I was a little confused. Maybe I’d missed something.
If so, he hasn’t asked.
It was so weird, talking about going out on a date with the close friend of someone I’d just screwed six ways to Sunday. Or Friday, rather. Depending on how you looked at it.
HUNK2: You should definitely hang out with
him tomorrow. Trust me.
My stomach went tight, as the familiar butterflies returned. I was more than happy to see Zane. Even if our date was being set up by someone else.
HUNK2: He’ll be in touch, I’m sure. Have fun!
My pulse was racing by the time our conversation was finished. I was overtired. Ready to go home. The idea of my apartment made me suddenly giddy, and I wanted nothing more than to take my boots off and kick my feet up and maybe have a glass of wine before bed.
Have fun…
That part should’ve been the strangest of all: one guy wishing me a good time with another. But then again they were friends, and close friends at that. So far all three of them had been beyond comfortable with what we were doing. So much in fact, that I kept meaning to ask them if maybe they’d done this before.
The walk back was crisp and invigorating, but it used up the last of my energy. I unlocked the door, tossed my keys on the table, and headed straight into my bedroom to slip into my favorite pair of comfy sweatpants.
I barely had my bottoms down when my phone alerted me to another text message:
HUNK3: I heard you had fun with Erik and Roman.
Jeeze, what do you say to something like that!
Fun, huh? Is that what they called it?
Hey, if he was gonna ask…
HUNK3: I’m cashing that raincheck tomorrow night.
So be sure to rest up.
The butterflies in my belly took flight. I could only imagine what we’d be doing.
Okay. The resting up part is a given.
Ditto for you too, by the way.
What Zane wrote next pretty much said it all:
Oh don’t worry about me, baby.
I’ll bring enough energy for the both of us.
Twenty-Three
ZANE
She wore a series of flowing, shimmering skirts — aqua blue on gold — with a ruffled, off-the-shoulder blouse on top. It seemed more of a costume than an actual outfit. Especially with her hair tied beneath a red satin scarf, which draped down low over one of her shoulders.
It was a far cry from the jeans and T-shirt I’d seen her in last time.
“Wow!” I said, as Savannah locked the door of her shop behind me. “You even look like a fortune teller!”
“Yeah yeah,” she said dismissively. I couldn’t help but check out her ass as she bent to pull the plug on her bright neon ‘OPEN’ sign. “I sold out.”