Page 783 of Hell Hath No Fury
I joke, texting:I could come back and service you right now if you’d like.I can imagine her laugh. That sweet sound I remember so well.
Aubrey:Calm down there, Bennet …we might have started fast but can we take it slow?
I second-guess my first response, which is to joke about going slow during foreplay. There’s something about her that’s vulnerable and I’ll be damned if I fuck this up. My answer is simple:I can go slow. We can go as slow as you want, Bree.
A moment passes and then another of her typing a message. I imagine it’s going to be long judging by the way the three dots drop out of sight and reappear, but all it is when she finally sends it is:Tell me something I don’t know.
I rattle off a few things that have happened since I moved back. Nothing heavy and everything easy. She asks questions and I ask them back.
And there’s plenty to ask.
We barely even spoke back then in high school. We were close for a short while, then it was dangerous territory, then it was nothing. Like I never existed.
I knew everything about her, and she knew everything about me. That’s what happens when you live in a small town. But still we spend the entire night texting the details that this small town doesn’t know about us. The little things and the big things. Until my eyelids are heavy and she tells me she has to sleep.
That’s when I tell her to dream of me.
CHAPTER SIX
Aubrey
The porch swing has a subtle creak with every rock backward. Although you can hardly hear it over Marlena’s laugh. Gemma doesn’t stop her story as my friends on Cedar Lane continue the tradition of Wine Down Wednesday on Marlena’s porch. Lauren pours another glass of sangria and Gemma downs her rosé before heading inside to get another bottle.
From here I can see my house across the street and three doors to the right. That bright blue door stares back at me. It knows my secret. I kissed Bennet on the other side of that door and not a soul knows it.
“Whatever it is, I want to know because it’s got her all flustered,” Gemma says in a tone that demands my attention and I look back to my left to see all three of my friends staring back expectantly.
The light is setting over the scenic view of our suburban street … but my stomach refuses to settle down.
“What?” I try to play it off and my voice is too high pitched. Swallowing thickly, I watch Gemma’s brow raise in skepticism; all the while Marlena covers her mouth to keep in a laugh. She’s never been good at hiding her expressions. Add in a half pitcher of Lauren’s sangria, which I swear is all alcohol because she refuses to share the recipe, and Marlena’s got no hope in the world of hiding anything from us.
“Well, spill,” she presses, her voice giddy with delight as she leans back in the white wicker chair. The porch swing creaksagain when Lauren takes her seat next to me. This time everyone hears before she gestures for me to do the same: to spill it.
My three neighbors who I’ve been friends with for nearly my entire life, and even closer to these last four years I’ve lived on this street wouldn’t tell a soul … I don’t think.
Yet my nerves rattle as my gaze moves from Marlena’s gray sweats and white tee to Lauren’s silk blouse she’s still got on from work, to Gemma’s cotton sundress. I’d rather look at their clothes than their eyes while I debate on keeping what happened yesterday a secret.
“Is it something bad?” Lauren’s tone turns concerned.
“No, no, no,” I answer quickly before gulping down the last bit of sangria and deciding to just do it. To tell them what happened.
“You remember Bennet, right?” I say.
Marlena’s eyes go wide before she shrieks with glee. “I knew it! You got laid!” Heat floods my cheeks. “Nuh-uh,” Lauren says doubtfully but when I don’t look back at her and attempt to have another sip only to find the etched glass empty, she gasps. With a light slap on my arm, she says, “You didn’t?”
For a very small moment, I don’t hear the humor or the happiness of a friend excited for another friend. I hear an ounce of dread or betrayal, like we’re all back in high school and I just slept with Pamela’s ex.
Lauren’s next comment erases those thoughts just as quickly as her gasp put them there. “He is so freaking hot.” She adds, “When did he even get back to town?”
“He came in last week or the week before I think.”
I nod along as Gemma answers and work on calming my racing heart.
“And you and him banged?” Lauren asks.
“Banged?” A deep crease settles in her forehead as Marlena looks at Lauren and asks, “Who calls it ‘bang?’”
“The horizontal tango, scratched an itch, fornicated, fooled around, went all the way—who cares what you call it? There are only two questions that matter,” Gemma states, gathering our attention as the sun sets a little deeper and she stares at me with a serious expression. “One, was it good, and two, how big is he?”
