Chapter 5
CHAPTER FIVE
SIERRA
“Where should we put this one?” Petra asks as she carries a box labeled Dishes into my bedroom.
“It can go in the back of my closet too.”
She laughs, a deep throaty sound that’s distinctly unfeminine yet works so well for her. “I can’t believe you really took all the dishes.”
“And the silverware,” I remind her. I’d bought it all after moving in with Peter, and we’d gotten rid of his mismatched pieces. “I hope he has fun with his breakfast tomorrow.”
“You brought all the food with you too.”
“Oh yeah.” I feign forgetfulness. “I hope he starves.”
“This is the best version of you I’ve ever seen.” Petra smiles, then turns and sets the box on top of another at the back of the walk-in closet.
“Angry and vindictive?” I roll my eyes at her back.
“No, badass bitch. You are rocking the whole jilted ex-lover thing. Now we just need to find you some rebound sex with someone much hotter than Peter. Whatever happened to that hottie you said you saw at the hotel when you arrived at the wedding?”
I’d made the mistake of texting Petra about him after check-in, but obviously I could never tell her that the hottie turned out to be Beau. That was a week ago, and it hasn’t come up, so I thought she’d forgotten about it by now.
“Don’t know.” I shrug. “Didn’t see him again.”
“That’s weird though, right? Since everyone who was at the hotel was a wedding guest?”
“Who knows,” I say, shoving a hanger into the neck of another sweater.
“Too bad,” she says as she takes the stack of clothing on hangers that’s piled on my bed, ready to be hung, and walks into the closet with them. “He sounded entirely fuckable.”
That’s not a word I ever thought I’d use to describe my best friend’s little brother. And yet, here we are.
“It doesn’t matter.” I shrug. “I don’t need rebound sex anyway. I’m probably better off alone for a while.”
“I’m not asking you to commit to someone new,” Petra says as she returns to the bed for more items. “Just to have some fun for a change.”
“I’ve never been any good at one-night stands.”
“No one said it has to just be one night, but don’t discount it either. And don’t get caught up in another relationship right away. Those seem like a lot of work.” She brushes her hand through the air like she’s sweeping away the idea of a relationship.
“They seem like a lot of work? Petra, have you never actually been in a relationship?”
Petra was always Jackson’s friend. We hung out a lot, but never got close until Jackson moved away a year ago. And in all the years I’ve known her, I don’t think she’s dated someone seriously.
“Define relationship,” she says, and her pouty lips purse together.
“I don’t know. Dating one person monogamously for, like, a month?”
“Nope, can’t say that I have,” she says, eyebrows raised and a triumphant look on her face. I’m not sure I believe her, though. “Why would I commit to just one guy when there are so many out there to be had?”
I laugh, then tell her, “I envy your approach to sex. I’ve never managed not to have feelings for a guy if I sleep with him.”
“Hmm,” she says as she starts taking items out of my suitcase and putting them on hangers for me. “That sounds complicated. What if the guy’s a dick?”
“Why would I sleep with him if he’s a dick?”
“Ohh,” she says. “You’re one of those.”
“What the hell does that mean?” I ask, not even trying to hide how insulted I am.
“Sierra,” she says, with the condescending voice of someone who feels sorry for me. “Sex isn’t about emotional feelings, it’s about physical ones. Confusing the two is a mistake.”
“Why can’t it be about both?”
“Because that just complicates things. Seriously. You should try having sex with someone you have no feelings for, aside from attraction, and see what that gets you. Honestly, if the only purpose for being together is to make each other feel good, think about how . . . rewarding that could be.”
I take a stack of T-shirts from my suitcase and carry them over to the dresser, so I have a moment to think about what she’s saying.
I mean, I’ve never had really great sex except with my vibrator.
And I’ve only had sex with people I was in a relationship with.
Could Petra be right? Could letting my feelings decide who I have sex with be committing me to mediocre sex?
Behind me, Petra lets out a low whistle. “What the hell is this?” She laughs and I spin around to find her holding up one of my sexiest sets of lingerie. “I would never have pegged you as someone who . . . Good girls don’t wear underwear like this.”
“Right, because underwear like that is reserved for gorgeous and unattached girls like you?” You know, the kind of girl who doesn’t get cheated on by their fiancé.
