Page 17 of Even Exchange

“Bed.” I point, brows raised.

She huffs and pulls back the comforter, then slides under. I sit on top of it and lean against the pillows, fighting the urge to reach out and brush the damp brown strands falling every which way over her face. She beats me to it, tucking them behind her ears, and looks up to catch me staring.

“What?” she asks.

I sigh, worry lines creasing my forehead. “I hate seeing you like this.”

“Perfectly content, snuggled in clean sheets?” She cocks a brow, straining to get her armor in place.

I see right through your stained glass window.

“No.” I frown. “Sad.”

“I’m fine.” She nuzzles her head against the pillow, eyes darting away.

Within seconds, I break my own rule and tip her chin to look back at me. “You’re not.”

“What do you want me to say?” she asks, her tone laced in frustration—in heartbreak. “That I’m so sad I’ll never be happy again? That I don’t think I can live another day without his dick?”

My lips tug upwards. “Stop making jokes to deflect talking about the real stuff.”

“No one ever wants to talk about the real stuff. It’s always ‘how are you?’ and the only acceptable answer is ‘fine, and you?’ People panic if you say anything else.”

“Not me.” I rub my thumb selfishly along her jawline. “I want to talk about the real stuff.”

She stares at me in disbelief. “Why?”

“Because you’re myfriend,” I remind her—and myself—pulling my hand away. “And I care about your well-being. This isn’t the first time we’ve had a heart to heart.”

“Yeah.” She groans, throwing a hand over her face. “But this time is different.”

“Why? Cause you’re not puking your brains out in a porcelain bowl?”

She nudges me with her foot under the covers. “We agreed not to talk about that night.”

“Tootherpeople. I’m allowed to bring it up with you. We were both there,” I say pointedly.

“Fine.” She curls into herself. “Yes, that was different.”

“How?” I tilt my head. “What’s so different?”

“Last time I was depressingly drunk.” Her voice cracks on the last word, along with the rest of my restraint. “Tonight, I’m soberly sad.”

“Soberly?” I ask, knowing she had her fair share of wine at the bar.

“Mostly soberly.”

“Forget about him. Seriously.” My tone is harsher than I intended.

“Easy for you to say. The memory of him moaning that girl’s name is seared into my brain.” She pauses. “Kendraaaaa,” she exaggerates sarcastically.

My thoughts fight for clarity. “I want to tell you it’s okay to feel how you feel.”

Her eyes flick to mine. “But?”

“You’re acting like the perfect man dumped you when you’re way too good for him.” I shake my head. “I’m talking pee-wee-league-versus-Super-Bowl-status too good for him.”

She rolls her eyes at me. “I have flaws, just like everyone else.”

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