The shower turns off.
The blow-dryer turns on.
She’s in that tiny bathroom. Changing—I’m sure into something tight. Doing her hair. Putting on her makeup.
It’s too domestic.
Too familiar.
Too inviting.
I pull out my cell. Get lost in answering messages on Instagram. Mostly people asking about tattoos. A few damn, your new girl is hot “compliments.”
She looks fucking amazing in that bikini.
And we look like we’re about to fuck in half these pictures.
There’s a heat there. A need. An urgency.
It’s weird.
But right too.
Our latest post is drowning in likes and comments.
One from @P3nnyForYourThoughts.
I always thought you’d look good together.
Like hell.
I can see Penny’s fake smile. The worry in her honey eyes. That look she’s shooting Frank—the one she always shot me—does she have something I don’t?
And it feels good.
It feeds that beast inside me.
But it’s more than that.
It’s knowing Leighton’s plan is working.
Knowing it’s me and Leighton driving her crazy.
Driving the whole fucking world crazy.
I must be out of my mind.
I want to do this.
I want to risk my friendship with the most important person in my life.
The blow-dryer turns off.
Leighton steps out of the bathroom in a tight grey dress. Her eyes light up as they find mine. “Does that mean what I think it does?”
“You really want to do this?”
“No, I keep asking because I hate the idea.”