Yet another morning talk with Josie. If she wanted to enjoy breakfast with someone, she wished it could be Dylan or Mike.
Or Dylan and Mike.
“So you’re telling me Dylan brought you flowers, it turns out the girlfriend in the pictures is dead, and you fucked him. On your desk. At work. In the Beige Room of Pain.”
“No, see it wasn’t really like that—what? Beige room of what?”
Josie held up one finger. “Uh, uh, uh! I’m just establishing the facts here. Your office is where color goes to die. That’s a fact. We’ll get to the moral and ethical judgments next. But first: did Dylan, in fact, pose as a flower delivery man to sneak into your building at work yesterday?”
“Yes.” Laura poured herself a cup of coffee and sat down. She was going to be late again.
“And did he then come into your office, and you told him that you knew he had a girlfriend or a wife?”
“Yes.”
“And he then informed you that the girlfriend was dead, has been dead for almost two years, and then you— fucked him on your desk?”
“Yes.”
“Okay, the facts are established.”
“Good. So I—”
“Now: Are you out of your fucking mind?” Josie grabbed Laura’s coffee mug and took a swig, arching one eyebrow and looking more like Stephen Colbert than she had any right to.
“What are you, a lawyer all of a sudden? You’re a nurse. You work in an old folks home!”
“I don’t work in an old folks home,” Josie sighed. “I do clinical research on geriatric patients.”
“Same difference.”
“No, it’s not the same difference. Do you design Tylenol bottles for children?”
“What? No, I work in IT for a children’s health insurance program!”
“See? Related—but not the same!” Josie finished Laura’s coffee and slammed the mug down, but was considerate enough to get up, pour more, and slide it across the table to her.
“Oh, shut up. That’s not what this is about. Why the hell are you grilling me? It’s an interrogation, like I’m being cross-examined or something.”
“Because—you’re—behaving—like— someone—who—has—lost—her—mind!”
“Why—are—you—talking—like—I— am—a—toddler?”
Josie snorted. “I don’t know.”
Laura squinted at Josie. Stared her down. “You’re just jealous because I’ve had more sex than you.”
“Well, duh! You slept with Dylan, and then a day later you slept with Mike.”
“No, a couple days later.”
“And then, like, a couple days later, you slept with Dylan.” Josie held up her hands and wiggled them, pursing her mouth in a silent “O.” “A couple days makes all the difference when you’re fucking two guys at once.”
“Not both at once,” Laura jumped in. Her face burned. If only...
“So, Mike’s next on your dance card...”
Laura sighed, “Can we just not do this right now, Josie? I’m confused and tired, and...”
“And you’re probably kinda sore, huh?”
Laura grabbed a pot holder and threw it at Josie’s head.
“Hey, you almost cracked one of my nails!” Josie made a great show of examining each talon.
“Well, it will match your cracked head. What kind of friend are you right now? You’re supposed to be supportive!”
“I am being supportive. I support you getting your head out of your ass! What are you doing, Laura, sleeping with these two, on and off, on and off?”
Laura didn’t have an answer. It was easier to just argue. “Because I—really like them. Both.”
Josie plopped down on the couch next to her. “Well, damn, girl, give your poor hoo-ha a little break here and there. It’s not the Energizer Bunny!”
“Jea-lous,” Laura mocked.
“How much did Stohlman Industries pay you during the time that you were being serviced by the fake flower delivery dude?”
Laura laughed. “I don’t know. It didn’t last as long as you think it lasted.”
“Oh, I’m sure it didn’t. Quickies at work never do.”
Laura punched Josie’s shoulder. “How would you know?”
“Have you ever seen the on call room at a hospital? There are brothels in Bangkok that get less action.” Josie grabbed a clementine from the bowl of fruit on the table and pierced the sweet, loose skin with one of the same nails she’d nearly cracked when the limp pot holder had whacked her head. Laura opened her mouth to make a sarcastic comeback but couldn’t.