“That’s not what I meant, and you know it.”
“Well, it’s still insulting,” I say as I turn back to the dresser and tuck my stack of T-shirts into a drawer.
“Why is it insulting?”
“Because it means you pegged me as the kind of girl who wore boring, bland underwear.”
“You just told me about how you only have committed, monogamous sex. Of course I didn’t think you’d be walking around wearing freaky lingerie.”
“There’s nothing freaky about those bras, Petra,” I say as I walk over and take them from her. “They’re just pretty.”
“The last time I saw that much lace, I was walking through the red-light district in Amsterdam,” she says, her throaty laugh bursting out of her.
“So here’s what we’re going to do. You’re going to shower and get dressed up, maybe even put one of these sexy bras on, and we’re going out.
There’s no way you’re sitting home feeling sorry for yourself and unpacking on your first night in your new place. ”
“Aren’t you exhausted?” I ask her. I know I am, and she was at my old place yesterday helping me finish up my packing, then she, Lauren, and Josh helped me move everything over here this morning. She came back again tonight to help me unpack.
“Life’s too short to not go out, even when you’re tired,” she insists. “Come on, let’s go get a few drinks. And if you happen to pick up a guy and bring him home with you tonight, so be it.”
“Petra, I’m too tired to go out. And I can’t bring a guy back here. I don’t even know when Beau is arriving.” I thought about texting him to find out, but I can already envision the return texts laced with innuendo. It’s safer not to open that door with him. “What if they ran into each other?”
“Why would that matter?” Petra rolls her eyes. “Unless you’ve slept with Beau?”
I try to contain the laugh, so it comes out more like a snort. “No, I haven’t slept with Beau.” I’m tempted to tell her about our history, just so she’ll understand why this whole thing is so awkward. But I can’t do that, not when I never told Jackson.
“It’s too bad he’s Jackson’s brother. When I first saw him talking to you over at the bar during that the cocktail reception, I was certain you’d be in his bed that night. You two seemed like you had chemistry.”
“Beau and I? Chemistry? No.” I shake my head emphatically. “Definitely not. He’s like a little brother to me.” That would have been the truth before last weekend, but it’s better if she believes that what she saw was just two people who know each other really well hanging out.
“Like I said, it’s too bad because he’s seriously hot.”
Just thinking about Beau has me hot and bothered. I both can’t wait and am dreading his arrival . . . whenever that happens. This is bad. So very bad.
“You know what,” I tell Petra, “it’s Saturday night. Maybe we should go out after all.”
“I had a really good time tonight,” Jared says as he reaches across the elevator and puts a hand on my shoulder.
I glance down at the hand, wishing it was sending chills of anticipation through me.
Instead, it’s the light touch of dread. It was nice of him to give me a ride home from the bar, but I have no idea why I agreed to him seeing me to my door.
The thought of having to keep up the pretense that I’m fine and that it was fun going out tonight is exhausting.
It’s like swimming against the tide for hours and ending up in the same place—still a little too far from shore, with too little energy left to keep swimming.
I want to crawl into bed and sleep until Monday morning, not make conversation with some guy I just met.
He gives my shoulder a little squeeze and I realize that I’ve waited a tad bit too long to reply. “Me too.” I spit out quickly, knowing that’s the expected response. I give him a quick smile as the elevator doors open.
The deep, pounding beat of the electric drum assaults me the minute we step into the hallway.
Where the hell is that noise coming from?
I know from two years of living with Jackson before I moved in with Peter that most of the neighbors are either older folks or families with kids.
One of the things Jackson loved about this building was how quiet it was: a haven where she could escape from her crazy, hectic life.
“Someone’s having a party,” Jared says. “Maybe we should crash it?”
“Maybe another time,” I say as we approach my door. “I’m really tired.”
“Oh, sure,” he says, but the tone of his voice is unclear, like he could be saying Oh sure, let’s do that or Oh, sure you’re tired.
I’m standing in front of my door when two realizations hit me at once. The music is coming from my place, and the reason it’s so loud is that the door isn’t shut all the way. What. The. Hell?
I think I might have said that out loud because Jared gives me a classic I don’t know what’s going on shrug as I reach out and push open my front door.