Page 41 of Pinky Promises

It’s too late. My mind is already racing with a million different ideas.

Has she used that on herself thinking about our night?

Does it smell like her pussy?

Did she use it tonight, imaging that it was my dick?

“Umm, I know this might be ridiculous, but you didn’t feel the difference?”

Her face and chest become flush like a tomato in embarrassment. Well, that would make for a great double obituary. Here lies Brynn Macallister, death by humiliation. Here lies Callum Murphy, beaten to death by his best friend with a blue dildo.

“Brynn, seriously?” Is she still thinking of beating me with that thing?

“Oh right, sorry.” She relaxes her rigid stance and straightens up, finally placing the dildo behind her back to hide it. She gives a close-lipped smile. “I’ll be right back.”

She turns and all but runs back to her room before I can even respond. Moments later, she returns sans dildo and is bringing a hoodie over her head—another one of mine, to be exact.Does she go into my closet and just steal my clothes when I’m gone?She awkwardly shoves her hands in her front pocket and sways from side to side.Or is that me swaying from side to side?

“Are you okay? It’s a little late, don’t you think?”

“Thanks,Mom.”Were you worried about merests on the tip of my tongue, but I remain silent. She begins to walk toward me, but I hold my hand up. “I got this. You don’t have shoes on, and there’s glass everywhere. It’s my fault. I can clean it up.”

“I can help.”

I shake my head. ‘I got it, but thanks.” I walk into the kitchen and grab the small broom and dustpan along with the trash can. When I return to the crime scene, Brynn is still standing there.

Her hands have left the hoodie’s front pocket and are wrapped around her waist. She’s nibbling on her bottom lip, staring out at nothing. A mix of her expression and nearly getting beaten with a sex toy has me sobering up rather quickly. Something is clearly on her mind.

I hunch down and begin to clean up the mess. “Go back to bed, B. I’m sorry for waking you.” I focus on the debris until her voice draws my gaze back to her.

“Hey, Callum, do you think we can talk tomorrow? You know, about—everything.”

Zoe’s advice rings in my head.Give her time. She’ll come to you when she’s ready.

I wish her broaching the subject eases my mind, but her expression gives nothing away about how this talk will go.

“Yeah, that sounds good to me. We’ll chat tomorrow. Good night.”

“Night.” She spins and softly pads her way back down the hall till she disappears into her room with the click of the door.

As I dump the shards of glass in the trash can, I say a prayer that tomorrow I won’t be adding the pieces of my broken heart to this pile.

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