Page 8

The second he notices me, he looks up, wearing his signature smirk.
“What?” I ask as I step out into the hallway.
The scent of his aftershave hits me, and I swallow thickly.
I love my best friend dearly—he’s one of the best people I’ve ever met—but is it really fair that he not only gets the personality but the looks as well?
His smirk grows as his eyes drop down the short length of my body. His attention makes my blood heat, but I try to play it off.
“You look good,” he says innocently, pushing from the wall.
“Thanks,” I whisper, following him down the hallway with my maxi skirt grazing over my legs.
“When was the last time you got laid?” he suddenly asks, making me almost trip over my feet.
“W-what?” I stutter.
He spins around once we’re in the kitchen, picks up my purse from the counter, and turns to me, holding it out.
“Simple question,” he says as if he truly believes the words.
But then, I guess it is when you’ve got willing women throwing themselves at you every day of the week. Some of us don’t get the chance to be so selective.
His eyes hold mine as if he’s trying to drag the answer to the question out of them.
He quirks a brow when I stand there, silent.
It’s not because I don’t want to tell him. We’ve always been open about almost everything in our friendship. The problem is…I can’t remember.
“A while ago.”
His chin drops. I don’t know why he’s shocked, but he is.
Did he really think I was spending my days hanging out with Grams and then going out hunting for a hookup come nightfall?
Men—or more specifically, their penises—have been about the furthest thing from my mind. To be honest, even when I was in Chicago and living my normal life, they weren’t exactly high up on my priority list.
Sure, I have dated. I’ve even had a few unmemorable boyfriends, if you can call getting past a handful of dates before discovering the guy is an epic douche canoe a relationship.
I came to the realization many years ago that there is only one man on this Earth I can rely on. And he’s currently staring at me as if I have told him I’m really an alien.
“Eff,” he sighs.
“Don’t ‘Eff’ me. It’s sex, Kieran. I’ve got other things to worry about.”
His mouth opens and closes, but no words come out for a few seconds.
“Yeah, I know that. But…you’re stressed and?—”
“I’m fine,” I say in a rush, cutting off whatever he was going to say next. “Can we please just go out for dinner?”
“I’m worried about you,” he confesses quietly behind me after I’ve tugged my purse from his hand and walked away.
My heart squeezes, making me feel like a dick for shunning his concern.
Pausing at the door of my grams’ modest home, I spin back around to face him.
“I know, and I really appreciate it. I’m so glad you’re here. But my underused female parts are not something you need to lose any sleep over.”