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I was very on board with brunch.
Usually.
For this brunch, I was half an hour late. Not completely unlike me, but if it was a one-on-one meal, I tried my best for fifteen minutes at the max. But to my surprise, Karson and I had slept in until well past ten and stayed in bed another hour after that. Then there was the shower, then there was the arguing about whether Karson was allowed to break into my house again. Then there was me sinking down on the sofa after he left, staring into space for fifteen minutes, trying to process what the fuck happened.
Then there was me remembering the time, hurriedly getting ready and navigating my way through the LA brunch traffic.
Yasmin had been my friend for years and knew how time challenged I was, therefore, she didn’t say a word as I plonked down in my chair and drained the last of her mimosa. She merely tapped at her phone for a few beats more before focusing on me.
Yasmin was a high-powered human rights lawyer. She was impossibly intelligent, impressive and attractive. Her auburn hair was pulled back in a sleek ponytail, accentuating her delicate, almost elven bone structure, the copper eyeshadow on her lids making her emerald eyes seem to glow.
She was wearing a light brown pantsuit, tailored to perfection with subtle but expensive jewelry accentuating her look. Most likely she’d come from the office. She was a workaholic, so her personal life was nonexistent, except the times we dragged her out for drinks or food.
“Sorry I’m late,” I told her, smiling at the waitress politely to signal my need for booze and sustenance. Once again, I was starving. Karson had offered to cook me breakfast, but I’d passionately denied. I couldn’t have him feeding me twice in a twelve-hour period. He’d fucked me more than enough, and cooking me another meal was far too intimate and ventured into relationship territory.
“It’s fine. I’ve only just gotten off the phone with this fucking case,” she replied. “I should’ve canceled, I’m absolutely buried with work, but—”
“But you haven’t seen your best friend in years,” I interrupted.
“A week,” she corrected with a sly grin.
I ignored this. “And you likely haven’t eaten a meal that hasn’t come out of a takeout bag in much longer than that,” I continued. “I bet you’re the last to leave the office and haven’t even had the energy to make yourself a cocktail when you get home.” My eyes roamed over her. “You look amazing because you have an excellent skincare routine and even better genes, but I know you very well, so I see you’re well overdue to get a day drinking buzz on and eat your body weight in carbs.”
I smiled to the waitress who had approached our table. “Bloody Mary, spicy, strong, and two orders of French toast plus some fries for the table, please,” I told her.
I focused back on Yasmin once the waitress left. “Now, I’m so proud that you’re so powerful and successful, and I want to be you when I grow up, if I ever grow up, but in addition to carbs and booze, you really need to get laid.”
Yasmin gave me an affronted look. “How do you know I haven’t?”
I scoffed. “Oh, honey. This isn’t my first day on planet Earth.”
Yasmin pursed her lips. “I have an excellent vibrator that makes me come harder than any man ever has.”
My head tilted, and I tried to hide the way my body reacted to the memory of this morning. “Then you haven’t found the right man.”
Her eyes narrowed ever so slightly. “And you’ve found him? Finally? The prince?” I wasn’t sure if it was hope, disbelief or disappointment in her tone, but I didn’t really focus on that. It was the words themselves that struck a chord within me.
Because I’d rushed here in somewhat of a daze, I was having a delayed reaction to everything that happened last night. And this morning.
“Oh, fuck,” I realized, pressing the heel of my hand into my forehead, extremely grateful that the waitress chose that moment to put our drinks down on the table.
“What?” Yasmin asked, tilting her head in concern.
I blinked at my friend. I had intended on spilling everything that happened with Karson the night before. That’s what girlfriends were for. Fuck, that’s what brunch was for—drinking in the morning and talking about the men who broke into your house in the middle of the night then gave you the best sex of your life. The best without a condom sex of your life.
How fucking stupid was I? I’d let him enchant me with that air of mystery and the tales about being a super-secret government spy turned criminal. With those eyes, that bone structure, the scars on his body, the dark trail of hair that ghosted over his abs, down to his magnificent cock.
There was a good chance a man like him was clean, but was I putting my health on a good fucking chance?
And then there was the pregnancy aspect. The pill was only 91% effective. That meant there was a fucking 9% chance that he could’ve impregnated me last night.
Or this morning.
I did not want children.
Fuck.
“Wren?”
