Tia, Joanna’s personal assistant and the only one of us married with children, hoots. “Now there’s a man that could probably give a girl something to scream to God about. Can I get an amen?”
All the girls erupt into a chorus of amens, and I can’t stop the laughter bubbling out of me.
“So, you still holding firm to the notion you shouldn’t sleep with him?” Hattie asks when the atmosphere settles.
“Yes. It’s not worth the risk of getting kicked out if things go south or of feeling like I owe him sex just so he’ll let me stay.”
“Lauren, I say this with all the newfound love I have for you.” Tia holds up her finger and takes a long sip from her Jalapeno Julep before continuing. “But if that man has been living under the same roof asyoufor more than one day and still hasn’t made a move, he is either gay or genuinely a good human, in which case, if you don’t want him, Rose will gladly take him.”
Rose scrunches her nose again, her petite frame shuddering, and she seems almost grossed out at the thought. “That feels wrong. He looks like the male version of me.”
“He’s the latter,” Hattie declares, her eyes suddenly serious. She puts her glass of Jose-Rosé down before turning her entire body to me. “He wants you, Lore. The way he looks at you, there’s no denying it.”
“We aren’t trying to deny it, but I need to play it safe,” I explain.
“Nah, Chica, you need to fuck his brains out,” Giselle exclaims, sending us all into another round of laughter.
The conversation flows back to other subjects, or rather, other men, after that. But Hattie leans close to me, her dark green eyes still serious.
“Look. Jason is an asshole. None of us ever understood what you saw in him.” She places her hand on mine. “Though I’m starting to realize there were things going on under the surface that I hope you someday trust me enough as a friend to share.”
“Thank you,” I whisper, emotions only Trista ever managed to pull out of me suddenly lodged in my throat.
“I wasn’t done.” Hattie smiles at me ruefully, and I let out a soft laugh because I assumed as much. “Michael isn’t Jason.”
“I know.”
“And he’ll be good for you.” She squeezes my hand. “You said Trista was your only real friend, right?” I nod. “Well, he’s her brother, Lauren. They’re cut out of the same cloth.”
“I hate that I’m sober, and you still make sense,” I grumble, rolling my eyes with fondness.
“Sober?” Hattie exclaims. “We better take care of that, girl.” Her laughter rolls, and I can’t help but join her. “And we’re going to sit before your first event and talk about maximizing this opportunity for your clothing line. You are not letting that go to waste, do you hear me?”
“Loud and clear, oh fashion marketing genius!” I salute her.
“You know it!” Hattie clinks her drink with mine, and I can’t help the joy spreading through me, knowing that despite everything, I haven’t missed out on all these wonderful women.
Chapter Six
Michael
“Okay, Edwards, concentrate.”I take a deep breath, rubbing my palms over the fabric of my running shorts and looking at my notes scattered all over the coffee table in the loft living room. “Okay.” I exhale and pull on my headphones to listen to the revised track I’ve been working on for the past two hours, but I keep glancing at the door.
It’s 8:00 PM, and I know Lauren won’t be home for a while because she’s out with Hattie watching a play at a fringe theater, after which they’ll probably head out for drinks with the girls. I miss having her around, but I’m also happy for her.
The way she radiated with joy when she told me, the sheer disbelief that she’s being included makes my heart hurt for her. She’s missed out on so many things because of Jason. So much of her youth and innocence was stolen by him.
Yet, she’s so full of life and has enough spark in her to light up that side of me I seldom let out. This flirty, easygoing persona I cultivate is good for business, but the ease in which I slip out of that exhausting charade when Lauren’s around and become the boy I used to be up until eight years ago…
It scares me that she has that effect, that we have this inexplicable connection after knowing each other for such a short while.
I toss my headphones onto the coffee table. “Damn it.” My palm rubs over my hair before sliding to my face, where my thumb and forefinger press against my shut eyes. I need to take the edge off, get my mind off Lauren and her sultry bedroom eyes, forget that laughter, shove away the irrational panic of never hearing it again.
That last one hits me square in the chest. “Get a grip, Mikey. No involvement.”
Only, I’m already involved, and I know denying it is futile. Worse than accepting the simple fact that Lauren became important. Lauren matters when she shouldn’t.
She shouldn’t matter because I’m too irreparably broken to give her what she wants and deserves. I can’t afford to have her fall head over heels, thinking I feel the same way. I don’t want to hurt her. And I sure as hell don’t want to feel this bubbling fear of her being out late, not knowing if she’s safe or how she’s getting home. Of her never coming home at all.