The Friend Zone(65)

My doctor had suggested writing a thank-you letter to my uterus before the surgery. To give me closure, he said.

Fuck my uterus.

I had nothing to thank it for. It had ruined my life a thousand times over in a thousand different ways. Every time I bled through my pants in public or vomited from the pain. All the times it stole my energy and robbed me of milestones and opportunities. It ruined relationships and vacations, special moments and dreams.

And it wasn’t done. It would never be done taking from me. When it was gone, it would still take.

She sighed. “How do you intend to explain the surgery to Josh? I mean, the man works in your garage. He’s going to know.”

I looked away from her at the palm trees and birds-of-paradise that lined the mud pool. I did have a plan. I’d given it a lot of thought over the last two weeks.

“I’m going to fire him and break things off the day after your wedding.”

Her eyes flew wide. “What?”

“I was going to end it after that night at karaoke. But then I realized if I did it before the wedding, it might make things weird, and I didn’t want to ruin your special day.”

With the wedding coming up, the four of us were going to be thrown together. Big-time. I couldn’t vouch for how Josh would feel about the end of our arrangement, but I knew I’d have a hard time pretending to be happy once we were done, and Sloan would definitely pick up on that. There was no way that wouldn’t affect her.

So why make things awkward or tense? What was one and a half more weeks? I’d just stick to my rules, like I always did—when I wasn’t drunk—and it would be fine. It was just eleven days.

I looked at Sloan. “I figured we’d get through the wedding and then I’ll tell him I can’t see him anymore. I’m already putting out ads for carpenters. I need to find someone else anyway. He’s been gone for two weeks, and I had to put my stairs on back order.”

She sighed. “Oh, Kristen.”

“What?” I shrugged. “I knew this was all part of it. I sold my soul, Sloan, for a few good weeks. At least I got to have him, even if it was just for a little while. I’ll cut him loose before the surgery, but after your big day. Problem solved.”

Hopefully he’d already have someone on the side he could slide into. It would be easier for us both when the time came.

Well, it would be easier for him.

He would have the women he’d been seeing besides me. He’d have his free time back. We wouldn’t be able to have sex for months after the surgery anyway, so that would put an end to that.

Less than two more weeks until Sloan’s wedding. Less than two more weeks of Josh.

Then it would all be over.

*



The phone woke me up at 4:23 in the morning. I didn’t recognize the number, but I knew the Vegas area code. I sat up and hit the Answer Call button groggily. “Hello?”

“Hey…it’s me.”

My lips curled up into a smile. Josh. Drunk Josh by the sound of it.

“Tell me Brandon’s not in need of bail money,” I said, rubbing my eyes.

“No. He’s fine,” he slurred. “I managed to keep him out of jail. Best best man ever.”

I lay on my side and tucked my pillow under my head. “Sloan’s freaking out, by the way. Neither of you answered her calls.”

The truth was I had been freaking out too. Sloan’s talk about Josh sleeping with other people had haunted me all night. And without Sloan knowing where Brandon was, I didn’t know where Josh was. I hated that.

“Shawn threw our phones in the lake in front of the Bellagio.”

I snorted. “What?”

“Yeah. We’re not even in our hotel. We’re at—hold on. The Twisted Palm Motel. We couldn’t make it back. Too drunk.”

“Well, I’m glad you called. At least I can tell Sloan where Brandon is in the morning. He should have gotten to a phone. She worries.” And so do I.

“He’s too fucked up. Shawn made him take a shot every time he said ‘Sloan.’ We had to carry him to the room.”

I cracked up and Josh chuckled with me, a leisurely, tired, intoxicated laugh.

It felt so good to talk to him. I’d missed him so much. I didn’t realize how much until he was on the phone. I wished he were here, in bed with me instead of three hundred miles away.

“I had to go to the business center to call you,” he continued. “I didn’t know your number, so I looked up your website. I’m not sorry I woke you up.”

I scoffed. “Oh, really? And why not? You should feel terrible. I need my beauty sleep.”

“No you don’t. You’re perfect.”

I smiled. “Why, thank you, Drunk Josh. That’s very nice of you to say.”

There was a hiccup in the pause. “What did you do today?”

I told him about the spa and the mud and the suck-for-a-buck shirt. “Sloan made sixty-seven dollars. She’s not speaking to me, but we sold all her Life Savers.”

He laughed. “Do you have pictures?”

“Yeah. I’d send you some, but you don’t have a phone. If you’re still in front of a computer, look me up on Instagram.”

Sloan’s insistence that I connect with him on Instagram finally made me fold. I didn’t have any pictures of him. At least I could cyberstalk him if I followed him on Instagram, look at him when I missed him—which was all the time.