to do.”
“I don’t know …” I trail off because it does sound nice. I’ve never had true girlfriends. I’ve wanted them, wanted someone to just talk to and let off steam. I filled that void with clients and casual acquaintances. Talking to Mrs. Goldman had been easier; she wasn’t my age, wasn’t looking for close friendship. But now that two nice, funny women are offering something real, I find it hard to give in.
