Page 10 of Best Friend's Dirty Ex

“I don't know. I guess working with him just got me thinking about the things you said, like the fact that he cheated on you, but he's also the one that divorced you. Why didn't you leave him first?”

She's silent and the seconds tick by, making me more nervous every moment. Did I just upset my friend?

“Do you really want to know?” Her flat tone surprises me. I've never heard her talk like this before. It's like seeing a whole new side of this person that I've considered a friend for so long.

“You don't have to tell me if you don't want to. I was just curious. I know it's none of my business.” I'm trying my best to be diplomatic because I don't want to rock the boat of our friendship, but I do want to satisfy this curiosity raging within me.

“I didn't leave him because I felt like he owed me. Money, affection, material things, whatever. And he said if I divorced him, I would never see anything from him.”

I sit up on the couch, my forehead furrowing. Her words don't make sense. “But surely if he cheated on you, you'd be entitled to half of everything in a divorce, wouldn't you? I mean, I guess unless you signed a prenup, but I'm pretty sure those are also null and void if one or the other cheats.”

She lets out a sharp laugh. “Our prenup wasn't void when he cheated. I should never have signed that damn thing.”

Those words rub me the wrong way, and I can't help but wonder for the first time ever if she married him for his money. Not that I judge her. If both parties were aware that that's what was happening. I don't care how consenting adults behave behind closed doors, but the bitterness in her voice tells me that maybe that was her plan and he didn't go along with it. But then again, if he's paying her alimony, something still isn’t adding up.

I don't feel like any of my questions have actually been answered, but I have a feeling there's no way I can press further without losing the diplomatic tone of our conversation. “How did things go with your family?” I figure I might as well change the conversation now and try to salvage whatever good feelings I can from this conversation.

Her voice immediately brightens. “I had a great time. After my niece went home, we ended up going to the casino, blew some money together as a family, you know. Good times.”

I don't know. I've never been the kind of person to go gambling, but I can imagine that she had fun. It occurs to me, though, that she doesn't have a job, so how could she possibly be blowing money at the casino unless there's more going on than I know? I don't know why I never thought to question her before, but now after my conversation with Troy, a lot of things are making me curious about my friend’s life.

“I should probably go. There's always work to be done.” I blow out of breath, and I hear her giggle on the other end of the line.

“You work way too hard. You should take some time off.”

While I love the sentiment, it's just not a possibility at this time. While I make a respectable living at my job, I don’t have the kind of savings that I’d feel comfortable chewing through just to take some time off. “I'll think about it.” With that, we say our goodbyes and end the call, and I get back to looking at the 3D rendering I'd made of Troy's office.

I've already made several substantial changes that I think he will absolutely love. I'm still considering how to change up the lighting and what kind of furniture to have in the space based on what he already has. He spends quite a bit of time working in there and perhaps some time entertaining clients as well.

I'm not quite sure what his job actually is. I'm not about to pry because it doesn't matter. What matters is that I know how he utilizes the space and how to best cater to that utilization.

I've already picked out the color palette and know what kind of changes I'm going to make as far as color, tone, and even most of the layout. I've already ordered several pieces of furniture and a big area rug that I think he’ll like. Given his penchant for white, bright light and airy, his job is a breeze because his taste matches mine.

I've already tentatively picked out a very high-end lighting fixture that will be the centerpiece of the room. Now I'm just considering if I want to run LED light strips throughout the rest of the room to give it more of a bright feel. I had already asked him about the windows and whether they were one way glass, and he told me that no one could see in, no matter how dark outside and bright inside I can make it.

As I work sketching ideas over the existing render, I reach up and touch my lips, unconsciously, before realizing I'm thinking about the way he'd run his thumb over my lower lip. I set my stylus down and take a moment, letting out a soft breath as I think about how he'd affected me in that moment.

I can lie to him, but I can't lie to myself. I absolutely wanted him to have his way with me in that private room at the club.

Sure, the conversation is stuck in my head, but even more than the conversation, the way he touched me, how he'd felt hard pressed against my belly, the way he'd managed to turn me into silly putty in his hands, all of those things haunt my dreams and my thoughts.

James never touched me in a way that turned me into jelly, yet somehow, while knowing almost nothing about me, Troy managed to make me respond exactly the way he wanted me to with seemingly minimal effort.

It would be impressive if it wasn't so damn concerning. I set my device and stylus down on the edge of the loveseat and lean back. As I think about the way he kissed me, the way his body felt against mine, the way he'd pulled my hair in such a firm, sexy controlling gesture, I feel my body hum to life.

I want him to touch me again. I know what's wrong. I know it's a betrayal of my friend, but I want Troy.

My lips tingle as I think about the way he'd pressed his to mine, how my body just reacted and opened to him. The way he'd slipped his tongue into my mouth to meet mine, dancing, claiming, plundering like he owned me. Even now, my heart starts to pound, and my body begs me to do something about the arousal humming in my blood.

Without thinking about it, my hand slips down my belly and under the waistband of my pants, my fingertips pressing against the delicate bundle of nerves between my thighs. Pleasure jolts through my core and I let out a sigh of pure need.

I think about the way he'd looked at me, as if he wanted to rip my clothes off, push me onto the bed and take me. My fingertips circle my clit, my hips rising up as if begging for more. And in my mind's eye I can see him reach out, run his thumb quickly along my lower lip, leaving me tingling, hungry, hot, and desperate in a way I've never felt before.

Not even my most intense moments with James felt anything like a simple touch from Troy. I continue to touch myself, the feeling wicked and sinfully sexy as I feel the moisture and tension building. Slipping a hand up my shirt, I gently roll and tug my nipple, delighting in the sharp jolt of pleasure. As the pleasure mounts, I find myself wishing he was here, right now, taking care of me. On his knees before me, his face buried between my legs, his tongue giving me unimaginable pleasure.

The thought brings me to the edge of orgasm, and I feel my belly tightening up as pleasure hums through me. Every muscle in my body coils up tight, and I let out a whimper of need as my phone rings.

The sound breaks the moment and I pick up my phone to answer the call. On the other end of the line, Troy’s deep, gruff voice speaks out as if in answer to the desire within me. “Hello, little one.”

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