Page 43 of North’s Claim

Her laugh crackles through the line. “Look who’s suddenly all sunshine and sass. What’d they spike your coffee with over there?”

“Maybe just a little peace of mind.”

“Ohhh,” she draws out dramatically. “Someone finally got laid.”

“Di!” I choke, laughing.

“What? Don’t act innocent. Your voice has a whole new octave of ‘I’ve seen heaven.’ Spill.”

“I’m not spilling anything,” I say, tugging a dishrag off the counter. “Besides, North would kill me.”

“Oh, so it’s North now. Not Prez. Not ‘the intimidating asshole who doesn’t do love’?”

I roll my eyes, but I’m smiling. “He’s still all of that.”

“And you’re still avoiding the question.”

“I’m fine. We’re… fine.”

“That’s vague. Suspiciously vague. I want juicy details. Is he romantic in the sheets or all growl and grunt?”

I laugh again. “I plead the fifth.”

“That means yes. God, I knew it. I knew he had a tongue that could write poetry.”

“Denise!” My cheeks are on fire.

She snorts. “Girl, please. I’ve seen the man. If he isn’t writing symphonies between your thighs, I’m starting a riot.”

“Okay, you need to hang up and go touch some grass.”

“Touch North, you mean.”

I shake my head, trying not to laugh. “I’m not giving you any more details. You know I don’t talk about that stuff.”

She softens. “Yeah, I know. Just had to try.”

There’s a pause, one of those comfortable silences that only comes when someone’s known you too long.

“You happy?” she asks finally.

I don’t answer right away. I glance at the shirts I’m folding. “Yeah,” I breathe, “for the first time in a long time… I think I might be.”

“Good,” she says. “You deserve it. Just remember, if he ever hurts you, I know people.”

“You are people.”

“Exactly.”

We both laugh.

“I’ll call next week.”

“You better. And give North a pat on the back for me. Or a slap on the ass. Whichever feels more appropriate.”

“You’re hopeless.”

“You adore me.”