Sweet Filthy Boy - Lauren Christina (читать книги без TXT) 📗

Of course they’ve heard the entire story. More accurately, Lola heard it from Oliver who heard it from Finn who had the good luck of calling Ansel only an hour after he woke to find his wife and all her belongings gone. For a bunch of dudes, they’re awfully gossipy.

We catch each other up in the easy shorthand we’ve developed over the past nearly twenty years, and it’s so much easier to spill everything for the second time since I’ve been back.

“He fucked up,” Harlow assures me once I get to the part where we’re headed together to the party. “Everyone knows it. Apparently Finn and Oliver have been telling him to fill you in about the situation for weeks now. Perry calls him all the time, texts him constantly, and calls Finn and Oliver to talk about it nonstop. Their breakup didn’t seem to surprise anyone but her, and even that seems to be up for debate. I guess Ansel was worried it would spook you and is counting the days until he can move back here. From everything I’ve heard, he’s completely head over heels in love with you.”

“But we all agree he should have told you,” Lola says. “It sounds like you were blindsided.”

“Yeah,” I say. “The first time he takes me to a party this nice girl started talking to me and then her face melted and she turned into a vengeance demon.” I lean my head on Lola’s shoulder. “And I knew he had a long-term girlfriend so I don’t know why it was such a leap to tell me it was Perry, and that he lived with her, and even that they were engaged. Maybe it would have been weird but it made it weirder that it was this big secret. Plus, six years with someone you don’t love that way? That seems insane.”

Lola falls quiet, and then hums. “I know.”

I hate the small twinge of disloyalty I feel when I criticize him this way. Ansel was shaped by his experience growing up in the strange, possessive, and betrayal-filled relationship his parents had. I’m sure loyalty and fidelity mean more to him than romantic love, or at least he thought they did. I wonder, too, how much of his time with Perry was about proving he’s not as fickle as his father. I’m sure staying married to me is at least somewhat about that—no matter how much it was my insistence in the first place. I need to decide if I’m okay with it being both about proving something to himself and loving me.

“How is he doing?” Harlow asks.

I shrug and distract myself by playing with the blunt ends of Lola’s hair. “Good,” I say. “Working.”

“That’s not what I’m asking.”

“Well, from the whole game of telephone, you guys probably know more than I do.” Deflecting, I ask, “How is Finn?”

Harlow shrugs. “I don’t know. Good, I guess.”

“What do you mean you don’t know? Didn’t you just see him?”

She laughs and makes tiny air quotes as she repeats the words see him under her breath. “I can assure you I did not go to Canada for Finn’s sparkling personality or conversation skills.”

“So you went up there for sex.”

“Yep.”

“And was it good enough to go back?”

“I don’t know. If I’m honest, I don’t particularly like him that much. He’s definitely prettier when he doesn’t speak.”

“You really are a troll.”

“I love that you act like you’re surprised. Finn and me? Not a thing.”

“Okay, Mia, enough avoidance,” Lola says quietly. “What happens next?”

Sighing, I tell her honestly, “I don’t know. I mean this is what I’m supposed to be doing, right? School? Figuring out what I want to do with my life? The irresponsible thing was going to France in the first place. The grown-up thing was coming home. So why do I feel like it’s all backwards?”

“Oh, I don’t know.” Harlow hums. “Maybe because it sounds like you guys were figuring out a new plan together?”

I nod. It’s true. “I felt so safe with him. Like, my brain didn’t always know but my body did? I didn’t know his favorite color or what he wanted to be when he was ten, but none of that mattered. And the silly things I knew about Luke, the giant list of stuff in my head I thought made us compatible . . . it seems so laughable when I compare it to my feelings for Ansel.”

“If you could erase this one thing from your time with him, would you still be with him?”

I don’t even have to think about it. “Absolutely.”

“Look, I watched you lose the most important thing in your life and there was nothing I or anyone else could do to make it better. We couldn’t turn back time. We couldn’t fix your leg. We couldn’t make it so you could dance again,” Harlow says, voice uncharacteristically shaky. “But I can tell you not to be an idiot. Love is fucking hard to find, Mia. Don’t waste it because of some stupid lines on a map.”

“Please stop making sense,” I say. “My life is confusing enough right now without you making it worse.”

“And if I know anything about you, I’m pretty sure you’d already reached the same conclusion. You just needed someone smarter to say it first. I mean, I’m not downplaying what he did, it was a dick move. I’m just playing devil’s advocate here.”

I close my eyes and shrug.

“So we’re talking the big L-word, aren’t we?”

“Lesbians?” I deadpan.

She levels me with a glare. Serious-getting-in-touch-with-her-feelings Harlow is not someone you want to mess around with. “What I mean,” she says, ignoring me, “is that this wasn’t just about banging the sweet, filthy French boy.”

“It never really was just about banging the French boy,” I tell her. “I think that’s what freaked you out.”

“Because it’s big,” she says, and then high-fives me as we all yell, “That’s what she said!”

But then her expression sobers again. “Even when Luke left,” she continues, “I knew you’d be okay, you know? I told Lola, ‘It’s hard now but give her a few weeks. She’ll bounce back.’ This is . . . different.”

“It’s almost laughable how different it is.”

“So you’re . . . what?” When I still don’t have any idea what she’s asking, she goes on. “You asked me to talk to my dad about the annulment but is that really what you want? Are you two talking at all? And don’t shrug again or I’ll jump across this couch and punch you.”

I wince and shrug. “We text.”

“Are you in high school?” Harlow asks, swatting my hand. “Why don’t you call him?”

Laughing, I tell them, “I’m not ready to hear his voice yet. I’m just getting settled. I’d probably get on the next plane to Paris if I heard him say my name.” Sitting up and turning so I can look at both of them, I add, “Besides, Ansel is out there climbing the ladder and I was like a hamster running in a wheel. I need to get my act together so if he does ever get here, he doesn’t feel like he has to take care of me.” I stop talking and look up to see them watching me still, expressions completely neutral. “I needed to grow up, and Ansel being an idiot pushed me out of the nest in a way. He’s the one who got me excited to come back here to school. I just wish I hadn’t left mad.”

“Don’t be too hard on yourself,” Lola says. “I’m just so happy you’re here.”

“God, so am I,” Harlow says. “I was losing serious sleep with all your middle of o’dark-thirty phone calls.”

I throw a pillow at her. “Ha, ha.”

“And what about a job? You know my dad would hire you to come sit and look pretty in one of his offices. Want to confuse the hell out of some middle-aged executives for the summer?”

“Actually, I got a job.”

“That’s great!” Lola grabs my hand.

Always the more skeptical one, Harlow continues to watch me. “Where?”

“My old studio,” I say. And that’s all I have to say, really, because barely a moment has passed before both Lola and Harlow are practically in my lap.

“So proud of you,” Lola whispers, arms wrapped tight around my shoulders.

“We’ve missed seeing you dance. Fuck, I think I might cry,” Harlow adds.

I laugh, halfheartedly trying to push them away. “It won’t be the same, guys. I’ll—”