Page 61 of My Best Friend's Sister

T H I R T Y T H R E E

- Madeline -

I felt wild-eyed as I hurried down North Wells Street to meet my sister for brunch, my mind racing once again with only two words thanks to Quinn Draper. Except this time, they weren’t words he’d spoken but words he’d seared into my mind like I was a calf destined for his next burger bun.

The words? Multiple. Orgasms.

I don’t know how he managed it. Maybe I was more attracted to him than I realized or perhaps I’d underestimated his skills in the bedroom. Either way, I thought I was one of those girls who was incapable of having multiple orgasms, one of those girls who spent herself too thoroughly in the first round and never had anything left.

Turns out I was simply one of those girls no man had ever tried that hard to impress. But Quinn? He’d impressed every inch of me in a way that undoubtedly showed in the bowlegged waddle I was rocking down the sidewalk. Meanwhile, the people passing me tended to their small dogs and their cellphones like it was a normal Saturday morning. Like the whole world hadn’t shifted on its axis last night. Like the sun wasn’t brighter and hotter than usual. Like it wasn’t shining a little extra on me.

But I could feel down to my toes that it was. I just hoped my sister wouldn’t notice. The chances of that seemed good when I clocked that she’d already downed her entire Bloody Mary while she was waiting for me, and as I weaved my way towards her table, I hoped she was preoccupied enough with her own thoughts that she wouldn’t mind I was obnoxiously late.

“Hi,” I said, my voice overly chirpy.

As soon as she raised her eyes, I knew she was on to me.

“Tied up this morning, were we?” she asked, reaching for the loaded skewer in her tall glass. She bit the olive on the bottom end and slid it into her mouth.

“Just lost track of time.”

She laughed. “Yeah, time flies when someone’s giving you a hickey.”

My face fell, and I felt the eyes of the girls at the next table veer in my direction.

“Don’t worry,” she said. “Your hair is mostly covering it.”

I cringed.

“In fact, I’d say your hair is stealing the spotlight entirely.”

“Why?” I asked, running a hand over my head. And there it was, a bird’s nest of pillow friction in a spot I must’ve missed when I brushed it with my fingers.

“The good news,” she continued as she reached in the shoulder bag hanging on the back of her chair, “is that I forgive you for being late.” She handed one of those fold-up brushes across the table that I used to carry around as a kid before I was old enough to put more interesting things in my purse. “Go sort yourself out. I’ll order for us.”

“Get my usual?” I asked, meaning a Bloody Mary and poached eggs on chunky avocado toast.

“Sure.”

“And get yourself another drink,” I added, pointing the plastic brush at her. “Or I’m not telling you shit.”

I weaved my way through the packed brunch spot, feeling like a filthy pig who’d gotten lost in a stable full of show horses. But when I looked in the bathroom mirror, my embarrassment melted away. Yes, I looked flustered. But I looked happy, too. More importantly, I felt better than ever. Maybe I was still reeling from how good Quinn made me feel last night (and this morning!) or maybe I was glowing because, for a few blissful hours, I’d forgotten how inadequate my internship made me feel. Either way, I’d never been prouder to be a hot mess in my life.

Fuck them all, I thought. Quinn Draper gave me this hickey, and I’d be shocked if there were a woman in this city that wouldn’t wear it on her neck with pride. Except maybe Maeve. She was too old and responsible to let something this tacky and juvenile happen to her.

Deep down, though, I knew I needed to keep my gloating to myself. I could stand Wonder Woman-style with my chest out all I liked in my head, but under no circumstance could I reveal the true source of my hickey. I’d have to fess up that I’d met a guy, of course, and I knew Maeve would be relieved to know I kinda sorta really, really liked him. But this thing with Quinn was already moving unsustainably fast, and I needed time to process whatever this was before I discussed it with anyone else.

I was a little nervous about lying outright to my sister, but I was more nervous that Quinn might find out I gushed about him and be put off. Not that he had any problem with my gushing last night. Or this morning. But I was determined to keep my cool and act casual. I’d heard enough crazy stories from my brother about women losing their dignity and making a desperate show of themselves over him, so I wanted to make sure I didn’t act a fool.

Too bad my sister already thought I was a dumbass.

“So,” she said, when I sat down across from her. “Where’d you meet this guy? Hanging outside the New Trier gates or something?”

“What? No. Of course not.”

“Huh,” she said, as if she were genuinely surprised. “I thought no one over the age of fifteen gave people hickies, so I just assumed.”

“I met him on Tinder,” I said, choosing to ignore her crappy joke.

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