Listen to Me (Fusion 1)

“I swear, you two are like kids who don’t know what they’re doing, and you’re too fucking stubborn to admit it.”

“We are not like kids,” I reply with a frown.

“You think things are going well,” Kat says. “Are you guys not talking? Or are you just playing Parcheesi?”

“Of course we talk,” I reply, getting angry now. “I’ve only been out with him a handful of times, Kat. We just started sleeping together. We’re still learning each other. It’s not like we’re eight years in and I still think it’s going well. Did you expect him to put a ring on my finger already?”

Jesus, just the thought of that terrifies me.

“From the look on your face right now, I’ll say absolutely not,” Kat replies with a chuckle. “I know it’s early, and it’s totally cool to take your time, Add. In fact, take all the time you want. But you should know if it’s going well or not. I mean, does he piss you off? Irritate you? Snore too loud? Use up all the hot water? Is he nice to you?”

“He’s very nice to me,” I reply softly. “And he doesn’t irritate me.”

“Good.”

“How about you?”

“He definitely doesn’t irritate me either, but I’m not the one fucking him.”

The woman rubbing Kat’s feet whips her head up in surprise, then looks back down.

“I mean, I’m not the one playing Parcheesi with him.”

“No, I mean are you seeing anyone?” I close my eyes, enjoying the calf massage I’m getting. God, my heels make my calves hurt so bad.

But they’re so worth it.

“Yes,” Kat replies dryly. “I’m seeing the wine delivery guy twice a week.”

“Isn’t he married?”

“Yes, smart-ass, he is.” Kat laughs, then sighs in pleasure as her pedicurist hits a good spot on the sole of her foot. “I don’t have time to date, Addie.”

“Neither do I, but I’m fitting it in somehow.”

“I guess if I met someone worth making room for I would. But he’s still a myth.”

“He exists,” I reply confidently. “You’ll meet him.”

“God help him,” Kat says with a laugh. “I’m a handful.”

“We all can be.” The lady moves to my other leg, twisting her hands around my ankle. God, I love her right now. Seriously, can I just date her?

“What are you doing after this?”

“I’m going home to do some laundry and dishes, then get ready for work. You?”

“Riley is dragging me to yoga,” she says, making a face like she just swallowed sour milk. “What did I ever do to her? Why does she want to laugh at me like that?”

“What’s up with you and Cami and your aversion to the gym?” I ask with a laugh. “It’s a good stress reliever.”

“So is stabbing people, but I don’t do that either.” Her pedicurist looks up at her in horror again. “I just said I don’t do that.”

“Yoga is fun.”

“Why did I choose friends who always want to get together?” she asks grumpily, pursing her bright red lips. “Why can’t we all love each other from afar?”

“You love us,” I reply, reaching over to pat her arm. “You’ve loved us since we met at college, and you and Cami were roommates, and you’d miss us if you never saw us.”

“Yeah, yeah. Says the girl who gets to go home and be alone today.”

“So bail on Riley. She’ll understand.”

Kat frowns. “No. I won’t bail.”

“You’re a good friend.”

“I am where it’s earned,” she replies, sober now. “And I think the five of us have earned it.”

“In spades,” I agree.

I HAVE BLOUSES hung all over my condo, drying. I don’t ever put them in the dryer because they’ll shrink up in the bust area, and while I don’t mind showing off the girls now and again, I am not a stripper. They don’t need to be in anyone’s face.

Well, except Jake’s. He seems to like it when they’re in his face.

I smirk and fold a pair of panties from La Perla. I only have a few pairs of these, and they are so worth the expense.

Jake loves them.

Jake, Jake, Jake.

He’s all I think about these days, and that’s starting to irritate even me. Am I one of those annoying women who obsess about a guy and annoy everyone around them?

And is Kat right? Am I too stubborn to admit that I don’t know what I’m doing?

Do I know what I’m doing?

“What the fuck are we doing?” I ask the empty room as I fold towels. We’re getting to know each other. We’re having great sex.

Amazing sex.

The best sex in the history of sex.

But more than that, I like him. Like, really like him. So does this mean that it’s going to hurt more when he breaks my heart?

Correction: when he destroys my heart.

Because he will. At this point, if it were to end, I’d be hurt. I’d be sad. It would be another shot to my already Swiss-cheesy heart.

Then again, maybe he really is different from the others. I mean, the only similarity so far is the fact that the man has music running through his veins. He’s not like the other wannabe musicians I’ve dated. He’s funny and kind, and although he can be a little cocky, he’s not an asshole.

Or is all of that a ruse?

I hang my head, face buried in a clean towel, and moan.