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All of the should, should, shoulds crowded in my brain, but none of them had mattered when we’d been sitting there exchanging glances and words with an electric currency I wasn’t blind to.
What was worse had been how she’d made me feel. For the first time in years, I’d experienced a glow of self-worth within me, like what I had to say mattered. Like someone wanted me to stick around.
My chest spasmed at the thought, which came too close to colliding with the past.
Bump and Grind's wide glass windows showed off all the pine flooring and white walls of the coffee shop, and when I opened the door, the scent of coffee and the sound of smooth jazz slammed into me.
Discomfort rippled through me at the idea of confiding in someone. Honestly, I'd rather punch a weighted bag, but my therapist had said I needed to confide in others more. Even if the prospect made me want to vomit. This was a situation where I needed an opinion, and I only trusted one woman well enough to give it.
Maeve had already claimed a corner table with a cappuccino. She waved and made a shooing gesture toward the counter. I stepped into the line, three deep, and worked out my order in about two seconds flat. I usually switched between black coffee or mocha with extra whip, two wildly different moods.
Today was a mocha day.
I placed my order and stepped over to the handoff pane. How could I even broach this topic with Maeve? She was my bar buddy, even though she lived in the suburbs. We'd met through the gym when she'd signed up for self-defense classes—mostly because she had the hots for one of the instructors. While I kept the majority of folks at a distance, she’d fast bullied her way into my life, and with how hot the feisty redhead was, I’d been tempted to try for a hookup.
But I’d needed a friend far more, and now we bickered like sisters most of the time.
My stomach squeezed tight. Since my real sister wanted nothing to do with me, I’d found a replacement. I was reeling from the way the past dragged its tendrils around my limbs, which was the exact reason I met up with Maeve today.
The barista passed over the mocha, the rich scent of chocolate making my mouth water.
I clutched the warm ceramic with the creamy whip in an artful swirl over the surface and joined Maeve.
“Okay, Samantha, I’m going to need the full rundown.” Maeve might be barely over five foot, but she was intimidating as fuck—because of all the direct eye contact and explosive personality. Complete opposite of mine.
“Maybe once I’ve gotten some caffeine into my system,” I said, sliding into the seat across from her. The pale wooden chairs were comfortable, yet another reason why I liked this place. My beat-up body needed a break every now and again.
“Nuh-uh,” she said, arm braced on the top of the chair behind her. “You’ve got some explaining to do.”
“Ew.” I blew on the top of my beverage and took a sip. Sweetness exploded on my tongue, and I savored it, as if the drink might bolster me for the conversation ahead. It would help if I shared about my past more in general, but I’d chosen Maeve because she was one of the few who knew everything that had gone down with my family and me. Only because of a bad night involving too much tequila and vomiting in Maeve’s passenger’s seat, but she knew, nonetheless.
When I looked up, Maeve’s blue eyes were burning holes into me.
“So, my sister’s best friend is my newest client.” I pushed out the words, swinging my gaze back down to my mocha. “And she grew up stupidly hot.”
Maeve let out a low whistle. “Have you already started sleeping with her, and you need to be absolved from guilt or something? Because I’m never going to shame about going after some ass.”
I shook my head. “Haven’t slept with her, but she’s direct as hell. Asked me out on a date, and she’s flirty as fuck.”
“What’s the problem here?” Maeve asked. Her eyes twinkled with a knowing, as if she’d worked out my issue on her own. Having people who got me fucking sucked—even if I was grateful as hell to her.
I swallowed hard, trying to ignore the way my chest burned at the words I was about to admit. The ones I’d cycled over a thousand times. “She’s connected to my family. To that time. And she’s still close with my sister.”
Maeve hmm’ed at me.
Even seeing the photo of my sister on the screen had been a gut punch I hadn’t known how to handle. Getting cut out in a sharp slice like that, years apart where we weren’t in contact—my sister looked like a stranger to me now. Yet I couldn’t help but remember the kid I’d driven to get ice cream at Paolo’s in the summer because it was our favorite spot, or the one who’d come to me crying when the girls in her class had picked on her for the birthmark on her elbow.
If I did go on a date with Amelia, what could ever come from it?
It wasn’t like we’d ever have a future, not when her best friend was an active source of pain for me. I might be an idiot at times, but not enough of one to keep placing my hand on the burner over and over.
“I’m going to sound like a dick, but do you need to date her?” Maeve asked. “It’s obvious you’re attracted to her, or you wouldn’t have called me out here, but if you both need to fuck it out, then fuck it out.”
“Going there feels like a betrayal.” And that was the truth. My gut twisted at the thought of sleeping with the person my little sister was still best friends with while she hated my guts.
“Nope,” Maeve said point-blank. “Your sister cut you out for being queer. That’s a betrayal. At this point, you don’t owe her an ounce of loyalty. This best friend of hers is a big girl who can make her own choices.”
I wrinkled my nose.
