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“Here, let me get those.” I took them from her and peered into each one. “What is this stuff?”
“I was cleaning out my fridge and couldn’t stand to throw it all out. You’re still keto, right?”
“Still keto. Here, come in so I can shut the door. The air conditioner is being temperamental.” I carried the bags into the kitchen and started to unpack the contents, growing less hungry with each new item. Brussel sprouts, chia seeds, and olives hit the counter, followed by a glass jar containing chunks of coconut. “Were you eating this stuff?”
“Kind of. I was buying it and looking at it. But now I’m off that. I’m only putting into my body what it wants to eat.” She looked around. “Where’s E?”
“At work. They’re doing some team-building rah-rah thing.” I loaded some of the items into the fridge, then moved to the pantry, dubiously eyeing some organic flax seed crackers before sticking them onto the shelf next to E’s extra-cheesy Doritos. I shut the pantry door and turned back to her. “Chelsea, I am really sorry. You had every right to be upset, and if I’d had any idea that—”
“I know you wouldn’t have done anything with Aaron if you’d thought that I liked him.” She grimaced. “It was like, the one secret I was actually good at keeping.”
I let out a soft laugh. “No joke.” Curiosity got the best of me. “Why did you keep it a secret? Why not tell me?”
“I don’t know. I kinda did. I was dropping hints like crazy. And I asked you if you thought it was too soon to make a move on him.”
“You did?” I frowned, certain I would have remembered that.
“Yeah. I think you thought I was joking. Or just, you know, being ‘Chelsea’.” She put air quotes around her name and fell silent.
I balled up the empty bags into my fist and came around the counter to give her another hug. “I’m sorry. Easton and I kinda were exploring things sexually, and it was right at the time when Aaron was staying here, and my hormones were out of control from this fertility—”
“Stop.” She held up a hand. “You don’t have to explain your sex life to me. And if you and Easton are stepping outside of the box, then seriously—more power to you guys. Seriously. Ignore all of that terrible stuff that I said about swingers and monogamy and married people being boring.” She inhaled. “I just… don’t want you to experiment any more with Aaron.”
I shot her a look. “You know you don’t have to worry about that. You just said you knew we wouldn’t have done that if we’d known—”
“I know, I know, but I just had to say it so that I wouldn’t have to ever think about it again.”
“Listen to me.” I put both hands on her shoulders. “I will never ever ever touch Aaron or be naked in front of Aaron, or do anything with Aaron that I wouldn’t do with my grandma sitting beside me. And you know how judgmental my grandma is. Okay?”
“She really is a judgmental bitch,” Chelsea admitted. “Remember when she called me a hooker for wearing a tube top?”
“I remember.” I laughed. I squeezed her. “Okay? Do you feel comfortable now?”
“Yes. But I do have an important and completely inappropriate question to ask you.”
“Is it about Aaron’s penis?”
Her mouth dropped open. “What?! No! I wouldn’t…” she sputtered through a few more useless adjectives before dropping into the closest stool. “Yes. Tell me everything. Length, width, stamina. Because I got to tell you, Elle, I really like him. And you know I’m picking about my penises. So before I go tossing my heart into his soulful eyes—”
“I’m not going to tell you anything about his penis.” I folded the paper bag up and stuffed it under my sink.
“What? Come on! I told you all about Easton’s dick before you even met him.”
“And that was a gross invasion of his privacy.” I folded my arms over my chest. “I’m not going to do it.”
“Give me a hint.” She picked up the cucumber and slid her finger along the length of it. “Just tell me when to stop.” She moved about six inches down the shaft and glanced at me. Moved another inch. Paused. Moved another inch. Paused. Moved another inch. Her eyebrows raised. She kept going.
“I’m not telling you.” I snatched the cucumber from her and opened the fridge door, tossing it into the produce drawer. “And thanks. Now I’m going to have that visual when I eat it.”
“I’ll pay you to tell me. Come on. Fifty bucks.”
“My moral compass doesn’t have a price tag. At least, not since Easton agreed to take Nicole Fagnani back as a client. You should have returned my calls last week. I might have spilled everything for a Subway gift card back then.”
