Page 44 of The Echo of Regret

“People don’t get felonies for drinking beer on their high school campus, Nic. It would have been a misdemeanor at best. It’s basically a ticket. And besides, I don’t know why you’re giving me the sass as if you haven’t been arrested for real.”

At my reference to her own antics, she pipes down.

“Yeah. Don’t think I didn’t hear about you smoking weed with Jennifer Sanders at Summerpalooza. I can’t think of a better example of the pot calling the kettle black.”

Nicole grumbles something about weed not being that big of a deal, though I can’t make it out entirely.

“So anyway,” I say, dragging out the word and making it clear I’m moving us along and setting the conversation about my visit to the police station to the side. “Are you sure you can’t come tonight? Maybe bring your guy?”

She chuckles. “Sorry, G. This man dragged me out of the drought the universe somehow thrust upon me. It was the first good orgasm I did not give myself in like…six months.”

I grin. “Nicole Charles, did you have a one-night stand and not call me immediately? I thought you said there are no sex secrets between besties.”

“It’s not a secret. I’ve just been enjoying the haze of orgasms he’s been giving me this week.”

“This week!” I can’t hide my shock. “You’ve seen him more than once? You have been holding out on me.”

She makes a devious noise. “Trust me, I’ll have plenty to share after he leaves to head back to Montana or wherever. I think he leaves Sunday, and I’m already crying about how lonely my vagina will be.”

I snort. “You’re ridiculous.”

“Speaking of lonely vaginas,” she continues, “how’s yours?”

“Fine.”

She hums. “Just fine? There haven’t been any visits lately? From any…ex-boyfriends?”

I roll my eyes. “You think, what? We had sex in the jail cell? Come on, Nic.”

“No, I wouldn’t say you’re that scandalous. Though who knows what you were getting up to on that rooftop.”

“Not having sex, I can promise you that.”

No. Instead we were taking a trip down memory lane, which—to me at least—feels even more intimate. My eyes drop to the sketchbook in my lap, the one I’ve been carrying around for the past few days. For whatever reason, Bishop’s suggestion that I should start sketching again stuck.

I told him I didn’t know why I stopped in the first place, but that’s not the truth. I do know. A big part of it was the refocusing of my attention on ceramics during art school. I was in the studio all the time, and when I wasn’t, I was handling things for other classes. Then I moved home and started this business and there just hasn’t been the time.

That is true, but a small part of me knows it’s also because of Bishop. Well…maybe not Bishop, exactly, but my thoughts about him. After we broke up, I sketched him relentlessly, from every angle and doing every activity. Hitting a baseball, studying at my kitchen table, lying next to me in bed. It felt like I was drawing every memory so I could purge him from my mind.

Then, one day, I didn’t want to sketch him anymore, so I tucked that book onto my shelf and focused on something else. Now, just the act of holding it in my hand makes the desire to sketch build anew in my spirit, though I haven’t taken the leap just yet. Maybe this weekend, if I have the time.

“Well, that doesn’t mean you haven’t had sex some other time.” Nicole’s comment jerks me back to our conversation. “You know, since you’ve been doing all these things without me recently.”

I can hear the playful tease in her voice, but I also know Nicole well enough to hear the slight layer of sincerity behind her words.

“We haven’t,” I tell her. “And I have no plans to. Trust me.”

It’s true. I don’t have plans to sleep with Bishop. It would be too messy, bringing the physical side of our relationship back into the mix when we’re just now seeming to figure out how to be friends, though the thought has crossed my mind once or twice. How much might have changed in the years we’ve been apart…

“Hmm. I’m not buying it. Your words say one thing, but your voice says you might be considering it, so maybe take a few minutes before you go and rub one out,” she says, and I gasp.

“Nicole,” I say, flopping over onto my side and laughing into the phone. “Are you telling me to masturbate before I go out for beers with Bishop?”

“Absolutely,” she replies, her voice unapologetic. “Just purge yourself of any sexual energy you might bring to the table when you go out tonight.”

“I’m getting off the phone with you,” I tell her, trying to infuse some strength and sass into my voice—and failing epically.

“It’s because you want to, huh,” she says, the smile clear in her voice. “You little minx.”

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