Page 66 of What About Us
“I amnottalking about my best friend's junk.” I swipe my hands through the air, screwing up my features into what I hope is a look of determination. Because what I really want to do is talk about my best friend’s junk. I’m already fantasizing about him when I’m alone. And now, he’s my husband. But I can’t tell them that, and a bit of guilt about that niggles the back of my mind. The water in the pond that is my life is getting so fucking muddy.
I glance at Wren, where she’s reclined back on the small loveseat, feet planted wide, and rubbing small circles on her belly. The look she’s giving me makes me want to crawl out of my skin. Sheknows. Not about the marriage, but the feelings. She’s like a super-secret, sleuth spy with X-ray vision. Her kids are going to be screwed. Nothing gets past her. She sees right through my bullshit, and if Ginger was here, she would, too.
“What?” I throw my arms wide and pin her with a look.
“Finnley.” She hits me with a patronizing look. “This is Hudson.” She says that statement like it should explain everything, and I’m hit with the realization that this conversation sounds sickeningly familiar to one I had with her about Hank not so long ago. But I choose to ignore that little detail.
I roll my eyes, hoping if I put a little more sass on it, it’ll disguise the fact that I don’t know exactly what she’s talking about. “Yes,Hudson. My bestfriend.”Husband, my mind screams. And God, I love how that sounds. I really, really love it.
Wren laughs sardonically, as if to say,you silly, little girl. “We’ve been over this.You and I are best friends.” She gestures between us, and then points at the phone. “Ginger and I are best friends. You and Hudson are…something else.”
Ginger hums like Wren hit the nail on the head, and I stomp my foot.
“Somethingnotbest friends,” Wren continues.
“Well, not anymore.” Ginger laughs.
“What do you mean, not anymore?” I swear I’m yelling. And I’m sweating. Profusely. This is exactly what I was afraid would happen.
“Listen, you didn’t just get a peek,” Ginger starts when I flop back down next to Wrenley. “You just said you watched yourso-calledbest friend jerk off.” Ginger’s eyebrows hike up her forehead the more she goes on.
“But you left, right? When you realized what he was doing?” Wren interjects.
The look on my face must tell her all she needs to know, because Ginger lets out a low whistle.
“You watched him…finish?” Wren whispers, with a glance toward the bathroom when the shower shuts off.
I bite my lip and nod with a groan.
“Of course, she did!” Ginger practically yells. “I knew I liked you, Finnley Jameson.”
Wren lets out a nervous chuckle. “Best friends don’t do that.”
“Wren, stooopppp,” I whine like a petulant teenager.
“I say, fuck him,” Ginger announces, and I wince with a glance toward the back of the cabin.
“You would,” Wren pipes up with a laugh.
I let out a sigh. “Not. Helping,” I bite out, but they continue laughing, clearly enjoying my misery.The bitches. I scowl. Besides, I already thoughtabout that. My God, when did this happen? When did I start thinking about doing filthy things with my best friend? I’m a horrible person.
“What do I do? What do I say? It’s not like I can avoid him forever; we live together.” All I can think about is that I want my best friend. Badly.
“What do youwantto happen?” Ginger asks, while Wren is quiet. I’ve probably stunned her stupid.
“I want to never have seen his junk,” I say, letting my hands slap against my knees.
Liar.
“But was it good? Maybe you should watch again.” She pumps her eyebrows salaciously.
“Ginger, no!” I whisper-shout.
I am going to Hell for lying. I don’t want to watch; I want to help next time. God,pleaselet there to be a next time.
“What? You’re both single, and you obviously liked it, or you wouldn’t have watched.” She shrugs, studying her nails.
I swallow hard. “It wassohot…and he’s, like, completely perfect. Every inch. You havenoidea.”
