Page 59 of Too Far

Kylian:Irrelevant to the initial complaint. We each have individual texts with Jo for these types of conversations.

K:Believe me. Jojo and I make good use of our individual text thread. Don’t we Mama?

Decker:There are cameras on both of you right now.

Kylian:I’m upstairs, Jo. Come up if you need me.

Josephine:Yes Daddy

Nicky:OH GOD MAKE IT STOP

Kylian:See you in the morning, baby.

Yes he will. My Sunday morning tradition with Kylian is my favorite. While it’s still dark, I sneak up to the Nest, where he spreads me out on his bed and eats my pussy while I watch the sun come up through the stained-glass panels of the cupola.

I’m grinning so wide my cheeks hurt by the time I open my bedroom door.

Once the door is closed securely behind me, I turn on my phone flashlight rather than flick on the lights.

“You’re good. I’m awake.”

I’m startled by the sound of Hunter’s voice. It took longer to make my way upstairs than I anticipated, so I didn’t expect to find her awake and sitting in the dark.

Although in my defense, I may have been lost in thought, thinking about Kylian’s head between my thighs.

“How long have you been up here?” I make my way to the bathroom, shedding my clothes as I go, careful to fold my Taylor jersey so I can return it to Kendrick in the morning.

“Since just after I arrived,” Hunter replies through a yawn.

I flip on the dim light over the shower and pull a makeup wipe from its packaging. “Did you come with Greedy?”

There’s a long pause before she answers. “No. I had no idea he was going to be here. I’ve already sent Decker a scathing text about it. A heads-up would have been nice.”

Once I’m finished in the bathroom, I grab a T-shirt from my drawer and pull it on.

“I’m sorry.” I climb into bed and turn to face her, propping my head on my hand. “I didn’t know he’d be here, either.”

From this close, I can make her out, even in the dark. Her face is red and blotchy, and her eyes are puffy.

“Hunter,” I soothe, squeezing her leg. “What’s wrong?”

She shakes her head and turns away so she’s facing the French doors to my balcony.

“Hey,” I try again, softer. I scoot a little closer and take her hand in mine. “You know you can talk to me. About anything. I would never judge you.”

She stays focused on the doors, breathing with audible effort and the occasional sniffle.

Then, with a shuddering breath, she turns back to me. She’s got a fake smile plastered to her face, and she’s doing everything she can to not make eye contact.

“How was the party?” she asks brightly.

Too brightly.

My heart sinks and I deflate. Hunter is my closest friend, and yet some days, I swear I don’t know her at all. I understand more than most that not every issue consuming a person is one they can talk about, but I’m desperate to support her or, at the very least, console her. I feel like a shitty friend. She’s done so much for me in the short amount of time we’ve known each other, yet here I am, unable to do the same when she’s obviously struggling.

I’d be an even shittier friend, though, if I pushed her to talk when she’s not ready to share or forced her to reveal secrets she’s not comfortable telling me. So I let it go for now.

“The party was uncharacteristically Shark-ish,” I quip.