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So I did. I was definitely an idiot for doing it. A dumbass. A sucker for anything Lindy wanted.
The first chapter was catchy or whatever and pulled me right in. At first, she’d loomed in the kitchen, then I settled into the story and pretty much ignored her. It took me two hours–I saw the time on the microwave when I closed the lid–and stood. Stretched. Fuck, I just gave her two more hours of my life. Now she was going to leave, and I’d be fucked all over again.
I went in search of Lindy to get this over with.
I found her on my couch. Asleep. I exhaled, died a little inside. Fuck, she was so pretty. Sleeping, she wasn’t sassy or contrary or sweet or anything. She was perfect, at least to me.
And she was here. Why? Why did she want me to read it after all this time? I hadn’t heard a thing from her and now she was in Colorado.
I sat at her hip, ran a hand over her arm. She stirred. Blinked.
“Sorry I fell asleep.”
“It’s fine,” I said, giving her a soft smile. I couldn’t help it.
Pushing up to sitting, she rubbed an eye. “What did you think?”
“I love it.” I gave her a sly smile. “I really like the part where she’s bent over the bed, and she’s being called a bad girl.” I remembered those events very well.
She blushed just how I loved. “You were my muse.”
My eyes widened. “Did you fuck me for research, sugar?”
Her eyes widened and–
I couldn’t help but laugh. “You did!”
“My writing friend said you were my muse and well, yes.” She tipped her chin up, owning her words.
“I love it,” I replied. I love you. “It’s not done though. I thought you said you finished it.”
With a nod, she said, “I did. Or I thought I did. It needed to be reworked.”
“What happens? Do they get their happily ever after?”
She licked her lips and glanced at her hands, which she was wringing in her lap, then at me. “That depends.”
“On what?”
Our voices had gone soft, as if we didn’t want anyone to overhear us, which was crazy since there wasn’t anyone else on this entire floor of the building.
“On you.” Her blue eyes slowly lifted to mine. “And me.” She stood and went around the coffee table. “I’ll be right back.”
I nodded and watched as she went to the kitchen and returned carrying the toaster.
“When I was fourteen, I got asked out on a date. To the bowling alley and the boy’s parents were driving us.”
I imagined pretty Lindy at that age. How shy she must have been. Nervous.
“Bridget was four, if that gives you any perspective. My mom and I talked about boys and what I wanted from them.”
My eyebrows rose thinking that had to have been an interesting talk.
“Not sex because I was a late bloomer and didn’t really think much of it then. It wasn’t like she tucked condoms in my little purse along with my strawberry lip gloss. More like since boys were now interested in me, I should decide what I expected from them. She told me I shouldn’t sacrifice on anything I was looking for in a boy, that he should be all the things I wanted from him instead of being all the things I thought a boy wanted from me. Like they needed to be nice.”
“Okay,” I said, not because I understood, but I wanted to keep her going. And why the hell was the toaster was so important. And why I spent two hours reading her book.
“We made a list. Things I thought, at fourteen, that a boy should be.”
