“Are you sure it’s okay I ask?” That caring tone drops into her voice. “Are you sure you’re over me?”
No. “Go for it.”
“If you’re sure… I… I want to invite her. But I don’t want her to feel bad. She’s been single for so long. And with how everything went. She’s on your side and there is that… well, no, that’s our secret. I shouldn’t say anything.”
Okay…
“I just… I don’t want her to feel like a loser.”
Fuck her for suggesting that. “She won’t.”
“Oh.”
“Yeah.”
“She’s been single for three years now.”
So what? Why does my best friend need a boyfriend? She’s happy enough. She has love in her life. She doesn’t need romance.
That shit ends in pain.
She’s better off without it.
“I hope she’s okay.” Mack feigns concern.
For a second, I believe it. “You’re worried about Skye?”
“She’s always had trouble with guys. You know how they are. She has a pretty face, but with her size… a lot of guys won’t go for a bigger girl.”
Fuck. There isn’t a tinge of sarcasm, insult, mocking in her voice.
She really believes this.
That she’s helping Skye by calling her fat.
“Guys aren’t into girls with perfect tits?” I ask.
Fuck, the image of her in that tiny bra, the one from her Instagram—
Black lace spread over light skin. Barely covering her massive tits. Begging for my hands.
Her dark hair falling over her eyes.
Her wine lips parted with a groan.
My cock is already standing at attention.
It’s a bigger traitor than my heart. It doesn’t care that Skye is the most important person in my life. That she’s my best friend. That there’s no way in hell I’m fucking that up.
It only cares about her lush tits, her thick thighs, her crimson lips.
Fuck, the thought of those thighs against my cheeks—
Mack lets out a hell of a forced laugh.
My dick deflates. Talk about opposing forces.
It’s what I need at the moment. I close my eyes. Push away mental images of my best friend in lingerie.
Focus on my ex’s bullshit. “Have you heard something? About guys no longer liking girls with amazing tits?”
“No… Um.” Mack’s laugh gets faker. “You’re right. She is… voluptuous. Lots of guys like that.”
“Yeah.” Fuck yeah.
“But, uh… she is still single. Isn’t she?”
“No.”
Jealousy creeps into Mack’s voice. “Really?”
“Yeah.”
“Oh. That’s great. I’m glad she found someone.” She pauses for a moment. “Do you think she wants a plus one? Is he the type who’d come? Do you know him?”
“No.” There isn’t a boyfriend. There isn’t anyone. Which is for the best. I want Skye to be happy. And love makes you unhappy. Besides, there’s no one who deserves her.
“Oh.” Her laugh is soft.
Fuck, I can see her smiling. I can hear her whisper. Poor Skye. Single again. Loveless again. What a loser.
No.
I’m not letting her do that.
No fucking way.
I shouldn’t say this. It’s stupid. Petty. Immature. But I don’t care. “Skye’s not dating someone else.”
“She isn’t?” Mack asks.
“It’s me. We’re together.”
“What?” The politeness fades from her voice.
She’s upset. Hurt.
Incredulous.
I need to sell this.
I muster up every ounce of enthusiasm I have. “She’s the love of my life.”
“Wow. That’s uh… that’s surprising.”
It’s bullshit. It’s obvious bullshit. “It’s been a ride.”
“You and Skye… Wow… I guess, in a way… that’s great, really.” Her laugh is knowing.
It says too much. Things I can’t stand hearing. “It is.”
“I’m happy for you,” she lies.
“Thanks,” I lie back.
“I guess that makes my next call easier.”
“Yeah.” Shit. “You know what? I gotta go. Work.” I slip my keys into my pocket. Move toward the door.
“It’s nine.”
“Early appointment tomorrow.” I pull the door open. “I’ll talk to you later.” I end the call and I hightail it to my best friend’s house.
Chapter Three
Skye
Cold air greets me as I step out of the car. Ah, Southern California spring. Warm afternoons. Cool evenings. Wild temperature swings.
Sure, the night sky is beautiful. This close to the beach, I can even see a few stars. But the air temperature at nine o’clock?
My cell claims it’s fifty-eight degrees—and dropping every minute—but that has to be wrong. My arms are already covered in goose bumps.
I pull my sweater tighter. Not that it helps. It’s a cropped sweater. It’s not designed for warmth.
Why do I have this anyway?
I shrug my purse off my shoulder. Slip my phone into the front pocket.
The screen blinks with a text from Forest.
Don’t—
The screen flashes, overriding the text.
Incoming call from—
“Skye!” Forest’s voice booms.
He races across his parents’ yard. To mine.
I retrieve my cell. Motion to Dad’s car. “I’ll come over after I change.” I do not need the commentary from my parents. If I hear my dad insist I’m with Forest one more time, I’m going to go insane.
I know he’s your boyfriend. Why don’t you want to tell me? You think your dad isn’t cool enough to understand young love? You realize I was your age when I married your mother?