Good Girl(19)

"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.