Dirty Secret

"You are a gentlewoman now."

The cabbie asks where we're going.

Indie gives him an address and turns to me. "I wasn't before?"

"Not the same way."

"How's that?"

"You're faster with please and thank you. You sound more like you mean it. And this." I motion to the door. "You're seamless now."

"About opening your door?"

"About everything."

She turns over my words. "More like Ty?"

"Basically, yeah."

"But not as beautiful?"

I can't help but chuckle. They really overplay that—she always tells him he looks pretty or beautiful or gorgeous or some other feminine word that fails to describe his chiseled features.

Ty is handsome, period, end of sentence. He's absolutely not pretty or cute or even beautiful.

He's broad, tall, striking.

"Is it that bad?" Indie teases. "Is he that much prettier than I am?"

"It's pretty bad, yeah."

She smiles. "He is gorgeous."

"Handsome, yes."

"But you prefer the type with boyish charm?"

That's a trap if I've ever heard one. "I don't know if it's boyish charm. But Ty is too serious for me."

She laughs. "You two would be interesting."

"He couldn't handle me."

Her expression gets hazy. She drifts into the Love Zone for a moment. Complete with the ah, he's so great sigh. Then she drifts back. "He couldn't. Not the way you mean. Not sexually. I don't really know what interests you, Sienna. But whatever it is, Ty would find a way."

How can she make something so torrid sound so romantic? Gross. "What if I wanted to be dominant?"

"Do you?"

"Hypothetically."

"Maybe."

"He couldn't do it?" I ask.

"He could do anything. And he'd try. If he loved you, he would try, but he'd never…"

"Be into it?" I ask.

She nods.

I shake my head. "It's okay. He's too quiet for me."

She laughs. "He is."

"And I'm too loud for him. It works out."

"Plus, he's my fiancé."

"Well, yeah, but if he was my type, forget about it."

"Would you fight for him?" she asks.

"If I wanted him enough." I look her in the eyes. "No offense, Indie, but I could drop you like a hot potato."

"Undoubtedly. But I'm not sure a fistfight would earn you his heart."

"No… but if it could, forget it."

She laughs. "Would you fight for someone else?"

My shoulders tense. The guy who served us carded. I didn't drink at dinner. I'm lucid enough I see the danger zone in front of me.

But then Indie did drink at dinner. Everyone else drank. Even Cam with his irritatingly appealing look what I have that you don't grin.

Like he was seconds from offering all these others things he has that I want very, very badly.

Fuck.

What was she asking?

"If I wanted them, yes." I look out the window as if I'm fascinated by the passing buildings. "I'm more focused on soccer."

"Practice tomorrow?"

"Practice all week," I say. "I'm leaving early Friday for your party."

She redirects. "The one you and Cam are planning?"

"Me, Cam, and Ian." I mean, Cam is interfacing with Ian. He's not a part of our planning sessions, but he's involved. Technically.

"Was he there today?"

"Yeah. They double teamed me. It was pretty kinky."

She laughs. "I know what you're doing."

"Do you?"

"Saying something outlandish so I think it's the reason for your blush."

"No. That's me trying to imagine fucking Ty."

"Mm-hmm."

Ah, yes, outside. Are we really passing Chinatown already? Most of the stores are closed, but plenty of restaurants are buzzing.

"You like Cam."

"Sure."

"You like like Cam."

"Let's say I do."

"Okay." She holds her ground. Not pushing me to confess or admitting she's concerned. Staying here in this hypothetical.

"He's much older. He lives in London. He's Ty's closest confidant."

She nods all true.

"It wouldn't happen."

"Maybe."

"Maybe?"

"Anyone else, I'd agree."

"But we've been flirting too much?" I ask.

"No. Well, yeah, but I don't think that means anything from either of you."

Not necessarily.

She spots the ice cream place as we cross into Little Italy. "Right here. On the corner. Thanks."

The car stops. She presses a stack of bills into the driver's hand. It's exactly how Ty does it. Smooth and seamless, without calling any attention to the exchange of money.

Then she slides out of the car, holds the door open for me, takes my hand.

It's not our usual gelato place. It's a mini chain open across the city.

We used to go to the one in Brooklyn every so often. We even went to this one a few times over the summer, when we explored the neighborhoods around NYU.

But my first thought is still Eve.

This place is her favorite.

Is Indie going without me? Are they sitting and sharing ice cream and gushing over Billie Eilish or some other pop star who's brilliance I fail to understand?

I swallow hard. Cam was right. I'm jealous. It's silly that I'm jealous. Indie is my best friend, yes, but she's also my sister. She'll never be anyone else's sister.

"This place?" I try to stay cool. Like I barely notice it's not our usual Little Italy gelato haunt. "You sure?"

"Yeah. The mint chip is to die for."

That's not her usual flavor either, but hey, it's a hot night. Mint is refreshing. It doesn't necessarily mean anything.