Briar’s face falls. “No. No. No. That’s not where this story is supposed to go.”
“You okay over there?”
She looks hot and bothered but a little sad. “No.” She drops her head back on the couch. “I’m sosofar from okay.”
“I think you’ll survive.”
“Planned sex is going to be the death of me. I’m a woman built for adventure.” Briar’s laugh is strained. “Please let me live vicariously through you all.”
Sloane snickers at Briar’s predicament. “Yeah, I’m not going to lie, I’m intrigued by this whole situation.”
“So glad my misery is entertaining.” Sarcasm drips from every word. “The man owned everything, though. Even admitted he’d been denying himself for a while.”
“Shit,” Sloane mumbles.
“That’s—wow—no words,” Briar echoes. “I’m not sure if I’m impressed with your willpower or mad at you for missing out on what absolutely would have been incredible sex.”
“I don’t know what I’m doing here,” I admit.
“That’s why we’re here.” Sloane says.
“He’s leaving,” I say, softer this time. “And this isn’t just physical attraction anymore.”
The room falls quiet, and three pairs of eyes land on me with the kind of understanding that makes my chest ache.
“Oh, honey,” Briar says gently, all teasing stripped away. “That’s so much worse.”
A helpless laugh escapes me. “Tell me about it.”
I stare down into my drink, turning the glass between my palms. “At coffee the other day, I still thought I could outthink this.”
Harlowe watches me carefully. “And now?”
I blow out a breath. “Now, I can’t think straight. Emmett is everywhere. Jeremiah has ruined the hospital for me.” My face heats. “And the world’s most horrifying bathroom experience just pushed me over the edge. None of this feels harmless anymore.”
“It’s not really about the shower,” Sloane says softly.
“No.” I shake my head. “That just made it impossible to ignore. Before, I could pretend that this was just a crush—maybe it was mutual but it wasn’t that serious.”
The silence that follows feels a little too close to clarity for my comfort.
Naturally, Briar ruins it.
“For the record,” she says, pointing her margarita at me, “this is no longer a nether noggin situation.”
Despite myself, I snort. “Excuse me?”
“I’m serious.” She sits forward. “Before? Maybe your lady bits were driving the bus a little.”
“Briar.”
“But now?” She presses a hand dramatically to her chest. “Babe, your feelings are involved. You’re emotionally cooked.”
Sloane nods solemnly. “Fully sautéed.”
“I hate it here.”
“No you don’t,” Harlowe says, smiling into her drink.
