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So I said I didn’t want a boyfriend, but it looks like everybody’s getting something out of this. What's a little compromise among friends?
And oh, what a compromise. My hips buck involuntarily as I think about it again: Emmet straddling my face, nearly making me choke, as Dillon’s hot tongue plunged into the core of me. I was completely overtaken by them, practically drowning in their musk, fighting to stay conscious, fighting to stay on top of my urges. When we all climaxed, it felt like one complicated, multifaceted firework going off all at once. The explosion was terrific. Blinding. It took me forever to recover.
And it's taking me ages to figure out a way to write about it. I don't even know how much I've gotten into my notes, but some of this is impossible to describe. I spent a long time explaining getting ready for the bar, getting to the bar. How I flirted and cooed, not even understanding who I was talking to…
Not understanding who I was kissing!
Oh my God, the humiliation! The look on Dillon's face. Was it hurt? Not exactly. Amusement, I think. He was amused.
At first I was insulted by his smug reaction, but then Emmet was there almost immediately. And the blogger, to boot. I felt Hannah's offer slipping away from me. The sense of urgency was dire, but if I couldn’t tell the difference, could the blogger?
So, what on earth possessed me to kiss Emmet right after I kissed Dillon? Not even knowing if the blogger had seen both of us?
It was an insane chance. Absolute craziness. And if there are pictures, the whole deal is going to be blown to pieces before we even really get started. This character I’ve invented could get the authentic me into real trouble.
So that's what I am waiting for. That's what I expect to happen at any moment, but after two days nothing has happened. Which means no one knows but us, so far.
Apparently, we got away with it.
Not even Hannah knows. And as soon as I think that, my phone starts to buzz. Her cute little freckled face shows up on my screen, a picture from a kayaking trip we took when we were only sixteen. Her hair clings to her cheeks in wobbly, ruddy strands. She had just got her braces off and couldn't stop smiling. She was gorgeous.
“Hello?” I answer, trying to seem completely alert and not as though I've been lounging on my sofa for two days, stuck between terror, reflexive oversleeping, and the stubborn, breathless waves of lust that burn inside and refuse to leave me.
“Hello yourself,” she says curtly, her voice distant and terse. I know she's not looking at the phone. I know she probably even forgot the call was being connected as soon as she got it up to her cheek. She's quite easy to distract these days. I guess she has a lot on her mind but it is annoying.
“Yep,” I answer, slightly obnoxiously. I’m going to make her figure out why she called instead of just handing her the information. If she needs to talk to me that badly, she could at least marshall her attention long enough to form a sentence.
“Oh, yeah… hi, Bella,” she says in a softer tone as I sense her trying to pull herself together. “I was just checking in, I suppose. How are you? Everything okay?”
“Yeah, everything is fine,” I chirp avidly. I don't want her to worry. I don't want her hovering all over me anyway. She can be a real micromanager and I like to be left alone.
I hear her breath puffing out through her nose. She's irritated that I’m making her work for this conversation. Tough cookies.
“So… I thought you'd send me an email or something. Some kind of update. How was your date?”
“With Emmet?”
“Yes, with Emmet,” she huffs. “How was your date? Where did you go again? The margarita bar?”
“No, no, Japanese whiskeys.”
“Oh, yes… it’s so hard to remember what everyone is drinking these days.”
“Did you know that you can spend seventy-five dollars on a shot of whiskey?”
“Seventy-five dollars,” she repeats vaguely. “That's the cheap stuff, Bella. You could spend a lot more than that.”
I bristle, instantly put off by this. I don't know why. It shouldn't matter to me that I didn't get the absolute most expensive shot of Japanese whiskey in the entire fucking world during my fake date, right? But still. The last thing I was expecting to hear was the phrase “the cheap stuff.”
I am not cheap. Common, perhaps. Basic, maybe. But not cheap.
“Well, we were just there for a minute. I'm sure we were just getting started, but we were interrupted.”
“Interrupted? By what?”
Now she's interested.
“Oh, you don't know? Didn't your blogger do his… blogging or whatever?”
