Even Better (Stripped 2.50)

She seems offended. “You’re my best friend. I would have told you if we’d… you know.”

“You mean you haven’t had sex?” Now I’m surprised. And even more surprised to hear her say we’re fr

iends at all. It’s not like her to admit it. “You always spent time with him in his office.”

“Business,” she says, her cheeks turning faintly pink.

I don’t quite believe her. They may have discussed business. I know she advocated for some of the girls who were too scared to speak to Ivan themselves. But I doubt that had been the only thing to ever happen down in that basement.

“Candy,” I say.

“Lola,” she says back, mocking, using my stage name instead of my real one. “Do you want to hear all my dirty secrets? Do you want me to confess?”

The word comes out loaded. Confess. I wonder what’s under that word, if I could peel it back. I wonder what it means to her.

I shake my head. “I’m no priest.”

“Good,” she says, her voice hard. “Why are you here, anyway? Why do you keep coming back to this dump when you could be fucking that fine piece of man back home?”

There’s that caustic little girl I know and love. “We come up for air occasionally. And anyway, I thought you might miss me. We’re best friends, you know.”

She responds with a middle finger in the air, and I can’t help but smile.

“Maybe I missed you,” I tell her.

Her expression softens. Well, as much as it can for someone with perpetually huge anime blue eyes. She’s a walking, talking doll, dressed up in pink lace. “Of course I miss you. Things are changing around here, and I don’t think I’m ready for it.”

My heart clenches. “I have a few things I’m not ready for myself.”

“Let me guess… One of those things is five foot ten of hot ex-military man.”

There’s something in her voice, almost like she knows something. “Blue is six-two.”

She smiles. “I didn’t mean him.”

My face gets hot. “Well, you better mean him. He is the only ex-military hot guy I’m doing. Or any other guy, for that matter.”

“Of course.” Her voice has gone completely singsong, proving she doesn’t believe me a second.

Busted. “How did you know?”

A giggle. “I can always tell. It’s the way he looks at you, like he’s imagining you naked. But not speculative. Like he’s remembering you naked.”

I bury my face in my hands. “Oh man, I’m never living this down.”

“Spill,” she says, all seriousness.

“There was a moment, last night. It was really short. We had eaten dinner and each had a couple beers. Then I’m sitting in Blue’s lap and he’s touching me. West never touched me or did anything. He only…watched.”

Candy looks impressed. “And here I thought you’d gone white picket fence, two-point-five kids on me.”

“Not sure about the white-picket-fence part, at least,” I mutter.

Her eyes widen. “Get the fuck out.”

“Nothing’s happened yet,” I assure her. “But Blue is talking about it.”

“Talk? That’s not how babies are made, Hannah. Has no one explained?”