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“But it wasn’t that good.”
“How do you know? I’ve never talked about the sex I’ve had with Nick.”
“Exactly. And yet you were straight on the blower to me after just a bit of hand sex with the mystery hot man.”
A shudder mixes with the guilt. It’s true. Sex with Nick was as predictable—and boring—as my father’s misogyny.
“Did he ever make you come through penetration?” she asks.
“Abbie!” I gasp.
“You’re so uncouth,” Charley grumbles, now getting a little breathless too.
“What about you?” Abbie goes on. “Has Lloyd got the magic moves?”
Charley’s nose goes in the air. “A married couple keeps their private encounters private.”
“Bollocks.” Abbie snorts, laughing. “When you were two bottles deep at my thirtieth, you told me Lloyd likes flicking your bean while you’ve got your finger up his bum.”
I let out a bark of laughter, nearly flying off the end of the treadmill. “Charley,” I cry, giving her wide eyes, steadying myself. Her bright-red face—not through running, it should be noted—tells me she absolutely did say that. “How is that even possible?”
“Sixty-nine,” she grumbles.
“I’m never sharing a bag of crisps with you ever again.”
“I wash my bloody hands.”
“Back to hands!” Abbie sings. “Could you have come?”
My head is swinging back and forth so much, I think I’ve given myself whiplash. “I think I could have,” I admit, reliving the whole amazing experience. “I was a puppet on a string for him.”
“How delightful,” Abbie muses.
“And dangerous,” Charley adds. “Don’t lose yourself. Remember, that’s the whole reason you ended things with Nick.”
“I love how sensible you are.” I reach across and pat her arm. “Thank you.”
“Welcome.” Charley looks across to Abbie and sticks her tongue out. “Now, when is our next night out?”
“Still no transaction from Amazonico?” I ask them both, getting a shake of their heads.
“But they said we paid, so we can go back, right?” Charley says.
“I guess so.”
“So when?”
“We’re easy,” I remind our dear friend and mother of two. “So you tell us.”
“Not Saturday,” Abbie says. “I’ve got a full-on morning in the shop and a wedding to sort in the afternoon.”
“And not Sunday. I’ve promised my mum I’ll go make peace with my father. Maybe Friday?”
“Let me run it past the boss,” Charley says.
“We all know who’s boss in the Chaytor household.” Abbie laughs.
“Do you think Arlington Hall will run their special offer again?” she asks. “It was nice, just the three of us.”