Holy shit! I don’t know where all of that came from, but I turn and rush into the building before she can reply. I either just cleared the air between us or royally messed things up; my bet is on the latter.
“Oh my God!” Stella shouts the second I step into our suite. “We have so much to discuss!”
“That, we do.” A spike of nerves zips through me.
“Starting with why your cheeks are so flushed.” She looks me over. “And why you’re wearing a man’s shirt.”
“Um.” I collapse down onto the couch. “Well.”
“Don’t you um, well me, babe. I need deets. I spent half the night worried sick about you, you know?”
“Only half?” I ask, trying for humor.
“We’ll get to that.”
“Okay, fine. I might have just told Melanie off on my way up.”
“What?” Stella squeals, flinging herself down onto the cushion next to me. She winces as she makes contact.
“Are you okay?”
Her cheeks burn crimson. “Mmhmm. Totally fine.”
“You sure?”
She lets out a dreamy sigh. “Totally fine. Just a little sore.”
“Why?”
“After we finish talking about you. About Sterling.”
“We talked. About everything. Stell, I think… I think he believes me now. Like for real. At first, I wasn’t sure if he was faking nice or what, but after last night and this morning, I think he means it.” I drag my teeth over my lower lip, almost scared to speak my next words. “And I think he’s into me, or whatever.”
My best friend smiles. “Of course he is! You’re a total catch. Now, why are you wearing his shirt?”
At her second mention of my outfit, I realize I left my clothes at his place—including my dirty panties. Oh, God. Kill me now.
“Nothing like you’re thinking. He just let me borrow a shirt since mine smelled like a day-old frat party.” I draw my legs up beneath me on the cushion and rest my head against the back. “Now, your turn.”
“Well.” She draws out the word. “I ditched my V-card last night!”
“What?” My eyes widen in shock. “With who?”
She looks down at her lap. “You remember my friend Samson?”
“You mean Mr. Mysterious who you’d never spill the details on? That Samson?”
“The one and only.”
“Are y’all like an item now?”
The light in her eyes dims a little. “No.”
“Oh. Um.”
She laughs, but it sounds forced. “It’s fine, Emmy. I got what I wanted, and he made sure it was good. What more can a girl ask for, right?”
I reach over and take her hand in mine. “A lot of things, Stell, a lot of things. But if you’re happy, then I’m happy for you.”
Her lips pull up into a watery smile. “I’m over the moon.”
Chapter Thirty
Sterling
Emmalyn: Hey!
Me: You know, when I said to text me later, I didn't mean *this* much later.
A yawn escapes me as I stare at my phone waiting for her to reply. My little mouse truly made me sweat it out.
I was half tempted to text her, but something told me she needed time to process all of the changes that took place over the course of the weekend. And while I wanted to talk to her, I didn’t want to scare her off either.
My, how things have changed.
As sappy as it sounds, I wasn’t prepared to wait damn near thirty hours for her text. But I did and it must have been the right thing to do, because she came to me, willingly.
Emmalyn: Sorry! Yesterday was spent studying… my psych project isn’t going to do itself. And my partner kind of sucks. ;)
Me: Shit. I truly am sorry. Give me a chance to fix it.
Emmalyn: I know girls like her. I was friends with girls like her. You interfering will only make it worse. Thank you though.
Me: Are you sure, baby? I really want to fix this for you.
No sooner than I hit send does my phone start vibrating with an incoming call.
I answer immediately, embarrassingly eager to hear her honeyed voice. "Decided you needed to hear my voice, little mouse?”
"You’ve been avoiding me," growls a cold, masculine voice that most definitely doesn’t belong to Emmy. "And I don’t fucking appreciate it.”
"Rob." His name leaves behind a bitter tang in my mouth. "How are you?"
"How do you think I am, Sterling?" His voice is taut with barely concealed rage. "How do you think I am when you've been avoiding me?"
An uneasy laugh lodges in my throat. "Not avoiding you, man. Just busy."
"Busy with what?"
"You know how it is, man."
"No. I don't. Enlighten me. Tell me exactly what's kept you too busy to so much as read my texts."
My mind races as I scramble to think of a plausible excuse. Rob’s irrational on a good day, and judging from the hard edge to his voice, it’s not a good day.
“Just trying to balance it all.”
“Hmm,” is all he says.
“So, what’s new with you?” I ask, hoping he’ll let it go.