LYDIA

"'This isn't happening?'" I'm pacing the kitchen floor and repeating myself. "'This isn't happening' is even worse than 'whatever else you want!'"

"Great. So you're even now on saying stupid things." Payton takes a drag on the milkshake she made us stop to get on the way home. To be fair, we got it in the drive-thru at Del Taco so it wasn't a big detour. Also, I stress-ate an entire Queso Crunch Taco Meal before we made it back to the apartment so I've no room to complain about the stop.

"What is with him and his mixed message bullshit?" I wave my arms about before slumping over the table in exasperation.

"Oh, wow. You're unpacking the swear words now. Whoa," Payton murmurs with brows raised. "Shit's getting serious."

"See, this is how I'm still a virgin! Men are so freaking complicated. And stupid. I hate them. All of them."

"Are you going lesbian on me right now? Listen, I respect your choices, yadda yadda, but I don't think I'm into you like that. If you're asking. But maybe in a three-way sister-wife situation? I would share a penis with you for sure. That might work."

"What?" I blink at her a few times. "Are you hitting on me?"

"No." She shakes her head, her expression nonplussed as if this is all perfectly clear. "I was offering to share a man with you. Theoretically. If it came to that," she adds with a shrug. "Which is a very generous offer. You should be a little more appreciative."

"What?" I repeat again, slowly. Has she lost her mind? "How would that even work?"

"Like a timeshare. I'd get him on Mondays, Wednesdays and Fridays. And then you'd get him on Tuesdays, Thursdays and Saturdays!" She takes another slurp of milkshake and looks at me expectantly, as if I might have some feedback on this theoretical boyfriend timeshare. "It was nice of me to offer you the Saturday spot, wasn't it?" She looks at me again, head tilted to the side, milkshake in hand.

"Right," I respond even though nothing about that sounded right. "And what would happen on Sundays? He'd get to pick up random women on Sundays?"

"No! Don't be gross." Payton shoots me a dirty look, as if I've offended her by even thinking it. "He doesn't get to pick up random women, ever. He's totally faithful to us. Sundays would be for threesomes. Or he could have the day off. Whatever."

I stare at her for several seconds without speaking as I process that.

"Move." I wave at the seat she's in. "I need the table to make sheet pajamas." I grab a pincushion and a half-finished pair of pants and sit. "Um, thank you for the generous offer. I'll keep that idea on the back burner."

"Anytime. I'm a really good friend."

"That you are. And so modest."

"And a good sharer. Don't forget that part. You know I really think the sister-wife lifestyle is underutilized."

"Uh-huh."

"Like, imagine if Chris Hemsworth was into both of us and wanted to marry both of us."

"Chris Hemsworth is already married."

"Lydia." Payton groans my name on a long sigh. "Don't be so literal. Imagine we bump into a single Chris Hemsworth."

"Okay."

"And imagine he's even greater than you'd imagined. Hotter, nicer, better in bed."

"Uh-huh."

"And then imagine he wanted both of us. That he wanted to marry both of us and buy side-by-side houses for us where we'd raise our plethora of children together. Who would say no to that? Who?" she repeats, eyes wide and palms up, her expression telling me that she cannot imagine how anyone could say no.

"I think most women would say no to that."

"Well, that's dumb." She drops her hands and waves dismissively. "I'd say yes. Hopefully my sister-wife would be more open-minded than you are."

"One can only hope."

"It would also be great if she enjoyed cooking, because I don't. She could do the cooking and I'd do the laundry. Honestly don't understand how this is not a thing," she mutters to herself.

"Isn't it a little sexist that you're assuming the cooking and laundry falls to you and your sister-wife? Wouldn't your perfect version of Chris Hemsworth also cook, clean and do the laundry?"

"Ohhh, good call." Payton looks genuinely interested for a moment then shakes her head. "Except in my fantasy version the guy is very busy running his billionaire app empire, so I'm not sure he'd have the time to do the cooking, cleaning, run his business and keep two women sexually satisfied."

"I thought your fantasy was Chris Hemsworth."

"It was, but I moved on when we established that he's already married. Do you have any scraps?" she asks, nodding towards my pile of cut-up sheets. Apparently she's moved on from worrying about how the household chores will be divided in her fictional future.

"Sure." I nod absently towards the pieces I'm done with. Payton pops out of her chair and then returns with a handful of Sharpies. I mostly ignore her because I'm still thinking about Rhys and how I managed to lose him mere minutes after I came. On his freaking hand. One minute we're negotiating where I'm going to choke on his cock, the next minute he's shoving me off his lap and walking out the door.

I'm so confused.

Obviously I don't know him that well, but he seems like a reasonable enough person, so I can't imagine he left simply because I didn't want to have sex on a couch. It's not as though I was saying no to couch sex forever, just no to couch sex right at that moment, on that couch, in that office. Maybe he's really into the height of couches? Or he wanted me to bend over the back of it? I don't know. But I'm totally open to the future potential of couches.

