Free Darker Water by Lauren Stewart

wondered what he felt like right now.
Hopefully worse than I did, seeing how it was totally his fault.
After a long, life-sustaining shower and putting on some clean
clothes, I’d call Carson. Then I’d have to go find out if my shop
looked as bad as I did.
    Hillary came out of the kitchen, smiling and
horrifically cheery. “I haven’t seen you in forever.”
    “I’ve been working a lot.”
    “All night long?” she smirked.
    “Maybe.”
    “Is it that guy?”
    I brushed hair off my face. “Yes, but it’s
not something to goofy-grin about. Really.”
    “When’s the last time you were here?” Hillary
followed me through the apartment, stepping over the bag I’d
dropped in the middle of the living room at some point. I’d get it
later.
    “I’m here every night,” I said.
    “Not when I go to bed.” She totally didn’t
believe me. I needed to either stop caring or start sticking to a
curfew.
    “What do you mean? I watched TV with you for
three hours the other night.”
    “Yeah. On Thursday. Today’s Monday.”
    How was that possible? There’s no way I spent
the last three nights hanging out with Carson. No way. If for no
other reason than he probably kept track and had a limit of how
many nights he could spend with a woman before he went into
estrogen shock.
    “Are you sure?”
    “Yes,” Hillary said, amused at my obvious
expense. “I know how to keep my days straight because I don’t have
the kind of job I do seven days a week, and I don’t have the kind
of boyfriend I sleep with every night. Because that would be
more like living with someone, which I don’t do. I have a
normal job with normal hours and a boyfriend who takes me out to
dinner every Friday night. Then we go to his house and have sex and
go to sleep. Then we spend Saturday together and on Saturday night
we have sex again.”
    “I really appreciate you telling me this.” I
turned the shower on, praying the water wouldn’t take too long to
heat up.
    “Then, like many, many other normal people,
Eric and I spend Sunday watching TV and vegging on the couch. On
Sunday night I come back here and sleep in my own bed for the next
five nights before doing it all over again. But one thing I don’t do is see my roommate anymore. So are you really going
to keep telling me this guy isn’t your boyfriend?”
    “No, I’ve given up on you.” I shooed her out
of the room. “But he’s not my boyfriend, and I don’t live with him.
I live here, with you . And I’m not having sex with either
one of you.” I blinked, my hand ready to close the bathroom door.
“By the way, you should consider trying to liven things up with
Eric because that sounds hellishly boring. People our age shouldn’t
already be hellishly boring.” People our age should probably not do
shots with someone they’re trying very hard not to sleep with,
either.
    I called him as soon as I got out of the
shower and felt mildly human again. “Did we have sex last
night?”
    “Of course not.”
    Hallelujah.
    “No, last night we made sweet, sweet love.”
He didn’t stop laughing for about ten minutes. “I promise, Lane,
when we have sex, you will be completely sober, awake, and begging
for it.”
    “Has a woman ever actually needed to beg you
for sex?”
    “No. But I’m playing hard to get with you, so
you’re going to have to beg. On your knees. While you’re—”
    “Shut up! I’m begging you.” Then it was my
turn to laugh.
     

Chapter 8 - Laney
     
    Unfortunately, I didn’t realize that my
wardrobe was completely unacceptable for the gallery opening until
the day of the event. My clothes consisted mainly of jeans and
shirts because cute tops aren’t so cute when your bra is filled
with sawdust or the sleeves are splattered with varnish. And in a
fit of ‘I’m never dating again, so I don’t need going-out clothes’
frustration, I’d tossed a lot of reminders of my old self.
    After Kevin had shown me the error of my
loyal and trusting ways and I’d