Page 76 of C*cky Best Friend

I glance to my girlfriend, and the room animates once more as I mutter, “Good,” though I don’t know what gives me the right. Logical or not, if she would’ve told me that Jason and Sarah had met this new guy this soon, I might’ve gotten on a plane. He’d be the one. The instinct took over.

Ines dismounts the barstool, her eyes locked with mine and she balances a full martini glass made for her by a bartender hoping he’ll get lucky.

She’s a beautiful girl, incredibly sensual, and way out of my league. She knows that. It’s why my friendship with Sam confuses her so much.

Sultry eyes are scanning mine as she raises her voice over loud music and the conversations of strangers, “I’m going to finish this drink and then I want to go home and fuck you.”

I wince and turn away.

Samantha says, “Look, Logan, it sounds like someone is getting jealous.”

With a horrified laugh, I rake back my hair and ask, “You heard that?”

“Anybody could hear that,” she says with a smile in her tone. “I’ll talk to you next Monday, okay?”

She wants to be reassured that nothing has changed between us, even though everything has. I hear the voice of her new whatever-the-hell-he-is in the background. It makes me frown and rush to ask, “You want that?”

Misunderstanding the question, she says, “I want to talk to you every Monday for the rest of my life. If we can keep that up is another thing. But let’s try, okay? I have to go, Logan.”

“Right,” I mutter, rubbing my face. “Talk next week.”

“Okay.” The line goes dead.

When I asked, you want that, I meant, do you want to be in a relationship with this guy?

Sam has a boyfriend who’s there with her on a Monday. The concept is as foreign as all of the countries I’ve been to since I last saw her face.

I’m a hypocrite.

That’s what I am.

But I hadn’t realized how small a tight rope we were walking on. Can we keep up our weekly ritual? I know the passive-aggressive guilt I get from Ines.

And she’s French!

How will this guy act?

Men from the south won’t tolerate another guy near their woman. Just like I don’t like the idea of him being near her, regardless of the fact that Samantha and I are not in the same city, state, or even country, anymore.

I’m from Georgia.

And she’s my girl.

Even though she never was.

“Do you want a sip?” Ines smiles as she offers her martini. “How is she?”

I wave away the offer and answer, “Good. She has a boyfriend.”

Sultry eyes brighten from their general aloofness. “This place is boring. Let’s go home.”