She looked back at me. "Really."
"Really." I picked at a thread on my sleeve. "He was very…thorough about making sure I was ready."
"Thorough."
"Like. Very thorough." I paused. "He used his fingers for a long time. And his mouth."
Amber made a sound like air leaving a tire.
"Three fingers," I added, because apparently I had no self-preservation instinct whatsoever.
"Three—" She stood up. Sat back down. Stood up again. Walked to the counter and stood there with her back to me for a second. Then she turned around. "Haven Sinclair. That man ate you out and used three fingers to open you up before he?—"
"Yes."
"Before he flipped you over and?—"
"Yes."
"And spanked you?—"
"Can you lower your voice?—"
"We live alone!" she said. "Haven. Oh my god. Oh my god, I'm so happy for you I could cry.” She paused. “So…what? You’re like—a couple now?”
That was the first thing that made me stop short.
“Well…we agreed to keep it secret,” I admitted.
Amber's expression shifted.
"Secret," she repeated.
"Nobody can know. We work together, he's older, it's?—"
"Haven."
"It's complicated."
She sat back down slowly. Put her cereal bowl to the side. Looked at me the way she looked at things she was worried about but wasn't sure she had the right to say out loud.
"What?" I said.
"Nothing."
"Amber."
"I'm not saying anything."
"You're doing the face."
"I don't have a face."
"You have a very specific face," I said. "You've had it since seventh grade. Say what you're thinking."
She was quiet for a second. Picked at the edge of the table.
"I just want to make sure he's not—" She stopped. Started again. "You've wanted this man since you were sixteen years old, Haven. I've watched you want him for five years. And I want to make sure that he knows that. That he's not just—" Another stop.