I'd have made that clearer if he'd stayed long enough to talk about it. Jerk.

I'm almost certain I'm a firm no on the back seat of a car though. I'm too old for that, aren't I? I think that ship has sailed. I have my own apartment—well, almost my own apartment. I have my own room so I cannot envision any reasonable need to have sex in a car. Plus I don't have a garage and Rhys probably parks in the parking garage at the Windsor so, like, where would we even do it?

He was probably just making a point with the back seat comment anyway.

He thinks I'm too good for him. And not in a 'I'm a nice person' way. But in a 'sexually incompatible' way. Which is really really unfair, because I'm positive we're very sexually compatible. Granted I've never had sex before and have no idea what I'm talking about, but I can feel it. I know we'd be good together, I just know it. Lust is a very real and tangible thing, as it turns out. That must be the reason I lose my mind around him. Lust. Because it's not as if I haven't had access to men before I laid eyes on him. I haven't been in a convent. Or a coma. I've even dated a little.

But no one has made me feel the way Rhys does.

No one has ever caused me to offer myself up carte blanche before. Honestly, keeping my panties on until this point hasn't been much of a challenge. Before I laid eyes on Rhys, that is. It wasn't until seeing him that I turned into a total slut. A sad wannabe slut with a dirty imagination and an aversion to losing her virginity on a couch.

Fail.

"Scissors," Payton demands, pulling me from my self-pity by holding out her hand as if she's in surgery and requesting a scalpel. I sigh, put down my pincushion and make a big show of placing the scissors in her palm. Then I watch as she sets down her Sharpie and carefully begins cutting.

"What are you doing?"

"Making you a badge."

"Um." I try to get a better look but I can't make sense of it as she rotates the fabric and continues to snip. "Okay," I say for lack of anything better.

"Done!" Payton sets the scissors down then picks it up and slaps it down on the table in front of me, a huge smile covering her face. She appears to be genuinely proud over her creation.

She's drawn a foaming glass of beer onto a heart-shaped piece of scrap sheet fabric. I glance at it and then back to her.

"What is this?"

"A bar badge!" she announces with, yes, I'm going with pride.

"You made me a badge. For a bar." I run my fingers along it. I have to admit she's done nice work. "A heart-shaped badge. What level uses heart-shaped badges?" I'm joking because heart-shaped badges do not exist.

"The fun level."

I frown at her, suspicious. "What did I do to earn this badge?"

"You had an orgasm in a bar." She says this part as if she assumed the criteria for the bar badge was obvious.

"You are so messed up," I mutter.

"They didn't kick me out of the Girl Troopers for nothing. Now, we need a sash. Let's see what we can use." She jumps up and starts digging through my pile of sheet fabric.

"Whoa, what do you mean we need a sash?"

"For your badge?" she replies, again with a frown as if I'm simply not getting it. "Where are we supposed to display all your badges if you don't have a sash?"

"All what badges?"

"All the fun badges you're going to earn," she says without looking at me as she digs a faded floral print from the pile. "Can I use this?"

Okay, the thing is, I really do enjoy earning badges. I find it very satisfying.

"What other badges do you have in mind?" I try to ask it casually, like it's a joke, but I'm not sure how successful I am. I twirl a lock of hair around my fingertip and try to look nonchalant. It's been so long since I had a new badge to earn.

"The next badge is the 'no fucks' badge."

"Haven't I already earned that badge? By not having sex?"

"It's more of a 'fuck everyone' badge." Payton spreads the fabric across my cutting mat and picks up the acrylic cutting ruler, lining it up neatly along the edge of the fabric.

"Payton, I told you group sex is not my thing. Normally I believe in trying something before you decide it's not for you, but I just don't think sex parties are something one tries unless they have a predisposed interest."

"Um, wow." She's bent over the fabric smoothing the wrinkles with her hand but she stops and stands up straight. "You are really literal." She hands me the cutting ruler and motions to my chair. "Switch places with me."

"I thought you were making me a sash."

"I was, but then I realized sewing is pretty complicated and I want to do a good job so I think you should do it."

"I should make the sash because you want to do a good job," I repeat as I stand and switch places with her. "So many things are making sense right now."

"Make sure you do a good job because I have pride in my work."

"Of course you do." I realign the fabric on the cutting mat then place the ruler and make a quick swipe through the fabric with the rotary cutter, before moving the ruler and making a second cut so that I have five inch-wide strips of fabric. Then I grab my pincushion and start pinning the strips together so I can make a hidden seam.

"Anyway, we'll call your next badge the confidence badge," Payton says as she gets to work with her Sharpies. "Since calling it the 'fuck everyone' badge seems a little dicey for you. You haven't earned this one yet, but I'm going to make it and hang it on the fridge so you have a goal."

"Do you think this is a bit dysfunctional?"

"No. I think this is adulting done right."

I do like having goals so I decide she must be correct.