Page 156 of Built to Fall
I run a hand over my face, not being able to hold back the laugh that escapes me. “Seriously?”
“I mean, all I got the first time was, ‘It was good.’And I know last night had to be different. I want to hear about it. I’ll sit here all day if I have to.”
“Okay, okay.” I grab my shampoo, squeezing a dollop into my hand and lathering it through my hair.
Deciding what I do and don’t want to reveal to her feels like walking a dangerous tightrope. After all, Savannah has had sex with Grant more times than I have. I’m sure she’d be able to sense if I were downplaying it, so I don’t want to lie. But I also don’t want to hand her every detail like they’re hers to keep—like this thing with Grant isn’t still delicate and new and something I’m still navigating.
Then again, in the past three days, Savannah has become myfriend.In the way some stars are a part of the same constellations, despite being light-years apart. Or how in Greek mythology, souls split in half find each other again, strictly on instinct.
Elephants can form lifelong bonds within hours. I think Savannah and I are a bit like that.
“Your tits arephenomenalby the way,” she adds, sounding amazed.
I glare over at her but can’t help the small smile that crosses my face when she pretends to look down at the collar of her shirt, examining her own.
“I’m being serious!” she says, looking back up. “Want to compare?”
I wave her on, wondering if she’ll take the bait. Of course, I shouldn’t have bothered. Savannah is brazen, wearing confidence like it’s some kind of expensive necklace. It’s no surprise that she easily pulls the silk pajama button-up over her head, leaving her in a sheer bralette.
It doesn’t bother me, either. I’ve learned enough about Greek mythology to gain the perspective that nudity is a social construct. The Greeks viewed it in a much more beautiful way. Bodies are natural symbols of beauty, and there’s no purpose in hiding that or being ashamed.
She’s still perched on the counter, now looking like she belongs in a lingerie catalog. “Should I take my hair down too? Bite my lip to give you the full effect?”
Savannah and I are fairly similar in regard to confidence, but hers is loud—bright and unapologetic, always demanding attention—while mine is quieter now, sharper at the edges.
Where she’s all spotlight and sparkle, I’ve settled into shadows and soft glances.
I used to be more like her—almost exactly like her, actually. Before everything happened. Before Boston stopped feeling like home and started feeling like a place I barely survived. Back then, I lit up every room I walked into because I didn’t know what it was like to feel dimmed.
But life happened. Grief happened. And somewhere along the way, I stopped trying to be the center of anything.
Still, watching Savannah smirk like she could rule the world with one raised brow and a lacy bra, I can’t stop myself from laughing.
Being pulled into Savannah’s orbit makes me feel a glimmer of hope that I’ll one day get back to the person I was. Even if it seems entirely unrealistic now.
She’s ridiculous. Gorgeous and infuriatingly comfortable in her own skin.
“I think this is good.” I pretend to survey her in the same way she did me. “It’s official: we could both be nude models.”
She giggles. “Yeah, right. Mine are cute,” she says, looking down. “But yours are seriously Titanic-painting worthy. I bet Grant would agree.”
I snort, ducking back under the water to rinse the shampoo from my hair. “Whatever you say, Sav.”
“Anyway,” Savannah muses, acting as if this is the most normal thing ever as she pulls her top back over her head. “I want details.”
“You were right.”
“Yeah, usually. Are you specifically referring to what I’m hoping you are?”
Maybe I’m still riding the high. Or maybe I just don’t have the energy to pretend I’m shy about it. “He’s a sex god.”
The squeal Savannah lets out is a sound I thought was only reserved for Eden, reaching an octave that makes me wonder how good of an opera singer she could be.
“I told you!”
“Yeah, yeah. I know.”
“Would you get out of the shower already?” she groans. “You’ve washed your hair three times already. It’s obvious you’re trying to avoid this conversation, but I really don’t want you to. So I’d really appreciate it if you’d hurry the hell up.”
