“Not right now, thanks.”
“Juice, then?” she asks. “Or coffee?”
“Maybe some coffee. Black, please.” I’m going to need some caffeine if I have any hope of making it through this day.
She gives me a thumbs up and puts on a fresh pot to brew. When it’s burbling away, she turns back to me, leans against the counter, and grins mischievously.
“Uh-oh,” I say. “I don’t think I like that look you’re giving me.”
Her grin widens. “Sooo… does this distraction of yours have anything to do with the stud muffin I saw leaving your apartment last night?”
I freeze. “What?”
Her smile gets wider. “Oh, don’t play coy with me, girl! I saw the guy. He was yummy. And that’s putting it lightly.”
I cringe, my eyes falling down. “It’s not what you think.”
“It was, like, midnight,” she points out. “I think it was exactly what I think.”
“Trust me: it wasn’t.”
She frowns. “Oh, come on, Jessa. It’s not like you’re involved with anyone, right? You’re a newly single woman and he’s a gorgeous man. Did you bang or did you not?”
The question comes out a little sharp to my ears. Or maybe I’m just carrying the guilt of my complete lack of willpower where Anton Stepanov is concerned.
“No, we did not ‘bang.’ It’s not like that.”
But the moment I say it, I remember the way he kissed me last night. A power play, of course. But for a moment, I thought it was more.
Pathetic, I know. The more I think about it, the worse it gets.
I feel my shame compound as the coffee pot sings. “Freya,” I say, “you might want to take that off.”
She yelps, then turns around to grab the pot and pour out black coffee into a shallow mug. “Here,” she says, thrusting it into my hands. “Now, back to the good stuff. Where did you meet him?”
“I… can’t say.”
I curse myself for being so damn transparent. If I’d played this off better, she might have never suspected anything. But now, she’s looking at me with concern.
“He isn’t a gigolo, is he?”
“W-what?” I blurt, gaping at her. “Of course not!”
She smiles. “Because no judgment, okay? A girl’s gotta get some, and that’s a real easy way to do it.”
“Jesus.” I roll my eyes. “He’s not a prostitute. Actually, I kinda wish he was. That would make things so much simpler.”
Freya’s eyes hit the roof and again, I curse myself for being so stupidly obvious today. But since the damage is already done, I decide to level with her.
“Trust me, Freya. I don’t want to get you involved in this mess. You’re better off not knowing.”
Her grin falters. “You’re starting to scare me, girl.”
“It’s nothing I can’t handle,” I tell her. “It’s just a matter of being in the wrong place at the wrong time. Anton. That’s his name. I’m in the process of ending things.”
She looks confused now. “So you are involved with him?”
“Sort of, but not romantically.”