Page 142 of Driftwood Daffodil

That made me snort. “When does Gio not do something to me?”

“Nova?”

“Memphis.” I sang back.

He leaned across the counter and whispered, “He didn’t… touch you, did he?”

I shot him a deadpan stare. “Really?”

Leave it to Memphis to turn this thing into something dirty. He wasn’t wrong, but that was beside the point.

His shoulder lifted in a small shrug, “It’s a valid question.”

No it wasn’t.

“You watch too much porn.” I said and went back to wiping down the counter.

“I’m not the one who woke up in some guy’s house.”

“Listen,” I twirled my hand through the air. “Just because you have the perfect boyfriend doesn’t mean everyone can… and don’t even get me started on your predisposition for PDA. No one wants to see that.”

Least of all me.

“Don’t change the subject.”

Damnit.

The downside of growing up with someone was that eventually they knew everything about each other. For instance, I knew Memphis had a phobia of balloons, he always slept on his left side, had an unhealthy obsession with the color red, and that he refused to eat toast because bread shouldn’t be crunchy.

That was why I always gave him a red toaster wrapped up in balloons for his birthday.

Memphis waved his finger at me, “Don’t think I’m going to let you avoid this.”

And he knew I had a tendency to avoid things. But in my defense, life was much easier that way.

“You’re hiding something.”

“I’m not hiding anything.” I told Memphis everything, including the stuff he didn’t want to know. Just last week I called him to describe what I thought a frog’s burp would taste like. Animal planet may have been to blame for that one.

“Just like you weren’t hiding the fact that you made out with Gio… twice?”

Okay, so maybe I left out the occasional unimportant detail.

“I didn’t make out with him.” I clarified.

Memphis rolled his eyes, “Fine, you kissed.”

That was an important detail of said unimportant information.

“Now,” he folded his hands on the laminate countertop and gave me a stern eye, “Are you going to tell me what happened?”

I was not going to tell him. “Nothing happened.”

“Bullshit.”

“Nothing happened.” I tried again.

“No,” he shook his head and once again raised his finger. “Something happened.”

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