Page 91 of If It Can't Be Us

“Enough about me. Let’s talk about you now. How was Paris? I’ve been dying to hear all about it,” Meredith says, taking a bite of shrimp from the platter we ordered and washing it down with a sip of Pinot Grigio.

I met Meredith at one of my favorite steakhouses in the city for dinner to catch up. We haven’t had a chance to see each other or talk since I got back a week ago. Between lectures, catching up in the office, and spending every other waking moment with Vivian—doing it on every surface of her house—I haven’t had a spare moment.

“It was good,” I say, fighting the urge to smile like a besotted idiot. “It was great, actually.” I say as casually as I can, grabbing a shrimp for myself and taking a bite.

“It was? That’s great. Did Vivian enjoy the art gallery?”

“Yeah. She loved it.” I beam. “It was really cool to watch an artist take in art, actually.”

“And then you rented that yacht for the night?”

I nod as I chew my shrimp and swallow. “The yacht was incredible. You and Piper really need to get to Paris.”

“We’ll get there. It won’t be the same type of trip that you take,” she says, swirling the wine in her glass. “It must be nice to be filthy rich,” she teases, the corners of her mouth turning up.

“It’s fucking great, you should try it sometime,” I joke back.

I’ve learned that the best way to handle comments about my money is to roll with them. Mer’s one of the few people who never makes me feel weird about it, so I can joke along without feeling self-conscious. She knows she could ask for anything, anytime, and I’d give it to her in a heartbeat.

“Tell me more,” she gestures.

“God, I don’t even know where to start. Everything was great. We reconnected on the plane ride over, laughing and joking like we always do. We did a bike tour, the Louvre, Moulin Rouge, had fantastic food, the whole bit.”

The server brings our entrées—mine, a tomahawk steak, and hers, a lobster tail.

“We went to the art gallery and then to the Seine River for the cruise. The yacht was exquisite, and the chef and dinner were incredible. Vivian looked…” I pause, letting out a slow exhale. “She looked stunning, absolutely beautiful. Um…” I clear my throat, my brows knitting together as my face flushes with heat.

“Oh my God,” she lets out a knowing laugh, shaking her head.

I glare at her. “What?”

“Nothing. It’s nothing,” she says, smothering a laugh. “You’re just acting weird, is all.”

“What do you mean? I’m not acting weird.”

“Yeah, you are.” She smirks and raises a brow.

“What makes you think that?” I ask, knowing I’ve got whipped written all over my face.

Meredith leans back, folding her arms. “You two totally had sex in Paris, didn’t you?” She’s wide-eyed and grinning. “Probably on that goddamn boat.” She takes a sip of her wine, “Oh, excuse me, I mean yacht.” She points to herself. “I mean, even I would have fucked you on that yacht. Well played.” She’s grinning from ear to ear.

How does she always fucking know?

I swear to God the woman is psychic.

She waits patiently for me to comment as I sit, gaping at her.

“Yeah,” I chuckle, “We had sex, okay?” I feel my face reddening as I reflect on all the sex we’ve had. “We’ve had a lot of sex. And it’s been great. She’s just… I don’t know how to describe it. She’s everything I didn’t know I needed.”

“Were you not going to tell me?”

“I was, I swear. But it’s more fun this way,” I admit.

Meredith’s smile softens, her teasing replaced by genuine warmth. “I’m thrilled for you. You deserve this… you deserve her. I take it the EMDR sessions helped then? You’re still seeing each other… this wasn’t just a Paris fling?”

I sigh, unable to hide my smile. “Yes, we’re still seeing each other. The EMDR definitely helped me let go of some of the shit that’s been holding me back. It’s been… incredible. And terrifying. But mostly incredible.”

“So what? Are you two a thing now?” she asks, a look of curiosity painted on her face.

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