The Rules of Dating My Best Friend's Sister(46)

“Come, sweetheart. Give it all to me.”

I climaxed almost violently, my body writhing on the bed as I moaned. It was the single best orgasm I’d ever had, and I panted to catch my breath. For a minute, I almost forgot I wasn’t alone.

“Holden…” I whispered.

He took a few seconds to respond. “Yeah, babe?”

“Thank you.”

I heard the smile in his voice. “Anytime, beautiful. I’m going to hang up now. Stay in bed and relax for a while, okay?”

“Okay.”

After we disconnected, I expected the reality of what I’d just done to seep in. I’d just let another man get me off, so guilt would surely consume my thoughts. Yet the only thing I could think was…

If phone sex was that good with Holden, holy shit…what would the real thing be like?





CHAPTER 12


Lala



“When you’re good and wet, I’ll still keep you tied up. I’ll climb up your body and feed you my cock.”

Holden’s words had haunted me for two days straight. I couldn’t even count the amount of times I’d replayed them.

“Come, sweetheart. Give it all to me.”

We hadn’t spoken since, and I was all sorts of messed up inside, my body in constant arousal.

As I stood at my bathroom mirror, blow-drying my hair, I felt like I was going crazy, once again replaying everything. I’d go from being horrified to smiling uncontrollably about it.

You know who I felt like right now? Diane Lane in that movie Unfaithful. Ironically, I’d watched that once with Warren. There was a scene in the film where Diane’s character was on a train, heading home to her family in the suburbs after having amazing sex with the French artist she was having an affair with in New York City. She was manically laughing and giddy while somehow also overwrought with guilt and looking like she was about to cry. She deserved an Oscar for that scene. While I was watching, I remember thinking: “How could she do that to her family—no matter how good the sex with the artist was?”

I’d never imagined that there would come a time in my life when I could relate.

You didn’t have sex with him, Lala. This is nothing like that movie.

You’re okay.

Holden never even touched you.

These were the kinds of neutralizing thoughts I’d use to attempt to feel less guilty, only to be immediately followed by other, less-forgiving thoughts.

Who are you kidding?

You’re a horrible person.

I needed to talk to someone rational before I exploded.

Thankfully, I had dinner plans with Billie Lennon tonight, and she was the unlucky person I was going to open up to about all of this. Poor, unsuspecting Billie. Colby’s tattoo-artist wife was really cool and someone I felt like I could talk to, although I still wasn’t sure exactly how much I should divulge.

As I walked to the restaurant to meet her, I started to feel anxious, my palms growing sweaty. I didn’t want her to think I was a horrible person—because that’s exactly what I thought of myself.

Billie had already gotten a table at the Mexican restaurant a couple of blocks down from our building. She waved to me from a corner of the dimly lit place as faint mariachi music played on the overhead. Billie was stunning with her long black hair and vibrant body art cascading down her arm. It was hard not to stare at her because she was so beautiful.

“Sorry I’m late,” I said as I slipped into my seat.

“No worries. I’m enjoying the quiet. It’s not every day I get a girls’ night.”

“Yeah,” I breathed. “I really needed this night out, too. You have no idea.”

She tilted her head. “Everything okay?”

I licked my lips. “Um…”

“You look a little frazzled.”

I shook my head. “No. I’m good.”

“Really? Because as dark as it is in here, I can see that your neck is all red.”

“I’ll fill you in once I’ve had a drink.”

“Okay.” She flashed a sympathetic smile.

I opened the menu. “Anyway, I’m so glad we could do this. It was long overdue.”

Billie grinned. “So many times people say they’re gonna get together for lunch or whatever and never follow through—it’s all talk. I hate that bullshit. I appreciate a girl who walks the walk, so I was glad when you texted me.”

I hoped she wasn’t disappointed when she figured out that I had an ulterior motive and needed to unload on her. I took a long sip of my water as I perused the menu. “What’s good here?”

“I love the chicken taquitos. Colby’s favorite is the chimichanga.”

“Both of those sound great,” I said, though my nerves had made me not at all hungry.

A waitress appeared. “Hello, ladies. Can I start you off with something to drink?”

“Do you have vodka cranberries?” I asked.

“Sure, we can make that for you.” She turned to Billie. “And you?”

Billie held her palm out. “Oh, just water for me.”

The waitress nodded. “Got it.”

After she left, I said, “Well, now I feel stupid drinking if you’re not having anything.”