Page 60 of How to Date a Younger Man
“She doesn’t care at all, Wren. She doesn’t care about me for a second.”
“That’s what I told you.”
“Well, you were right.” My voice sounds raw, low and gravelly, even for me.
“I’m sorry,” Wren whispers, her hand finding my cheek.
It’s a little warmer now, so I lean into it.
“Thanks,” I say, my lips brushing against her wrist. I’m glad she’s here. Glad I’m not alone right now. “Thanks for being here, Wren.”
“I’m always going to be here.”
I feel the press of lips against my temple, and then against my cheek. Then against my lips. Fuck. Wren, my best friend, is kissing me with both hands braced on my cheeks.
I kiss her back, because why not? Why the fuck not? Everything is burning to the ground around me anyway. I’ve lost Layne, I’m about to lose this job I literally just accepted, and I’m sure this fragile friendship is next.
I tangle my fingers in Wren’s hair, tilting my face to deepen the kiss. She sighs into my mouth, pressing her body into mine until I’m flat on the floor with my best friend straddling my hips. I run my hands up and down her thin body, trying to find those familiar curves I love on a woman. There’s nothing, which is fitting, because I feel absolutely nothing.
Wren must have been reading my mind, because her lips find my ear. “You can pretend I’m her, if you want. I can boss you around and treat you like shit and use you for sex. Whatever you want.”
Her words are like a bucket of cold water dumped over my head. I shift my body so Wren loses her balance, sliding off me with a small gasp.
“Jesus, Wren,” I growl, distancing myself from her.
The room spins the moment I stand, but I need to put some space between us. Now. I slump onto my bed with a wince. Headache’s back.
“Why not?” she asks, obviously perplexed by the situation.
Me too, man. Me too.
“I don’t want to. With you,” I say with surprising clarity. If I were sober, this conversation would be a lot more difficult. Amazing what a few drinks will do to a man. “I never, ever want to do this with you. You’re my friend, nothing else.”
I look at Wren, praying she’ll understand for once why I haven’t entirely kicked her to the curb yet. I want her to know that I love her, but not like I love Layne.
I love Layne.
Fuck, my stupid heart aches so much.
I lie back in my bed, willing the darkness behind my eyelids to pull me into sweet oblivion. I hear the soft scrape of the trash can against the floor as Wren moves it within reach of the bed, followed by the clink of the water glass on my bedside table.
For a fleeting moment, I wonder where my phone is. I lift my hand, as if to say thank you, because I’m simply too tired for any more words. Sleep is rushing toward me like a tidal wave, and I’m not about to fight it.
Go on. Crash into me.
21
* * *
LAYNE
My phone buzzes from the bedside table, knocking me out of my true-crime documentary daze.
Dr. Benson has been encouraging me to find new ways to destress for weeks now, and Kristen swears these kinds of shows do the trick for her, so I decided to finally give one a shot. And while I totally get the appeal, so far, all this thing has been doing is making me more stressed out than ever.
Pausing the documentary, I lean over to see who could possibly be calling me. If it’s someone from work, there’s no way I’m answering. But to my surprise, it’s Griffin’s name that’s flashing across my screen.
“Hello?”
But it isn’t Griffin’s voice that greets me. It’s a woman’s. And she sounds pissed.
“Hi, Layne? Listen, you and I need to have a little chat.”
“I’m sorry, who is this?”
“He’s in love with you. You know that, right?”
It’s a voice I’ve heard before. Not one I’m super familiar with, but I know it, and it’s driving me crazy that I can’t place it.
Then suddenly out of nowhere, my stomach drops. I know exactly who this is.
“Wren, is that you?”
“Oh, so you’re smart enough to recognize my voice, but you’re not smart enough to put together how he really feels about you?”
“What are you—how who feels about me?”
“Griffin, you dumbass! He’s in love with you. He always has been. I can’t believe I’m the one that has to clue you in to this. Aren’t you the one who’s supposed to be a brilliant, high-powered lawyer?”
I’d be lying if I said that this news didn’t shake me up, but I immediately have my doubts.
Sure, he’s wanted to get in my pants from the moment we first met, and yes, maybe things have taken on a slightly new tone since we started hooking up. But love? That seems a little extreme, especially given the circumstances.
