"Do you think I should have asked him to leave?"
I rest my head against the back of the sofa and look across my apartment at my best friend.
She pulls the wine bottle from the fridge and pauses, her fingers wrapped tightly around the neck of the bottle.
"You could have asked him why."
Yeah, probably. "I don't know, Day. I was shocked, y'know? I wasn't expecting him to say that. And now, I'm wondering if letting him stay was the right choice."
"Well, it's tough. You had just agreed to make it work no matter what, but what he did was kind of wrong."
I know that. I know, in my rational mind, that Harry shouldn't have fucked a student. It should bother me. It's taboo. Frowned upon. Damn, it's more than frowned upon. It's fucking illegal.
I should have gotten up, asked him to go, then thought it through.
If only I were even a fraction rational around Harry, the 'should haves' would have been 'did haves.'
"Very wrong," I correct her, taking a glass of wine with a sigh. "I don't know. It's kind of fucked up, isn't it? I mean, it's something out of a damn novel. He mocks my so-called porn on a page, but he's a living fucking book boyfriend."
Day's lips twitch. "I've never been that kind of 'forbidden romance' kind of girl. I guess it's because your dad is a teacher. Every time I tried one, I pictured him with his stripy ties as the main character."
Well, that's a visual I wasn't prepared for. Much less needed.
"Thank you for that." I sit up straight and take a long drink from my glass. "Moving on from that strange twist..."
"Yes, let's." She wrinkles her face up. "So did he just, like, come out with it? Or was there a preemptive warning?"
"There was a half-assed story but no warning. He just kind of...said it. Like, bam. Surprise!" I rest the glass against my chin. "I wasn't expecting it. Harry is the oddest mixture of bad guy and good guy, but I never thought he'd have done that."
Day purses her lips, looking into her glass. "I don't know if you should be bothered or not. Is that bad?"
No. Because I don't think I am. I'm more pissed about the fact that I'm not bothered. Or that my ever-growing addiction to him makes it that way. Somehow, it takes the wrongness and reality of what he's done and twists it into something that isn't that bad at all.
That's what really bothers me. That I can disregard something so critical. Something that's made him who he is today.
But isn't that exactly what he did with me? Didn't he gloss over my teenage stupidity like it didn't impact me at all?
Yes.
Oh, sigh.
Acceptance of the past is the key to facing the future. As long as I remember that, I'll be okay. I think.
I hope.
I really, really fucking hope.
"It's not bad," I answer finally, slowly, tentatively drawing each word out. "I guess, in a fucked-up way, it's kind of similar to Aaron keeping Naomi from you. You really shouldn't have forgiven him, but you did. I really shouldn't accept Harry's past this easily, but I have."
Dayton's lips tug up at the sides. "You know who forgives easily, don't you?"
"A person in love," I say in a cocky voice. "And again, there is a fundamental flaw in your plan, best friend."
"Yeah, you're not in love. I gotcha, Ms. In Denial."
I roll my eyes. I'm not even going to argue with her. She'll continue to tell me that I'm in denial and I'll deny being in denial. It'll be like the string cheese conversation all over again.
Pointless bullshit.
"Whatever." I set my empty glass on the table next to hers and refill them. "When I fall in love, I'll be sure to send out a public service announcement so no one misses it."
"You better." She grins and her eyes sparkle. "When does Harry come back?"
"Tomorrow sometime." Somberness overshadows my amusement. We'd barely sealed our relationship with a kiss before he was offered a shoot in Boise. He drove out first thing this morning and that's that.
I'm sitting here with an ache in my chest, waiting, just waiting, so we can actually finish our conversation. And I can maybe ask him why he slept with a student.
"And you're already missing him," Day states matter-of-factly.
"That wasn't a question. I'm not obliged to respond."
"Are you missing him?"
Shit. Asshole. "No."
"Fucking liar."
"Fine! Yes. I am. A little." I lean my head back against the back of the sofa. "Okay, a lot. I'm missing him a lot."
I rub my hand down my face as we both take in my admission.
"Like, shit. This isn't normal. I should not be feeling like I have to pick up the phone and call him just to hear the sound of his voice and make this fucking irritating ache inside go away. I shouldn't be feeling like I need to get in my own damn car and drive out to Boise to see him." I squeeze my eyes shut. Voicing it just makes it worse. I take a deep breath in and exhale slowly.
"Wow. You really do have it bad, don't you?"
"Excuse me, Mr. Conan Doyle? Your Sherlocks are multiplying at a sickening rate. They even come with tits and a vagina now," I mutter, opening my eyes again.
Dayton laughs loudly, digging her toes into my shin. "Shut up, Liv. Look, you're addicted to him, and you know it. It's different now because you can manage it. Just breathe and try to think about what you're feeling."
My eyes flick to hers and I hit her with a harsh glare. "I'm sorry, Dr. Black. I wasn't aware you were a fucking therapist."
She smacks a cushion over my head. "For real, shut your face." She drinks the rest of her wine and stands up. "Are you going to be okay if I leave you here?"
"Jesus Christ, I'm missing my boyfriend, not contemplating how hard my body would hit the ground if I jumped out of my window."
"Don't even joke about it." She points a finger in my direction. "Don't."
