Page 25 of Bedding Rose
“I’m sorry,” I whisper.
“No. I’m sorry.”
A chorus ofI’m sorrys volleys back and forth between the two of us becoming louder and louder each time—a remnant of the fact that Daisy’s been my very best friend since elementary school and we haven’t been able to let go of some of our more ridiculous traditions. Like our sorry-offs.
A door cracks open down the hall behind me and my mother’s head emerges, her lips stretched into a thin line. “Keep it down, girls. I’m on a conference call.” Her smooth black hair is pulled up in a French braid, slim figure tucked into a perfectly pressed black suit. My mother doesn’t even say good morning or acknowledge the fact that I didn’t know she was home. She just shuts the door to her office and gets back to work. It thumps closed as Daisy and I exchange a look that’s become more and more common over the past six months.
A look I call,Yup, that’s my mother.
Daisy just gives a what-can-you-do shrug before saying, “Anyway, you don’t need to be sorry at all. You were trying to protect me.” Her words are soft and kind and so utterly Daisy-like. It’s why I love her. She can’t hold a grudge to save her life. Me? I can grudge with the best of them, though most people would never know it because I’m just not brave enough to say something. Angelo seems to be the exception in that arena, though I don’t quite know why.
Daisy reaches out and squeezes my hand. “I actually love that you got mad on my behalf. You couldn’t know that I gave Gunnar permission to do anything he wanted to watch me. He’s got … a couple kinks.”
What? Uptight Gunnar? Color me intrigued but definitely planning not to ask. I’ll wait for her to tell me what those are when she’s comfortable. I’m kind of surprised she’s even okay with that word, given the fact that she was a virgin mere days ago. But it just slid off her tongue easily and she appears utterly unembarrassed about it. Isn’t it strange how we can change in an instant?
Of course, the moment Daisy starts to study me, an eyebrow quirking as her eyes scan me up and down, I grow awkward, because I know what’s coming.
Her voice doesn’t hold an ounce of judgment, only concern, as she asks, “But what happened? That was … unusual for you.”
I press my lips together in a morose sort of grin because even though I don’t really want to explain everything, I feel like I should. Actually, maybe explaining it all to someone would help me make sense of it, help me quash the stupid attraction that’s still intermingling with my anger. “Want to come in?”
“Yes, please.”
We end up making steaming mugs of tea in the kitchen in silence before I jerk my head toward my room, indicating we should go there to talk. Daisy keeps her cup in one hand and weaves her other arm around mine, all the tension and discomfort from last night evaporated as if it never even happened. And I haven’t said a single word yet.
That’s how best friends are.
They’re just there when you need them. Patient. Unswervingly loyal and forgiving when you’ve accidentally made an ass of yourself in front of them and their new significant other.
God, I’m lucky to have her. And she’ll set me straight. She’ll help me get my head on right and come up with a plan to avoid Angelo, I just know it. But once we’re settled on my comforter, sitting cross-legged and facing each other, I find my heart thumping faster and my throat closing up.
I take a quick sip of tea and awkwardly ask, “Um, do you want to tell me about you first? How’s everything with Gunnar? Did I make it worse?” It feels awkward to ask that. But, if I’m not quite ready to let it all out, then the least I can do is try to be supportive.
Daisy immediately blushes and ducks her head. “Oh gosh no. It’s good. So, so good. Like more amazing than I ever could have imagined. He’s perfect for me in ways I didn’t even know I wanted.”
“Yeah?”
She nods and plays with the end of her braid, plucking at individual strands of hair. “I know it’s fast, or we got together quickly, but he’s been there for everything, Rose, you know.”
“Yeah. I know.” I know she also cried her eyes out to me after he proposed to her mother when she had been so certain he was going to ask her out. Oh, crap, there I go with my judgmental grudginess instead of being supportive. I find a positive and throw it out there. “He has always spoiled you rotten.”
“Yeah. He’s planning a getaway for us.”
I blink. “Already? How long have you actually been together?” I’m a little taken aback.
“We’ve known each other almost two years, Rosie-Dosie. He’sthe one.” Her eyes shine as she says it, and she wears this ethereal expression I’ve never seen before, almost like one of those old religious paintings where someone’s staring up at an angel in awe.
I’m thunderstruck. And I have to admit, I’m the tiniest bit jealous that her dream guy didn’t turn out to be some kind of creep like I assumed he was. Like my dream guy has turned out to be.
“Yeah?”
She presses her lips together as she meets my eyes once more and nods emphatically. “Yeah. Gory details?”
“Definitely.”
She chews her lip for a second before she blurts out, “He’s a total dom in the bedroom. And it’s so frustrating but so hot because he won’t just let me come. He makes me wait.”
“What!?” Mental gymnastics ensue in my head as I try not to visualize Gunnar naked but simultaneously process the fact that my best friend just basically admitted to being a submissive in the bedroom. “But he’s not a jerk, right? He does get you there?”
