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Ezra and I were back home in a minute, warming up and changing out the laundry together.
“Mommy, Bob Ross now?” he asked as we trekked upstairs from the basement.
“Sure. Do you want to paint along with him?”
His eyes lit up. “Yes! I wanna paint trees!”
I got Ezra set up with his smock and easel and turned on an old episode ofThe Joy of Paintingfor him. Bob Ross had randomly become Ezra’s hero, and I wasn’t mad about it. I’d prefer to hear about happy accidents from a man with a gentle voice and terrible perm than watch a zillion episodes ofPAW Patrol.
Jenny and I sat at the small dining room table, which was only feet away from the living room, because three-year-olds and paint could be dangerous.
“Give me the tea, Birdie. What happened?” Jenny cupped her mug of coffee between her hands and leaned in close, eager to hear all about my night.
“Um…well, it wasn’t really a regular party.”
She tilted her head. “Of course it wasn’t. I imagine famous rock stars don’t exactly go to keggers. Was it at some chichi place?”
“Yeah, I guess so. It was in a penthouse apartment.” Jenny gripped my arm, already excited where this story was going. She hadnoidea. “I guess I expected that. What was surprising were the performers.”
Her eyes lit up. “Oh, was it someone famous?”
“No.” My cheeks flooded with heat. Not from embarrassment, but from the memories of watching that man and woman dancing and then fucking on their small stage. “They were...erotic performers. I think to get everyone in the mood.”
She looked at me like a deer caught in headlights. “What the hell, Birdie? What kind of party did you go to?”
I cupped my mouth and whispered. “A sex party.”
Her mouth fell open. “And did you—?”
“No.” I shook my head hard. “Absolutely not.”
She released a long sigh. “I didn’t think so, but—”
“I didn’t have sex, but there was grinding.”
Her hand flew to her chest. “Who the hell were you grinding? Adam?”
I shook my head again and chewed on my bottom lip. Jenny knew all about my emails with Callum. She was the one person I’d ever been able to be completely open with. When my heart broke over him, I cried on her shoulder. When he appeared in the lobby on my first day at Good Music, we freaked out together. Since she knew all about my loaded feelings for him, he was probably the last person she imagined I’d ever hook up with—especially since he had no clue I was the little bird he’d written to for all that time.
“Adam kissed me, but, um…Callum yanked me off his lap and said he wanted me.” I buried my face in my hands. “And then I kind of writhed all over him like...well, not anything like myself. I don’t know, he felt so good, and I forgot where I was. We were in a room filled with people, and I just...didn’t even think about that.”
When I peeked between my fingers, Jenny stared back at me with wide eyes and a gaping mouth. I’d stunned her. Then again, I’d stunned myself.
“We didn’t even kiss,” I continued, needing to get it all out. “I’m not sure he likes me. But when he took me and said he wanted me, god…” I still couldn’t believe that had happened. He kept telling me what a good girl I was. How perfect I was. How hard I’d made him come. No one had ever spoken to me that way, but his praise had coated me with carnal bliss.
Jenny had pulled herself together a little, but she still looked how I felt—like she’d stepped into an alternate universe where everything was almost the same but tilted just enough to make it entirely different.
“I don’t quite know what to say.” She fanned her face and looked at me like I was a stranger. “Wow, so there was grinding, and then…?”
“We both came,” I rushed out. “I made him come in his pants.Me. Wren Anderson.”
Her head bobbed on her neck like a couple screws had come loose. “I never doubted you had that power, Birdie. I always tell you how gorgeous you are.”
“You’re biased because you love me and I have your hair.”
I wasn’t gorgeous. On a good day, I was cute or adorable. On a very,verygood day, when I carefully did my hair and layered on makeup, I could pass for sort of pretty. I was a few inches too short, more than a few pounds too heavy, and my features were too disproportionate to qualify for more than that. And that was okay. I’d learned to accept that and like myself anyway.
Most days, at least.
