Page 26 of Dash

“For a good reason. And also, women can be just as hard work. Relationships are just…hard.”

I hand her a coffee, clinging to my mug like a shield as I lead her into the living room. The couch squeaks as we sit, and I place a pillow over my lap, wrapping my hands around the ceramic.

Katie talks about work for a little while, and I’m half listening, my thoughts drifting to a certain biker and what I said and did last night.

He’s never going to speak to me again. His reply was so vague, so open-ended. The way he rode in like a fucking hero…

“Am I boring you?”

I snap my gaze to her. Shit. I completely zoned out. I fumble, trying to latch onto something that will make it seem like I’m not the worst friend ever.

Katie tilts her head. “Okay. Spill. Your head has been in the clouds the entire time I’ve been here. What’s going on?”

“It has not.”Lies. I’m drifting so far into the atmosphere I might as well be a fucking astronaut. She folds her arms over her chest, giving me that look. The one that calls out my bullshit. I roll my eyes. “Fine. I’m a little distracted.” I fiddle with the edge of the cushion, my heart and chest tight. “I think I fucked up.”

The silence spans between us, and I don’t offer any more insight, because the words I need to say are trapped in my throat.

“Okay… um… I need you to be a little more specific than that. Are we talking missed out on a sale or need help burying the body kind of fuck-up?”

“I had sex with Dash at Ivy’s engagement party.”

“That’s not a secret, Dayna,” Katie says. “Everyone knows you and him hooked up.”

Great. I’m once again gossip and for the wrong reasons. “It’s not my proudest moment, though it is the first time I’ve ever had sex in a strip club.”

“Dayna, no one cares where you fucked him. Is that why you’re all broody?”

“I’m not broody.”

“Babe, you look like someone pissed in your cereal.”

I sigh. “I think he hates me.”

I chew my bottom lip, wishing I could stuff that vulnerability back in my mouth. Suddenly, it feels as if my chest is cracked wide open and my heart is on display. My skin itches and prickles, and I resist the urge to scratch at it.

“Babe, why do you care? It was just sex, right?”

That cuts more than it should. That mask I wear has been perfected, crafted carefully so that no one ever sees the real Dayna. I can’t be pissed that she jumps straight to the conclusion that it was just sex.

“Right,” I murmur. “Just sex.”

“Okay, so why do you think he hates you, and why do you care?”

That is a good question. Why do I care?

“I don’t.”

“Liar,” she says.

“I’m not lying.”

“You’re also not as cold as you like people to think, babe. So do you want to tell me what this is really about?”

It scares me sometimes how well she knows me.

“He kind of saved me last night.”

“From what?”

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