Page 56 of Black Roses

I shake my head in disagreement even though I know she can’t see me. “It’s different. What happened to me—to us—is different.”

“Yeah. It’s a lot different,” her accusing voice berates me. “What happened to you, to me, was awful. Unimaginable even. But Jesus, Pipes, he watched his parents die right in front of him because of something he did. That’s some monumentally fucked up shit.”

“What happened to him is terrible,” I say. “Of course it is. But it doesn’t make my skin crawl when I touch him. I don’t think I could take it if he looked at me that way. You know after . . .”

“You can say it, sister. After the best orgasm you’ve ever had.” She laughs, lightening the mood.

I can feel my face redden in my dark room. “Okay, yes. And the only orgasm I’m one-hundred-percent sure I’ve had at the hands of a man. I don’t want to ruin that. If I leave, I wouldn’t be able to stand the memory of him being repulsed by me.”

Silence.

I look at my phone to see if we’re still connected.

“Charlie?”

“If?”Her loud word startles me. “You said‘if,’Pipes. Are you thinking of moving to New York?”

I choke on my saliva as I guffaw into the phone.

“What is it?” she asks.

“Nothing,” I say. “Inside joke, I guess.”

She laughs. “Now you have inside jokes with him? Girl, you’ve got it bad.”

“I do not,” I insist, albeit not whole-heartedly. “And I’m not moving to New York. Even if I wanted to move to New York, I wouldn’t. I’m not in the least bit equipped to move to New York. Plus, you’re over there. Cradle to grave, remember?”

“First of all, I’m not even going to pretend I just understood what you said. Second, cradle to grave doesn’t mean we have to be attached at the hip. Cradle to grave can mean talking on the phone every day, showing up for momentous occasions, and taking kick-ass vacations together. You’re my best friend, Piper. You’ll always be my best friend. No matter where we end up.”

“I’m not moving to New York, Charlie.”

“Whatever.” I can almost feel the eye-roll in her words. “Let’s get back to the juicy stuff. What happened right after you had the greatest orgasm of all time? Did he hold you? Did he want to fuck? Did you say thank you? You should always thank a guy for a good come, Piper.”

I laugh. “I’ll remember that for next time. We didn’t do anything,” I say. “That’s when I asked him about the scar and he said we could talk after we cleaned up.”

“Cleaned up? What—as in you spilled a shit-ton of drinks in your usual endearing fashion?”

“Bitch,” I tease. “I don’t know, cleaned up. You know . . . I used the bathroom and he changed clothes.”

“Why did he change clothes? Was he expecting a sleepover?”

“Of course not. He just threw on a new pair of jeans.”

“Really? And just what was he wearing before that?” she asks.

“I don’t know, another pair of jeans, I guess. God, why the third degree?”

“So he changed from one pair of jeans into another?” Shrieks echo through the phone, piercing my ear. “Oh my God, Pipes—the man jizzed in his pants!”

My jaw drops. “He did not,” I say, unbelievably.

“Are you sure? I mean, you were kind of busy coming yourself. Maybe you just didn’t notice.” She giggles.

“Oh, God. Do you really think . . . uh, I thought . . . I mean, I didn’t even touch him there.”

Laughter dances through the phone. “You have much to learn my young apprentice. Yes, I really think so. And I really think this is a good thing. A great thing. Maybe the best thing. Tell him, Piper. If you want any chance at a meaningful relationship with Mason, you have to tell him.”

Long after our conversation ends, her words resonate through me.

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