Page 33 of Best Kept Secret
Fran scoops a big dollop of Nutella with her finger, sucking it into her mouth before placing the jar back where it was.
“So gross,” Emily mutters, shaking her head at her friend.
I pull my phone from the pocket of my sweats, scrolling to my messages while Fran and Emily bicker about food hygiene.
Me: Just letting you know that I’m here.
His reply comes through so fast it’s borderline creepy.
L: I know. I saw you on the camera.
My jaw drops and immediately I look up, scanning the corners of the room, looking for cameras because like hell am I going to live here if he has cameras hidden around.
Me: Ew, you have cameras?
L: Calm down, Red. Just one by the front door.
My shoulders ease just a touch.
Me: Your place is weirdly clean, by the way. You’re either a neat freak or a serial killer, and frankly, I don’t know what’s worse.
L: A little from column A, a little from column B...
Me: I’ll be sure to keep my bedroom door locked at night.
L: Fun sucker.
L: Oh, I almost forgot, I left you a little housewarming gift.
Me: Fran already sniffed it out. She assumes you have a Nutella kink. Even checked the contents for a penis-shaped hole.
L: Is this really what women do when they’re hanging out together?
Me: No, soon we’ll be sure to strip down to our bra and panties and practice our French kissing
L: Be sure to do all that by the front door.
Me: Pervert.
“Han’s on her way over.”
I snap my head up from my messages, brow furrowing as I notice Emily smiling down at her phone.
“She’s bringing wine.”
“My hero!” Fran gushes.
Are you fucking serious?
Fran and Emily both spin around then, eyes identically wide, and I’m pretty sure I just said that out loud. Fabulous. I force a laugh that sounds more like a choke. “Ihatewine…”Nice save.
The motherfucking audacity of Hannah to show up here, tonight, on my first night in Logan’s apartment, with a bottle of fucking wine?
Emily looks from me down to her phone and back again. “I can get her to pick up something else, if you like.”
Okay. Time to pull out the big guns. “No, it’s fine. I actually have a headache, so I probably shouldn’t drink anything.”
For the record, I don’t have a headache. Not even a little bit. But desperate times call for fake headaches apparently.
