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She was giving me a signature devious look. “Phoebe, let’s go to the bathroom.”
“Uh, what?”
She raised her eyebrows meaningfully. “Bathroom.”
“Okay…” Where was this going?
“I’ll get the table,” Carter volunteered.
We walked inside together, and while Carter, good to his word, grabbed the table, Jo-Beth dragged me to the one-stall bathroom. She opened the door, ushered me inside, then slammed and locked it.
“You know I could’ve waited outside, right?” I asked dryly. “I don’t need to watch you pee.”
“Oh my God, obviously I don’t have to pee, don’t be thick. Girl, we must must must talk about you and Carter!”
My face turned crimson. “Uh, what’s there to talk about?”
Jo-Beth slapped lightly me on the arm, and cried, “You can’t lie to me, Phoebe, you’re not good at it!”
Rubbing my arm, pretending she had hurt me, I sighed. Is this what it was like to be around me? Constant pushiness?
In fairness, there was no reason that I should keep the Carter thing from Jo-Beth. She was, after all, my best friend. I just knew that she’d be, like, judge-y about it. That’s who she was. Who we both were, really, when I wasn’t mired in the situation in question. As an outside observer, I was always quite free with my opinions, but now that the tables had turned, the possibility of scrutiny was unwelcome.
“Phoebe,” she declared, “you must tell me. If you’re hungry, and want to see sexy handsome Carter again, you must.”
With that, she moved to stand in front of the door, blockading it with outspread arms and legs. Jo-Beth might look like a movie star, but she’s tough as nails. If it came to it, there’d be no way I was getting past her.
I crossed my arms, scanning the room for alternatives. There was a window, kinda high in the wall, but…
“Don’t you even think about that window,” Jo-Beth said. Damnit, she knew me too well.
“Okay, jeez, fine!” I cried. “Fine, you’re right. Something did happen between us.”
Jo-Beth dropped her limbs from the door and raced over to embrace me in a hug.
“Oh my fucking God,” she shrieked into my ear. “That’s the most exciting thing I have literally ever heard.”
I patted her on the back before pulling away. “Oh yeah? You’ve changed your tune.”
“What does that mean?”
“When we first got here, you said he was random and mysterious and that I shouldn’t, y’know, do anything with him because I would get murdered big time.”
She shrugged. “Actually, that was you who thinking he might be a sexy murderer. But clearly you’ve already done something, and you’re not murdered, so it’s okay. Can’t I be happy for you?”
I squinted, trying to wrap my head around this wackadoodle logic, then gave up. Jo-Beth’s brain was sometimes scientific to the point that her logic was operating at a different level — nay, in a different universe — than mine. Once a possibility had been discarded, she preceded as though it had never been one in the first place.
“Besides,” Jo-Beth continued, flipping her hair over her shoulder. “Murderers don’t serve you breakfast in the morning.”
“Actually, many career murderers are known for being charming and attractive to their victims.” I couldn’t help myself. I had to correct her flawed psych diagnosis.
The real irony was, Jo-Beth didn’t even know about Carter’s wife, who was an actual would-be murderer. I debated telling her, but decided that that would be a big breach of trust. Though, in truth, I think all pinky promises we make should have a best-friend exemption clause, like written in somewhere around the knuckle.
“Okay, enough evading,” she insisted. “Tell me what happened.”
I moved to the sink, leaning up against it. My body was weary from all the vigorous sex, and I didn’t feel like standing while I explained as much to Jo-Beth. She was looking at me expectantly, her lips spread in a half smile, ready to be thrilled. Clearly, we weren’t going to be leaving this bathroom anytime soon. Poor Carter. Poor Henry. I hoped they had the good sense to order while we were busy gossiping.
“We had sex,” I said.
Jo-Beth screamed so loud that I was forced to jump across the expanse between us, clamping a hand down on her mouth.
“Shh!” I hissed.
She licked my hand, and I dropped it instantly. Dang it, why did that old schoolyard trick still work on me? Not like I was afraid of Jo-Beth’s spit.
“You did not,” she said, shaking her head. “Nu-uh.”
I threw up my arms. “You wanted to know the truth, that’s the truth!”
“Nope.”
“Yes.”
“Oh my God. Wait. Really?”
“Yeah.” Okay, this was getting exhausting.
“Tell me!” She was jumping up and down like a kid who’d eaten too much of their Halloween candy.
“Tell you what?”
“The story, Jesus.”
“If I tell you the story, can we then go back outside and have some damn dinner?”
“Duh, I’m starved.”
“Then why are we—”