Guilt twists my stomach. "Sorry. It's bad, but if I joke about it, I can cope with it."
"You ever feel like that, then you call me so I can drag you down these flights of stairs by your hair." She slides her feet into her shoes and grabs her purse. "Oh, by the way, did you book the bachelorette party yet?"
I fight to stop my eyes from widening. "Yes," I lie. "Almost."
Dayton rolls her eyes and opens my door. "Book it, Liv. I get married in two months."
"Excuse me, Ms. Family Woman."
"Do you want me to Bridezilla your ass?"
"Honey, no one wants you to Bridezilla anything, but that doesn't seem to stop you."
She flips me the bird then follows it by blowing a kiss. "Goodbye. Love you. Be good."
She shuts the door behind her before I can remind her that "be good" isn't a phrase I understand. Unless it involves Harry and his sexy demands—which are decidedly not classed as "good." In fact, when I'm doing what he tells me to, I'm being both good and bad, which is quite the contradicting conundrum.
Shit. If I'm using big words, I've had far too much wine.
I glance at the bottle and decide that the remaining glass sitting in it won't hurt me. I top my glass up to the rim and overfill it. Leaning forward, I slurp up a mouthful without moving the glass.
Classy chick, I am not.
I open the laptop and type in "bachelorette party venues." Let it be noted that there's no location on the end of the search. Aaron explicitly stated that I have no monetary budget for this.
My only budget is her absolute happiness. This seems to be a goal we both share.
After sifting through several sites, which aren't appealing in the slightest, I decide to tweak my search. I type in "West Coast spas" and hit enter. Dozens of websites come up, some classy, some casual, so I add "expensive" into the search bar.
Jesus. This is hard work already. Or maybe that's the wine.
I filter through the search, clicking on endless websites before finally coming up with a short list. The clock blinks at me from the bottom corner of my screen, and despite it only being nine thirty, I can feel my eyelids growing heavy.
Yep, that's definitely the wine.
I add all the 'maybe' venues into a folder on my bookmarks and shut the laptop down. Angus pads across the floor to me and stares at me woefully.
"I know, buddy. I know. The wine bottle is empty."
His look turns annoyed. As annoyed as a cat can be, at least. In fact, I don't think his expression has changed at all.
Maybe my cat just has perpetual resting bitch face.
With a sigh, I get up and put a couple handfuls of cat biscuits in his bowl. "I need to go to the store tomorrow, Lord Fussy-Ass!" I snap, dropping the box on the counter. Damn cat.
He sticks his tail in the air. Fuck you too, cat.
I lock the front door to the sound of my cell chirping on the table. I grab it. "Message? There is no—oh, shit!" I bring it to my ear. "Hello?"
A deep, rich laugh rumbles down the phone. "Hi to you, too."
Warmth spreads through me at those four tiny words, simple but strong, and I smile. "Hi."
"How much wine did you drink?"
"Not nearly as much as you think but more than we should have." I pad through to my bedroom. "You okay?"
"Better now I'm talking to my bitch," Harry says, laughing quietly.
"I'm fine. Thanks for asking." I climb beneath my covers and snuggle down.
"Oh, I'm sorry, baby girl. How are you?"
"Cold."
"Why are you cold?"
"I might have forgotten to pay my electric bill. I have to do it tomorrow."
He laughs. "Dammit, Liv. How do you forget that stuff?"
"I just... I forgot. It's like you forgetting to pick your socks off the floor. Or put the toilet seat down."
"That's because I'm a male, not because I'm flighty. Leaving the toilet seat up is a territorial thing."
"Oh, yes. I'll make a note to ignore your territorial stake in my bathroom next time I fall down the fucking toilet."
"You do that." So much laughter is in his voice. Bastard.
I roll my eyes even though he can't see me. "What are you doing?"
"I'm thinking this conversation would be much more fun if I were there to shut you up."
"I'm thinking I agree. Depending on your method of shutting me up, of course."
"I can't tell you in advance. It's impulsive. You know that."
"No, I'm the impulsive one in this relationship. You're the planner one."
"I like hearing you say that."
I bite the inside of my cheek. "What? That you're a planner?"
"Don't be difficult, you awkward bitch. You know what I mean."
"Oh, yes. The relationship part. The thing that makes me your official bitch. I should get that on a badge. 'Harry Styles's Bitch.'"
"I can arrange for one to go on your next birthday card if you'd like," he quips.
"You're about five months too late for that, honey." I grin. "Perhaps I should just get a shirt printed."
"You should. And you should wear it all the time."
"Sheesh. Honey, if you get any more territorial, you'll be pissing on my legs."
"If my cock is that close to your legs, it won't be peeing on you. It'll be between them and coming inside you. Just so that's clear." His voice takes on a husky quality that makes me shiver.
Yikes. Okay with me...
"Aren't you supposed to be all romantic now that we're in a relationship?" I ask, holding back my laughter.
"What, do you want me to send flowers and shit?"
"Flowers are nice. Handcuffs are nicer."
"Then I'll send you a bunch of flowers secured by a pair of handcuffs."
"You wouldn't."
"Try me. Goodnight, Liv."
The line goes dead. I stare at the screen dumbly.
Why do I believe he would?