Page 72 of Three Pucking Ex's Brothers

“Accidentally, what?” she asks skeptically.

I pinch the bridge of my nose as the shame and guilt hit me hard as I confess my sins.

“Um…I might have accidentally sexted Brett,” I say, my breath heavy.

“What? Nora, why would you even?—”

“And…his brothers too.” I add the last part hurriedly, rushing it out like Rush scores a goal.

Abby’s shriek only solidifies the truth and makes me feel worse.

“You sexted your celebrity ex andhis brothers? Girl, what were you thinking?”

I groan. “Well, I guess…I was thinking I looked good, you know, in the new clothes Freddie bought me and?—”

“Since when did Flash Sterling buy you clothes? Nora, what the hell is going on with you?”

“It wasn’t like that, it was just…you know, he drove me home the other night, when I stayed over…the night I kissed Rush and?—”

“You kissed Rush?” Abby’s voice is bordering shrill.

“It was an accident!” I cry out, though I know the excuse at this point is moot. Yes, we were drunk, but it wasn’t a mistake. Not entirely, and I know that.

I felt lonely. Vulnerable. And there was something about the way Rush led me, with his hand on my back, the way he looked at me…

I know Rush is a flirt. Everyone does, but I know it was more than that. I know it doesn’t make sense, but…

“I kissed him and then I fell asleep with him on the couch and the next morning Freddie found us and offered to give me a ride, make me breakfast, and I just…sort of ran out of there with Tommy since he was heading to class and…”

Abby breathes heavily.

“Then yesterday I ran into Freddie in La Femme.On my coffee break. He was picking up some stuff for Daniella, and then I sort of got carried away with retail therapy, you know, given everything that’s happened, and when I opted to put the shoes back…”

I twist my lips. “He just…sort of told me he was going to pick up the tab and not to argue. And I guess I just…needed some things to get by until I figure out this situation with Brett and my stuff and…”

I swallow hard as she says silent.

“Last night, I told you I wanted to stay in. And I did…I…got some takeout, watched some movies, had some wine…”

“Ah,” she says. “That explains it.”

“What?”

“You were drunk.”

“No!” I say defensively. “I wasn’t drunk like the other night, I was just a little tipsy maybe, but?—”

“Uh-huh.” Abby chuckles. “Jesus, Mary, and Joseph, Nora, have you lost your mind?”

I squeal in agreement. “Clearly.” I rub my temple.

“What did he say?” she asks carefully. “Brett, I mean?”

I lean back into the bed, feeling that festering, nagging feeling of disdain swirling inside of me. “He thought it was an apology,” I say softly. “But it’s not…”

“Of course it’s not,” she scoffs. “Asshole.” Then her voice perks up. “What uh…what did the others say?” I don’t miss the hint of interest in her voice.

I debate if I should tell her the truth, but figure it’s best to just come out with it. And confessing might actually help me put things into perspective.