Promise Me This (Wilder Family #3)

I did what any sane, mentally balanced woman would do in that situation. (The situation being that I’d just unwittingly written my closest friend into a sexual fantasy, in which he was finger-banging the hell out of me under a blanket and dirty talking next to my ear while people walked outside the car and could’ve caught us at any time. Yeah. That one.)

Before he could leave his bathroom, my ass ran upstairs and slammed my bedroom door like it was an iron wall separating me from what had happened downstairs. I flopped onto my bed, face-first, and made a pathetic groaning sound into my pillow.

It didn’t help, not that I thought it would. Slowly sitting up, I ran my hands through the hair falling into my face and looked around the simply decorated room like it might give me answers.

It didn’t, the asshole. Because everywhere I looked, I saw hints of Ian. The artwork he’d hung for me. The bedframe he’d assembled. The desk he’d tucked into the corner even though I said I didn’t need one.