12
Lola
Mellie keeps texting me to ask if I'm okay. I can't put it off any longer, but I worry that when she sees me, my shame will be written all over my face.
She asks me to dinner, and I bite the bullet. I've known her long enough that she can read me like a book. That's why it should come as no surprise when I sit down at the restaurant, she tilts her head to the side to study me. "You look different.”
My cheeks heat. I don't like lying to her. "Juice fasting. It's a miracle for the skin."
"You're on a juice fast, and yet you agreed to come eat Italian with me?"
Shoot. Didn't really think that one through. I give her a nervous smile and take a sip of my water.
"You got laid," she deadpans.
I sputter and Mellie smirks. "I knew it. You totally got laid. Who is he?"
I draw out the dramatics for a minute longer than necessary. I can't lie to her. I suck at lying. But the truth is not going to be pretty.
My phone pings and I check it while the waiter interrupts to take Mellie's order.
Daire:
What are you doing?
Lola:
I'm at dinner with Melissa.
Daire:
Hmm... I'm hungry too.
Lola:
Want me to bring you something when I'm done?
Daire:
Yes. Bring your wet pussy to my office so I can spread your legs across my desk and eat you out.
My face heats, and there’s no hiding the fact that I’m red as a tomato. It shouldn't turn me on that he's talking to me this way. He’s so bossy and arrogant, but there’s a sick part of me who secretly loves it. It makes me crazy. Because Daire was so much easier to resist when he was just being a jackass.
I text him back and let him know I'll be there. And I regret it when I pocket the phone a minute later and catch Mellie watching me carefully. "So?"
I squeeze my napkin between my fingers. "So, what?"
"Who is he, Lola?"
"Just a guy.”
"Just a guy," Mellie repeats.
"Yes."
I change the subject and ask her how work is going. She entertains the topic for now. The remainder of dinner is uneventful, and I don't know what I was so worried about. I apologize to Mellie for disappearing and promise her that we'll meet again next week.
My phone pings again.
Daire:
Are you thinking of my cock inside of you right now? If not, you should be.
I'm wearing a ridiculous smile when Mellie reaches across the table and swipes my phone out of my hand. "Please don't," I beg. But it's too late. She's seen the message, and she knows who it's from. Her face falls. A storm cloud moves in over us, and I’m not mentally prepared for this.
"Lola, please don't tell me this is what I think it is."
"What?" My response is hostile, and I can’t help it. I feel like I’m under attack.
Mellie looks at me the way she probably looks at all of her mental cases. "Please don't tell me you are doing this to yourself again. Tell me you didn’t sleep with him. "
"If I told you that, then it would be a lie,” I answer. “And what’s the point in lying when you just steal my phone anyway? What Daire and I have is casual. It’s nothing to get worked up about.”
"Casual? Since when have things ever been casual with Daire?"
"Will you just stop?" I plead. "I know what I'm doing. I'm all grown up now, and I may have made some questionable decisions in the past, but this isn’t one of them."
"Isn’t it?" she replies. "Because that’s exactly what someone in denial would say."
"It’s only for a couple of weeks,” I insist. “It's not a big deal."
"Are you even listening to yourself?" Mellie asks. "Lola, you know you can't do this. Not with him. It completely wrecked you the last time."
"That was when I cared." I swallow. "But now I don't. I'm being careful. There's nothing to worry about."
She’s quiet now. And I hate this. I hate this churning feeling of dread inside of my stomach, telling me she might be right. I hate that I still feel things for Daire when I know he isn't capable of feeling the same. Sure, he flirts with me. And he’s done some unexpectedly sweet things, like taking me to the drive-in and sending me gifts. But those things are second nature to him. A targeted marketing practice designed to win women over. He can't help himself.
"I just don't want to see you get hurt again," Mellie says. "That's all, Lola. I'm not trying to be a bitch. I'm trying to be your friend."
I fall further into the sinkhole of shame when I look at her and see nothing but genuine honesty in her eyes. I'm the one who's being a bitch. "I know, I'm sorry. I don't know why I get so defensive."
"Because you still care about him," she answers softly. "And I'm beginning to wonder if you always will."