“Okay, babe. Lemme hear it. Why can’t you and Kelley lock lips?”
I sigh and shake my head.
“I’m still so messed up, B. I just had that panic attack, and I’ve had more nightmares. I have to give myself a pep talk before even attempting to have sex. I’m not emotionally stable enough to be in a relationship. And I can’t risk trying something with Kelley and it failing, which is inevitable. It will explode epically in my face.”
“Okay, well, we’ll table the doomsday mindset for now. Did you experience anxiety tonight?” she asks, and I widen my eyes and gesture to my hunched over, obviously stressed-out form.
“Does it look like I’m hunky-dory, sniffin’ flowers and singing songs, Bailey?”
She rolls her eyes and laughs at me.
“No, I know you’re freaking out now, but this isn’t a panic attack. I mean earlier. When Kelley almost kissed you. When he touched you and was all up in your personal bubble—did you feel any anxiety then?”
I think about it for a second, place my hand on my heart, and shake my head slowly.
“No,” I breathe out. “I mean, my heart was racing, and my breathing was labored, but it wasn’t panic. It was—”
“Because you were turned the fuck on and wanted to hop on his dick?”
“Bailey!” I bark out a laugh and give her a shove, and Bailey cackles. “You’re reading too many of those books.”
“Maybe you’re not reading enough of them.” She pops a brow. “I bet he’s a beast in bed.”
I’m stunned. “Kelley? No... You think?”
She shrugs and smirks. “You think just because he’s responsible and studious—”
“and respectful and kind and considerate,” I interject.
“Yeah, yeah, all those things. You think just because Kelley presents in public as a Mr. fucking Rogers, that he can’t do you the best kind of dirty in the bedroom?”
“Oh my gosh, just stop talking,” I squeak and throw my hands over my eyes. No, no, no, cannot see Kelley like this.
“Shouldn’t judge a man by his metaphorical cardigan, V.”
“No. Nope.”
“It could definitely be a beautiful day in his neighborhood, if you catch my drift.” She thinks she’s so dang hilarious.
“No, no, no.”
“And we’ve seen him in sweats, V. That dick print is...” she whistles for emphasis.
“Please, please stop. I get it.” I’m begging, and she snickers at me. Jerk.
“Admit it, V. You’re turned on. You want him.”
I peek at her through my fingers and sigh. “I admit it.”
“So, what’s the problem?”
“You mean besides the fact that he’s my best friend and sex is guaranteed to change things?”
“Besides that.”
“Bailey,” I say quietly, “he doesn’t know about any of it. At all.”
She blinks.