Hot as Puck(63)
But now I’ve had poetry and stolen kisses in the woods and in an elevator and behind Edna’s bushes. I’ve had sexts and flirting that feels as natural as breathing and more orgasms then I can count on two hands.
I’ve had Justin, who calls me beautiful and makes me believe I am, every time we touch. But when Roger says he’s glad I could make it to happy hour, I feel nothing except grateful that I’ll never have to be nervous around this poor man again.
“Thank you.” I smile as I pluck a menu from the center of the table. “So are we ordering food to share? Or fending for ourselves? I had popcorn an hour ago, but I’m already starving.”
An hour later, I’ve shared Octopus a la Plancha and Jamon Croquettes with Bethany, an order of Radicchio Toast with Rebecca, and a mini cheese board with Roger, all while carrying on easy, pleasant conversation about school, life, and Thanksgiving plans. There isn’t a single moment of awkwardness, not even when my fingers brush Roger’s as we’re both reaching for a slice of Manchego.
I simply draw my hand away, waiting until he’s made his choice, and then dart back in for the kill. I’ve already eaten enough to fill me up on a normal day, but for some reason I’m still starving.
Maybe it’s all the sex, I think, cheeks flushing as I wonder how many calories Justin and I burned in the past twenty-four hours and if it’s enough to justify an order of mandarin panna cotta.
“You should take a personal day more often,” Roger says, tapping the table beside my plate lightly with two fingers. “Relaxed looks good on you.”
“Thanks,” I say with a laugh. “Though Principal Edwards probably wouldn’t appreciate me playing hooky on a regular basis.”
He smiles, and I silently acknowledge that he is still a very decent, clean, friendly-looking person. But he’s not Justin. His smile doesn’t make my belly flutter or my chest ache, and his compliment, while nice to receive, is just that—nice. The world hasn’t shifted on its axis, no secrets of the heart have been revealed, and when my leg brushes against his knee as I sneak out to head to the bathroom, I’m not flustered at all.
It isn’t until I swing out of the last stall and step up to the row of sinks to wash my hands that I experience a moment of panic.
There, right beside me, is none other than Sylvia.
Justin’s Sylvia. Or the one who used to be Justin’s Sylvia…
I duck my head, hoping she won’t notice me or recognize my face if she does—we only met a few times, and I’ve found truly stunning people like Sylvia tend to forget the names of less stunning people like me—but once again I’m out of luck. She squeaks in surprise as she shuts off the water and reaches for a towel from the dispenser between us.
“Hey, there! Libby, right? Justin’s friend?”
I nod, grinning with my lips closed because I probably have something in my teeth. I was going to check as soon as I washed my hands, but now I can’t because I have to try to have a normal conversation while standing next to a woman who used to have sex with the only man I’ve ever had sex with. The man who this very morning was inside me, but was probably inside her only a week or two previously.
And though I realize this is something that the average nearly-twenty-five-year-old wouldn’t stress about, it strikes me as profoundly, disturbingly strange. So strange, it takes me several awkward moments to convince my mouth to form the words, “Yes. That’s me. How are you, Sylvia?”
“Oh, as well as can be expected,” she says with a sigh, leaning her slim hip against the sink as she dries her hands. She’s wearing a clingy red dress that perfectly showcases her model tall, model thin body, and her olive skin seems to gleam like a beautiful piece of freshly polished furniture. “Breakups are the worst, but it will all work out for the best in the end.”
I nod with a little too much enthusiasm in an attempt to look like an innocent person who isn’t sleeping with her ex. “Right. Totally. Well—”
“It’s the living situation that’s the hardest,” she pushes on before I can excuse myself and dash for the door. “I mean, we’d just moved in together, but I’d already given up my apartment.”
I wince. “That was jerky of him. To kick you out like that.”
They’re traitorous words, but they’re true. Justin can be a jerk sometimes, especially when it comes time to say good-bye. He doesn’t think, he just takes action and worries about the fallout when pieces of debris start pelting his head. I know this about him, and it’s one of the things I thought about today when I was doing my best to remember that he isn’t a beautiful, perfect, sweet, thoughtful sex god all the time.