19. Sloane
Sloane
I wake up the next morning with a pleasant ache that tells me I made excellent decisions the night before.
My thighs protest when I swing my legs out of bed, and I smile to myself, padding across the apartment to the kitchen in nothing but an oversized tee. I down a big glass of water to counteract the red wine hangover, but what I really need is a proper coffee.
I brought my much-loved coffee maker across the pond when I moved over here, which is just as well given the horror I experienced the first time I tried the freeze-dried crap some Brits drink at home.
I lean against the counter as it starts up, the familiar gurgle and splutter soothing me as the aroma of coffee fills the kitchen. Flashes of last night appear in my mind and I smile as I think of how well Freddie and Cole worked together to unravel me.
I empty half the pot into my favourite mug and add a generous slug of almond creamer.
Even Emmy’s been converted to having creamer in her coffee now.
I have to import the stuff via some tiny shop in Kensington, but it’s worth it.
It’s probably rotting my insides, but it’s just so much better than milk.
I carry my drink over to the sofa, curling up with my feet tucked under me.
My phone buzzes on the cushion beside me, and for half a second – just half – my heart leaps in my chest.
I don’t pick it up straight away. Let them wait .
I hear a click as Emmy’s door opens and her face breaks into a smile at the sight of me. I love Em. She’s like sunshine in human form. Given she spent most of her adult life in a shit marriage, it’s been an absolute joy to see her blossom in the time we’ve known each other.
She’s gone from being a marital doormat to an adventurous, kinky goddess. The confidence that emanates from her now is absolutely infectious. That, or it’s just a permanent sex-glow given she and Luke are at it like rabbits.
“Hello you! How was your night?”
She’s already dressed – jeans and a cute cashmere top that I suspect was a gift from Luke – with her soft curls bouncing around her shoulders. She’s got that girl-next-door prettiness that makes her look effortlessly adorable at all times.
“It was great fun, thanks!” I reply. “There’s coffee in the pot if you’d like some.”
“Thanks, love. So, it was fun? That’s all you’ve got? I need details, woman.” Emmy can’t keep the excitement from her voice as she grabs her own cup of caffeinated heaven and joins me on the sofa.
“Well, everyone had lasagne and at least one orgasm, so I’d say it was a success.”
“That does sound like a success.” She blinks at me expectantly and I shrug.
“It was good! We talked about all kinds of shit, we ate, then we had hot sex. It was a fun night!” I repeat myself, painfully aware that my wafer-thin review of the evening isn’t going to hold up for long under Em’s scrutiny.
“Hmm, ok! You’re not saying much, which means you’re either knackered or you’re processing. Which is it?” she presses me with a raised eyebrow and I have nowhere to hide. I blow out a breath.
“Can it be a bit of both?” I pick at a loose thread on the sofa cushion as I feel her gaze.
“Of course it can. I’m just going to remind you that your support and cheerleading in the early days of me and Luke was critical to us actually getting together. So if you need me to be that for you now, I’m here.”
“Whoa, whoa, whoa, down, girl,” I reply, pointing a finger at her.
“Don’t get ahead of yourself. It was a fun little threesome with two boys who are both exceptionally pretty and good in bed, but it does not mean that we’re about to run off into the sunset together.
And it does not change my opinion that men are generally bullshit. ”
“I know, I just feel like you’ve been a bit more excited by these two. But if I’m getting carried away, then I’m sorry.” She holds her hands up in defeat and I feel my shoulders relax a little.
“Good. I might see them again, I might not! We shall see.” I give her a prim little smile, praying for a subject change.
No way in hell am I ready to actually interrogate my feelings towards the pair with anyone else, even if she’s my best friend.
It was hot sex and a few tender moments, no need to start sending save-the-dates.
“Oh, that reminds me, Chloe and I were planning a visit to Nirvana Spa in a few weeks – did you want to join?”
“Say less. I wouldn’t miss it.”
“Amazing, I’ll text you some dates.” She gives me another smile as she drains her coffee. “I’m heading out. I’ll see you later?”
“Sure thing,” I reply.
The front door clicks shut behind her and I finally pick up my phone. A message from Freddie in our ‘three’s a crowd’ group chat sits waiting for me.
FREDDIE
Good morning, princess! Hope you’re not too sore today from Cole’s Loch Ness Monster. If I knew he was packing that beast, I’d have suggested switching places.
I smile despite myself.
Think you could have handled him better, eh?
FREDDIE
Omg that is NOT what I meant.
I know, I’m joking. It was worth the risk of internal injury.
FREDDIE
Fair. He’s still asleep by the way. Completely dead to the world. I think you broke him.
I snort-laugh, realising I am grinning at my phone like an idiot.
Sorry not sorry.
There’s a pause before his next message.
FREDDIE
You’re trouble, you know that?
I consider it for a moment, then type:
I thought that much was obvious.
I set the phone down again and stand, stretching my arms over my head with a yawn. I’ve got things to do today – emails to send, the last section of my dissertation to write, and post-graduate training programmes to research. There is no time to sit here and reminisce about a great night.
Still, as I move around the flat, my mind keeps snagging on small details from last night.
When Cole asked me to stay, a tiny part of me wanted to say yes.
I could just imagine falling asleep between them, with Freddie curled around me and Cole asleep on his stomach within reach.
Any one of us could roll over in the night and into each other’s arms.
My stomach flips at the thought, and I shove the mental picture away.
I refuse to be the cliché of the woman who gets all hormonal and attached after a mere handful of orgasms. And some amazing chemistry. And some fucking good lasagne.
We never did have pudding , I think with a sigh.
After a quick shower, I pull on jeans and an off-the-shoulder top that I stole from Em, checking my reflection in the hallway mirror as I head out.
I look good: relaxed and in control, exactly how I like it.
Even my bangs are behaving. I finish the look with a pop of scarlet lipstick and give myself a nod.
I’m good to go. And I’m definitely not going to spend the day obsessing over those beautiful boys.