Even two full weeks later, the memory of that night still burns through me like wildfire — singing my nerve endings, quickening my breath, sending my heart into a pounding, painful rhythm inside my chest.
Striving for composure, I take a sip of my drink — a sinfully sweet tequila-based concoction the bartender atLolitawhipped up for me — and eye my best friend, Delilah “Lila” Sinclair, across the table. Strawberry-blonde head bowed, plush bottom lip trapped between her mega-white teeth, she’s totally concentrated on the cellphone in her hands. Not even attempting to listen to me.
“Apparently, he has Parker’s key to my place.” I forge on, pathetically determined to share my story with the girl who, as my best friend, is supposed to give a damn about this stuff. Or, you know, at the very leastpretendto give a damn. “And he refused to give it back. Total jackass.”
“Mmm,” she murmurs distractedly. “Totally.”
“Lila?”
“Yeah?” A secret smile plays on her lips as her fingers tap out another text message.
“Did you hear me?”
Her eyes dart up to mine for a fraction of a second. “Nate came. Has Parker’s key. Total jackass.” She rolls her eyes likeI’mthe one being inconsiderate. “I’m listening, Phoebe. Jeeze.”
Before I’ve had time to respond, her eyes fall back to the screen and she’s typing again.
I fight the urge to toss my drink at her.
Lila’s been my best friend since… forever. I don’t even remember meeting her. I just know she’s been there through it all — every bad hair day and broken heart, every embarrassing moment and important milestone. Twenty odd years, three graduations (four, if you count pre-school), countless petty fights, so many shared secrets it’s a wonder we still have anything to talk about… and here we are. Still friends, after all this time. Even if she does drive me crazy on a regular basis. Like right now, when she’s blatantly tuning out every word of the story she begged to hear only minutes ago.
I take another sip and try again. “Anyway, I told him to get the hell out of my house.”
She doesn’t respond. I watch her fingers move again.
Tap, tap, tap.
Frustration stirs to life in my veins. “And then…” I drop my voice to a low, sultry whisper and lean across the table. “I pulled my dress up over my head, told him I was a virgin, and asked him toteach melike Lexi did to Sloan back in the good oldGrey’s Anatomydays, before Shonda went completely off the rails and killed all my favorite characters.”
“Mmm.”
My voice goes so breathy it could make a porn star blush. “So, he threw me down on the floor and ravaged me within an inch of my life.”
“Mhm.”Tap, tap, tap.“That’s nice, Phoebe.”
“Now, I’m pregnant with his love child. If it’s a girl, I’m thinking we’ll name her Lila.” I tilt my head in contemplation. “Or something truly embarrassing, likeChrysanthemum. OrLemon. Or maybeButterfly.A healthy amount of humiliation is good for a kid growing up in this Everyone-Gets-A-Trophy generation, don’t you think?”
She finally looks up at me, features twisting in confusion. “Wait,what?”
“Never mind.” I pop open my clutch, grab a few bills, and lay them down on the tabletop. “I’m tired, Lila. Think I’m going to call it a night.”
“But we just got here!” Her voice is petulant and her big brown eyes are glossy, pleading. I recognize it instantly — her famous puppy-dog look. It’s broken the resolve of more men than I could ever count. “Don’t go. I want to hear about Knox.”
“No, you don’t.” I shake my head. “You want to text whatever new piece of man candy has caught your attention this week. And that’s fine. But I would rather eat a full serving of my own hair than sit here like an idiot, talking to myself while you do it.”
“Okay, okay! I’m sorry. Look — phone’s going away.” She shoves her cell in her purse, a tiny flicker of regret flashing over her features as she zips it closed, and lifts her eyes to mine. “See? All gone.”
I stare at her fingers, which have begun to tap an anxious beat against the tabletop. “Are you having cellular separation anxiety?”
“It’ll pass.” She swallows a sip of her margarita. “So, Knox finally showed up, huh?”
Lila always calls him Knox. In fact, pretty much everyone on the planet calls him Knox. Except me. To me, he’s always been Nate. Always will be.
I nod. “Yes, but not for any of the reasons I wanted him to. For instance, to declare his undying love for me. Or to dust that really hard-to-reach area above my stove. Oh! Or to move my fridge, so I could clean behind it.” I narrow my eyes. “Come to think of it, I don’t need a relationship at all. I just need a tall man to occasionally lift large objects and help with housework.”
“Men don’t help with housework. Mensaythey’ll help with housework in exchange for sex, but then the stairs end up half-vacuumed and there’s hand soap in the dishwasher and all the windows have paper towel streaks, and you end up having to do it all yourself anyway. Then, after giving him the sex he didnotearn, you get to spend the rest of your married lives listening to him throwthat one day he vacuumedin your face every time you accuse him of not pulling his weight.”
My eyebrows lift in amused speculation. Lila’s never been in a relationship in her life.