Page 120 of The Promise Of You

“Ha. Now he shuts up. What about The Fermentory?” Haley asks.

I was going to tell her that it was right up Chloe’s alley. That she used to work in developing breweries. That maybe Haley wanted to partner with her.

Anything to keep her here. But that might be a little too transparent. And it looks like Chloe and her might already be talking about it, if Chloe suggested a name.

Why didn’t she tell me?

“Nothin’.”

thirty-six

Chloe

“Idon’t know about this guy,” Fiona mumbles. Her eyes dart right and left on the screen like she’s looking for inspiration or support from her rocker posse. “He was supposed to be a rebound, and now you’re practically living together.”

She’s right about one thing, wrong about the other.

I never wanted Justin to be just a rebound.

But as far as living together goes, since I slept over at his apartment two weeks ago, we’ve been spending nights together.

All the nights.

All night long.

His place, my place. Last week he stuffed a pair of jeans, T-shirts, and underwear in one of my drawers. I bought him a toothbrush and at that, he said, “Yours worked just fine.”

“Oh.”

“Babe, my mouth’s been in your pussy and my tongue licked your butthole. That what you’re worried about?”

I giggled and that was that. I use his toothbrush at his place, he uses mine at the cottage. However, I now have a double of everything else, lotion, makeup, hairbrush, and some clothes at his place.

Also, we both got tested, and we ditched the condoms.

So much better.

So much more sex that can happen on a whim. In the car, in the shower, in his office.

I sigh. “I just… I just feel so good with him. It feels right.”

“I dunno. The guy’s clearly afraid of commitment.”

I shouldn’t have told her I was his first real relationship. “So?”

“So you need someone who places you above everyone else, who’s not going to bail when things aren’t so rosy anymore. You need someone who worships the ground you walk on.”

I roll my eyes, something she sees since we’re on video.

She sighs heavily. “Look, I don’t want to tell you what to do.”

That’s my cue to brace myself for her telling me what to do. Out of sisterly love, of course.

“But I’m not feeling this guy. Something’s off.”

“Um—you haven’t met him.”

“He’s closed off. Cagey.”

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